Title:    A Question of Why
      Author:   Lovesfox
      E-mail:   kim_djd@yahoo.ca
      Rating:   R
      Category:  Story, Angst, Slight UST
      Spoilers:  Up to and including Millennium (Season 7)
      Keywords:  None
      Summary:  Mulder and Scully are both held captive by a psychotic doctor

      Disclaimer:  Unfortunately, The X-Files and its characters do not belong 
      to me and I hope Chris Carter can see it in his heart to forgive me for my
         creative license.


      Author’s Note: To me, a great deal of the interaction between Mulder and 
      Scully is unspoken.  A touch or a glance is often enough to convey more
         than what is verbally spoken (and I admit, at least in my own mind,
         is often embellished or fantasized about).
         I find their eyes speak volumes.

        


      A Question of Why
      by Lovesfox

      Prologue


      Georgetown Memorial Hospital
      Present Day


      "Because I can."

      Those three words tumbled endlessly in his brain.  His eyes twitched 
      behind closed lids, his body jerking beneath the sheets of the hospital 
      bed.  Images of the last few days assaulted his mind.  The bright, white 
      room, the mad doctor, Scully curled on the floor in pain…

      Mulder lunged up in the bed, arms screaming with the effort, the veins in 
      his neck knotted cords, sweat beading on his forehead.  He bellowed her 
      name, forcefully.

      "SCULLY!!!"

      Hands were there then, pushing him firmly back onto the mattress.  A nurse 
      spoke soothing words, bathing his forehead with a cool cloth.  He 
      struggled against the hands that held him down, but it was useless.  They 
      were too strong, and he was too weak.  He chanted her name, over and over 
      again, like a litany, until the words ran together.

      "Scullyscullyscullyscullyscully…"

      Mulder became aware of Skinner, somewhere in the room.  He craned his 
      neck, eyes rolling frantically, trying to see him.

      Skinner’s voice was firm.  He managed to make his words both an order, and 
      a matter-of-fact statement meant to alleviate Mulder’s distress.  "Agent 
      Mulder, calm down.  She’s here."

      Mulder felt a prick on his arm, and his eyes became heavy.  His head sank 
      back down on the pillow, he was unable to hold it up.  His body slowly 
      relaxed.

      His next word was whispered as he descended into blackness.

      "Scully."



      Washington, D.C.
      State Courthouse
      Three Days Earlier


      Mulder stepped out of the men’s room and headed down the long hallway back 
      to Scully, who was talking to Agent Sue Storm of the Violent Crimes Unit.  
      They were several feet from the door of the courtroom where they and the 
      other agents assigned to the case had spent the last four hours, observing 
      the remainder of the trial of Jimmy Lee Corliss, convicted on six counts 
      of murder in the first degree.

      Mulder studied the two female agents as he walked towards them.  
      Physically, they were as different as night and day.  Agent Storm was 
      tall, almost six feet, with long, chestnut hair, twisted in a braid of 
      sorts.  She was very attractive, with deep, dark brown eyes, but Mulder 
      found his glance straying back to his partner.  Scully’s red hair was in 
      its normal short bob, and she was wearing her usual attire of a business 
      suit, in charcoal gray today.  Nothing had changed in her appearance, but 
      for some reason lately, he had been seeing Scully with new eyes.  He 
      admitted to himself that the kiss they had shared on New Year’s Eve 
      probably had something to do with it.  It had been a chaste kiss, a 
      pleasant kiss, the lips of two friends meeting to celebrate the 
      continuance of life, and their shared memories of the past.  There had 
      been no declarations of love or great passion, and both had walked away 
      comfortable with what had just occurred.  But things had become different.

      As Mulder neared, he realized he was not the only man who found the two 
      female agents pleasing to the eye, noting several men giving them the once 
      over with approving looks as they passed by.  Both Scully and Agent Storm 
      appeared oblivious to the attention.

      Scully’s eyes flicked briefly to meet his as he came up behind them, and 
      he saw weariness there, mixed with relief that the trial was finally over. 
       Mulder knew the same could be seen in his eyes as well.

      Corliss, an ex-convict before the outcome of this trial, had gone seeking 
      revenge on those
      "who done him wrong".  He had brutally tortured and murdered a former 
      buddy of his who had testified against him on an attempted murder charge 
      four years ago, two witnesses to that same charge, and the original 
      investigating officer, as well as his former lawyer and his probation 
      officer.  Both he and Scully had been temporarily assigned to the VCU to 
      help apprehend Corliss, an unknown suspect at the time.  It had been 
      through their diligent work and Mulder’s psychological profile that 
      Corliss had first been identified and then later arrested.

      Mulder was thankful it was all over.  The hours spent on the Corliss case 
      had been long and arduous, and he had spent most of them immersed in the 
      brutal life of their suspect.  He shook his head to banish the images of 
      that life that tried to form in his mind.  He wanted nothing more than to 
      sink his teeth into a good, old-fashioned X-file.  He stood, just behind 
      Agent Storm, across from Scully, hands jiggling in his pockets, toying 
      with the few sunflower seeds left from his afternoon snack.  He smirked to 
      himself as he remembered Scully shooting daggers at him with her blue eyes 
      as he carefully shelled them in the courtroom.  

      He was anxious to go home, get a bite to eat, and collapse on the couch.  
      Maybe even watch a movie, one of the ones that weren’t his.

      Mulder absently watched the people streaming out of the courtroom.  It 
      always amazed him that so many people came willingly to these kinds of 
      trials, as if it were some kind of entertainment.  Of course, the trial 
      had been highly publicized, and the attention of the media seemed to draw 
      people out of the woodwork.

      He glanced at Scully again and saw her looking at him, a plea in her eyes. 
       Save me.
      He nodded slightly, shifting his eyes in Agent Storm’s direction, one brow 
      raised slightly.  Message received.

      Mulder stepped forward, about to place his hand on the other agent’s 
      shoulder, but froze in mid-action when he spied someone staring at them 
      from behind Scully.  It was an older man, about Mulder’s height, with 
      bespectacled eyes, and wearing a tweed coat.  He clutched a notepad and 
      pen in his hands and was watching them quite avidly, his eyes darting from 
      Scully to himself.

      Mulder groaned inwardly, convinced the man was a reporter, and decided it 
      would be prudent to make his move now.  Laying his hand lightly on Agent 
      Storm’s shoulder, he leaned in and murmured, "We need to be going, Agent 
      Storm.  Assistant Director Skinner wanted to meet with Agent Scully and I 
      as soon as we were finished here."  He lied smoothly, with absolutely no 
      guilt whatsoever.

      Agent Storm turned to face him and over her shoulder Mulder could see 
      Scully’s blue eyes widen in shock at his blatant lie for just a moment.  A 
      small, reticent smile crossed her lips and she shook her head slightly, 
      looking away, but not before Mulder saw amusement replace the shock.

      "I understand, Agent Mulder," Agent Storm replied, her voice low and 
      melodious.  She reached out and touched his hand lightly.  "Maybe we can 
      get together another time and…discuss the case."  She made no move to 
      include Scully, who had turned away slightly.  He was sure he saw Scully 
      roll her eyes. 

      The deliberate pause in her sentence had him adjusting his shirt collar 
      with one finger and shifting on his feet. He smiled nervously, and 
      answered with a non-committal, "Uh-hmm."

      Scully and Agent Storm exchanged final pleasantries, and then the 
      dark-haired agent made her way back inside the courtroom, presumably to 
      collect her partner, with one last lingering look at Mulder.

      Mulder grasped Scully’s elbow to guide her down the hallway towards the 
      elevator, his hand almost immediately dropping away to return seconds 
      later to the small of her back.

      Scully barely managed to control her shiver.   It was amazing what one 
      simple touch from his hand could do to her.  She continued walking, 
      confident Mulder had not noticed her reaction, willing her thoughts away 
      from the warmth centered on one spot on her back.

      Mulder glanced behind them, but could no longer see the reporter who had 
      been watching them in the crush of people now exiting from another 
      courtroom.  He was thankful, for he did not deal with reporters very well.

      He felt Scully’s eyes on him as they walked, and looked down to see her 
      watching him musingly.  He bent his head down when she opened her mouth to 
      speak.  He could hear the laughter in her voice as she commented, "Spooky 
      Mulder and the Invisible Girl.  Interesting combination."

      Mulder could not keep the surprise of his face and heard her pleased 
      chuckle.  "Mulder, I do have two brothers, remember?  I even read some of 
      their Fantastic Four comic books on occasion.  I’m surprised you held back 
      all this time, though, Mulder."

      Mulder looked sheepish all of a sudden and she raised an eyebrow at him.  
      "Well, actually," he began, clearing his throat.  "I made one, tiny little 
      joke when her partner introduced us and I swear, Scully, her look could 
      have froze me solid.  Kind of like some of your looks, actually."  He 
      muffled a grunt when she jabbed him in the ribs, and had to double-step to 
      get back in stride.

      Scully shot him another look and continued, "Seriously though, Mulder, I 
      think Agent Storm was more than a little interested in you."

      They had reached the elevators by then, and joined the people already 
      waiting there.

      Mulder only shrugged his shoulders and quietly said, "She’s not my type."

      The elevators opened with a muted ding, and Scully lost the opportunity to 
      ask him exactly who was his type as they stepped inside.  She was curious, 
      and slightly gratified that he was not interested in the lovely Agent 
      Storm.  She resolutely pushed that thought away, telling herself it was 
      none of her business whom Mulder dated.

      The elevator stopped at the underground parking garage and they made their 
      way to Mulder’s car.  Mulder opened his door, climbed inside, and 
      stretched over to unlock Scully’s door.

      Scully climbed in, placed her things on the floor, and sank into her seat 
      with a sigh.  She reached tiredly for her seatbelt and snapped it into 
      place.  Mulder followed suit a moment later, and started the car.



      Mulder’s Car
      Washington, D.C.

      There was a comfortable silence in the car as they drove.  Each knew the 
      other was tired, and the day too long for idle conversation.  Nor did they 
      want to discuss the case, knowing they would be meeting with A.D. Skinner 
      first thing in the morning for just that purpose.

      Scully relaxed further into her seat, rolling her head from side to side 
      to ease the stiffness of her neck.  She wished she could ask Mulder for a 
      neck rub, but held back shyly.  She knew he would agree immediately and 
      was almost tempted to ask him up to her apartment when he dropped her off. 
       She mentally shook her head, chiding herself at her thoughts.  Out of the 
      corner of her eye she saw Mulder reach up with one hand to rub at his own 
      neck.  She could reciprocate, she thought, and then told herself firmly to 
      stop.

      The traffic was reasonably heavy at this time, the early evening rush of 
      commuters heading home at the end of the workday, but Mulder skillfully 
      navigated the streets and in no time he was pulling the car up in front of 
      her building.

      Mulder watched as Scully unbuckled her seat belt and gathered her 
      briefcase and purse from the floor.  She opened the door and turned her 
      head to look at Mulder.  "Goodnight, Mulder.  See you tomorrow."  Throwing 
      him one last tired smile, and receiving one in return, she climbed out of 
      the car and shut the door.

      She headed towards the front door of her building, conscious of Mulder 
      watching her go.  She could not remember when he had begun doing that, 
      waiting for her to get safely inside, and found she had come to depend on 
      it.  It made her feel safe and cherished.

      Mulder sat, the engine idling, and watched Scully go up the walk and 
      inside the building.  He knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of 
      herself, but felt better when he could see her get inside, and the lights 
      of her apartment come on.

      The lights did come on a few minutes later, and Mulder saw Scully 
      silhouetted in one of the windows.  Her hand parted the curtains and then 
      lifted in a wave, and he flicked the headlights once in response before 
      slowly pulling from the curb.  He drove towards his apartment and was 
      startled some time later by the large growl that emanated from his 
      stomach.  He recalled with a groan that Papa Mulder’s cupboard was bare, 
      and pulled into the market halfway between his building and Scully’s.

      Parking the car, he jogged to the entrance and scooped up a basket.  He 
      nodded at the evening clerk, a young guy named Dennis, who responded with 
      a friendly, "Hey, Mr. Mulder!" 

      Mulder walked the aisles quickly, grabbing items here and there, and 
      dropping them in the basket.  Realizing he had forgotten to grab some 
      milk, he went back to the dairy section and grabbed a carton.  At the 
      checkout, he grabbed several packages of sunflower seeds, he was getting 
      low on those too.

      Dennis rang his purchases through with efficiency, their conversation 
      light and easy.  The clerk bagged Mulder’s things and handed them over 
      with one last smile.  Mulder tossed a wave over his shoulder and headed 
      out.

      Mulder stopped in front of his car, fumbling for his keys. He pulled them 
      out of his pocket finally, with a grunt.  He juggled his grocery bags 
      awkwardly, bending his knees slightly to try and fit the key in the lock.  
      He sensed someone coming up behind him and started to turn his head.  He 
      felt a prick in his arm, the one holding the groceries, followed by a 
      stinging sensation.

      The groceries slid from his suddenly weak arm, falling to the ground, the 
      sharp crash of a breaking glass jar loud in the nearly empty parking lot.  
      His knees buckled, and he followed suit, crumpling to the ground.

      His eyes felt heavy, and he blinked slowly, his cheek pressed into the 
      gravelly pavement.  A figure crouched down beside him and just before he 
      slid into darkness, Mulder blurrily recognized the reporter from the 
      courthouse, the one who had been watching him and Scully.

      <Scully> he thought, and then there was nothing.


      Mike’s Market
      Parking Lot


      The man, who was not a reporter, glanced around quickly.  The area was 
      quiet, but he did not know for how long.  He picked up the fallen man’s 
      keys and tried several before he finally opened the car door.

      He reached in and unlocked the back door of the sedan.  Pulling it open, 
      he awkwardly lifted the unconscious man, and alternately pushed and tugged 
      him into the back seat of the car, omitting occasional grunts as he 
      labored.  Finally, Agent Mulder was all the way in, and the man made sure 
      the agent’s feet were clear before he shut the door.

      With another quick look around, he climbed into the driver’s seat, started 
      the car, and drove away.

      Not five minutes after the man had driven off, Dennis, the evening clerk 
      from the market, came out through the employee door at the side of the 
      building for a quick smoke.  The store was empty, and he knew it might be 
      his only chance until after hours.

      He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, the tip glowing brightly in the 
      darkness.  He exhaled slowly, tipping his back to blow smoke rings into 
      the sky.

      When he finally straightened, his gaze was caught by the glimmer of white, 
      and what looked to be spilled groceries.  With a quick look around, he 
      jogged over and studied the mess on the ground.  He immediately recognized 
      the items as having been those purchased by Mr. Mulder, the really cool 
      FBI guy, when he spotted the bags of sunflower seeds lying amongst the 
      other things.

      Thinking Mr. Mulder must have gotten an important call and had to rush 
      off, like that one time he was at the market a few months ago and had to 
      abandon all his things in the checkout line, Dennis gathered them up as 
      best he could, kicking the broken glass aside, and put them back inside 
      the bags.

      Flicking his cigarette butt away, he returned to the thankfully empty 
      store, placing Mr. Mulder’s groceries behind the counter for safekeeping.  
      He immediately forgot all about them.

      Dana Scully’s Apartment
      Georgetown, D.C.

      Scully watched as Mulder’s car pulled away from the curb and then turned 
      away from the window with a tired sigh, the curtains fluttering shut as 
      she did.  She flicked her computer on at her desk to check her e-mails, 
      and then crossed the room to her answering machine while the computer 
      booted up.  She had noticed the message light flashing when she had first 
      entered, but had merely given it a quick glance as she walked to the 
      window to wave at Mulder, dropping her coat, briefcase and purse on one 
      end of the sofa as she had passed it.  She had also kicked off her heels 
      with a relieved sigh, her toes wiggling with their newfound freedom.

      There were two messages, both brief, and she pressed erase after listening 
      to them, making a mental note to call her mother and her sister-in-law 
      Tara later in the evening.  She returned to her computer and sat down, 
      quickly accessing her e-mail.  She read through them, replied to one from 
      a colleague from Quantico, and could not hold back her laughter at the 
      sexually explicit joke from Frohike.  She deleted it when she was 
      finished, shaking her head with a smile.  Although Mulder denied it 
      vehemently, she knew he had given her e-mail address to the little man.  
      She did not mind really, but refused to let either one know she enjoyed 
      the messages Frohike sent immensely.

      That was the last of them, and she shut down her computer before rising 
      with a small yawn, stretching her arms out and rotating her head from side 
      to side to ease the kinks.

      Scully was torn between a nice, hot bubble bath or having dinner, but 
      decided the first order of business was to get out of her suit.  The 
      waistband was cutting into her stomach, the holster and gun not helping 
      much either, and she pulled her blouse out of her skirt, running her 
      fingers under the band to pull it away from her flesh.  Her pantyhose were 
      annoying her as well, and she inwardly cursed the man who had invented 
      them as she went down the hallway to her bedroom.  Her stomach emitted a 
      large, hungry growl, and she rubbed it, her decision made.  Comfortable 
      clothes first, dinner next, and her bubble bath would have to come last.

      Scully changed into her favorite pair of leggings, their heather gray 
      color faded from many washings, and pulled on her navy blue FBI Academy 
      sweatshirt, fluffing her hands through her hair to neaten it.  She hung up 
      the suit and tucked her blouse in the laundry bag she reserved for the dry 
      cleaners, shivering with a brief chill as her bare feet encountered the 
      cold, hardwood floor.  She grabbed a pair of white sweat socks from her 
      drawer and sat on the edge of her bed to pull them on.  The bed was soft, 
      and very tempting.  It would be so easy to just lie back and sink into 
      sleep.  Her stomach voiced its protest and she hauled herself to her feet 
      with a weary sigh, picking her holstered gun up off the bed from where she 
      had placed it as she undressed.  She placed it on her dresser, jammed her 
      socked feet into her moccasin slippers, and trudged down the hall.

      Hungry as she was, Scully really did not feel like fixing an elaborate 
      meal, and eying the contents of her fridge, decided to make a sandwich and 
      re-heat some of the soup her mother had made for her.

      Preparations did not take long, and she was soon ensconced on the sofa in 
      front of the television, enjoying her meal.  A mindless sit-com was 
      playing, and she glanced at it occasionally, not really interested.  As 
      she ate the last bite of her sandwich she remembered her mail that she had 
      grabbed on her way up, and reaching over, plucked it from the side pocket 
      of her briefcase where she had stuffed it.  She flicked through it, seeing 
      nothing of vital importance.  She tossed it on the coffee table to deal 
      with later, and finished the last of her soup.

      Scully carried her dishes into the kitchen and tidied up.  She debated on 
      whether or not to make a cup of tea and decided against it.  She really 
      wanted that bath.

      She went back into the living room and over to her large wooden armoire, 
      where her stereo was.  Opening the doors, she flicked it on to one of her 
      pre-set stations, one that played classical music, and turned it up a bit, 
      liking the piece that was currently playing, although she did not know the 
      composer.

      She hummed along as she went into the bathroom and bent to turn the taps 
      on for the tub, running the water for a few moments until it was hot, 
      before plugging the drain.  She straightened and dried her hands on a 
      towel, and then selected her favorite bubble bath from the assortment of 
      bottles and tubes on the counter, pouring in a generous amount.

      Scully stood there and stared mindlessly at the water filling the tub, at 
      the multitude of bubbles that began to form.  She decided a glass of wine 
      would be the perfect compliment to her relaxing bath and headed back to 
      the kitchen.

      Grabbing a goblet from the cupboard, she placed it on the counter and 
      retrieved the wine bottle from the fridge.  She poured the glass full, 
      placing the bottle on the counter, and lifted the wine to her mouth, 
      taking a small sip.  It was cool and tart on her tongue.    She slowly 
      walked back to the bathroom, carrying the wine glass with her.

      The tub was pretty close to being full, and she took another sip of her 
      wine before placing the glass down on the floor beside it, within easy 
      reach.  She waited a few more seconds and then turned the taps off.  She 
      was just about to peel her socks off when her phone rang.

      Scully briefly considered ignoring it, and then thought, maybe it’s 
      Mulder…She darted into her bedroom, where her portable phone was resting 
      on her night table.  She grabbed it on the fourth ring and gasped, 
      "Scully," into the receiver.

      She fully expected to hear Mulder’s warm chuckle at her hurried greeting, 
      her heart beating just a little faster in anticipation, and was surprised 
      when her mother’s voice responded.  "Hello, Dana.  Did I catch you at a 
      bad time?"

      Scully sank onto her bed, feeling a wave of disappointment that it was not 
      Mulder, and replied, "Hi, Mom.  Actually, I was just about to have a 
	bath."

      She listened to her mother’s tinkling laugh from the other end and smiled 
      to herself.  She heard her mother start to speak, "Well, I know how much 
      you love your baths, so I..."

      There was a knock at her door and she interrupted her mother with a quick, 
      "Mom, I’ll call you back later, okay?  There’s someone at the door."

      She clicked disconnect over her mother’s farewell, and tossing the phone 
      onto her bed, moved quickly down the hall to the door. < Mulder> she was 
      thinking.  He had also recently begun showing up unannounced more 
      frequently, and often with take-out in hand.

      Scully had a smile on her face as she opened the door, not bothering with 
      the peep hole, ready to playfully chastise Mulder for interrupting her 
      bath.

      Her eyes barely registered the strange man pushing inside as she was 
      suddenly forced back, feeling a sharp sting in her arm.  Her eyes blurred 
      and the muscles in her legs turned liquid, dropping her to the floor.  The 
      sound of the door closing echoed loudly in her ears, and her eyes drifted 
      shut.  One last thought lingered feebly…it’s not Mulder.

      Dana Scully’s Apartment
      Georgetown, D.C.

      The man in the tweed coat stared down at Agent Scully for a moment, 
      admiring the spill of her red hair fanning out on the floor where she lay. 
       With a start, he realized he needed to get moving and went back to her 
      door.  He opened it enough to stick his head out and quickly looked both 
      ways down the hall.

      It was empty, so he swiftly bent down and grabbed Agent Scully around the 
      waist, lifting her to a standing position leaning against him.  She was 
      much lighter than her partner, and far easier to maneuver.  In seconds he 
      had her arranged as if she were standing close beside him, her arm slung 
      over his shoulder, and his tightly around her waist.

      He moved out into the hallway, supporting her body against his, and shut 
      her door quietly behind him.  He walked swiftly, straining a little with 
      the effort of half-pulling, half-carrying her dead weight with him, her 
      feet dragging slightly.  He pushed the button for the elevator, staring 
      fixedly at it, mumbling an anxious prayer under his breath that it would 
      be empty.  He had a concocted story ready in his head if it were not, but 
      luck was with him.  He let out an audible sigh of relief as the door 
      opened to reveal the empty car, and dragged her inside.
      As the elevator door closed behind them, down the hall at the apartment 
      across from Scully’s, there was a quiet click as another door was pushed 
      shut.  The woman behind it, who had a nosy habit of watching her 
      neighbors, shook her head curiously at the strange scene she had just 
      witnessed.  As she shuffled back to her easy chair in front of the TV, she 
      told herself she should be used to it by now, what with the woman being an 
      FBI agent and all, but had to admit that had been the oddest by far.  She 
      sank down into her chair with a muffled grunt, and was soon engrossed with 
      her show. 

      Unknown Location
      Several Hours Later

      Awareness came to Mulder slowly, degree by degree.  His head pounded 
      abysmally, and 
      his throat was unbelievably dry.  Obvious side effects to whatever drug or 
      drugs he had 
      been given.  He faintly remembered the prick of a needle and falling to 
      the ground.  He 
      tried to work up some saliva to moisten his mouth, but was unable to,  due 
      to some obstruction there.  He realized he was gagged, tightly, something 
      stuffed in his mouth.  He swallowed involuntarily, and it was like trying 
      to eat cotton.  It also left a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

      He was in blackness, and after attempting to blink several times, 
      understood that he was blindfolded as well, registering the feel of some 
      sort of cloth around his head.  He tried to breath deeply and calmly to 
      slow his suddenly racing heart. 

      Once he calmed, he began to take stock of his situation.

      He was lying on a hard surface, a thinly carpeted floor, he thought.  He 
      could feel the rough nubbiness against his cheek, which was pressed into 
      it due to the awkward position of his body, half on his right side, with 
      his chest and shoulder taking most of his weight.
      His arms were restrained behind him, and he heard the slight clink of 
      metal as he tried unsuccessfully to move more than his fingers, which he 
      wiggled to restart his circulation.  

      Handcuffs.  Probably his own, he thought with wry bitterness.

      He could bend and straighten his legs, and did so a few times, groaning at 
      the ache in his cramped muscles.  His ankles however, were bound together, 
      and by shifting his feet back and forth, he was able to determine it was 
      by some sort of thick rope.

      His bladder was full, and although he was extremely apprehensive, he was 
      also experiencing hunger pains.

      The only positive aspect of his situation was that, as near as he could 
      tell, he was still completely clothed.

      Although he still felt a little fuzzy, Mulder knew the effects of the drug 
      were slowly wearing off.  He felt slightly more alert, more cognizant.  He 
      raised his head with difficulty, feeling the muscles in his neck straining 
      to hold it in that position, trying to get a feel for his surroundings.  

      His nostrils flared slightly.  There was an odor of fresh paint underlying 
      the mustiness of the room in which he lay.  It was only through 
      impressions, or feelings, but he believed that the room was not very 
      large.  He knew it was heated as well, his body temperature was quite 
      comfortable, if a little warm from his exertions and fear.

      Suddenly, Mulder heard a door open, behind him somewhere to his right he 
      thought.  He lay his head back down, trying to relax the muscles that had 
      tensed at the noise.  His heart began pounding faster again.  His 
      breathing seemed unnaturally loud to his ears, panting through the gag, 
      and he tried to breathe evenly.

      Faint sounds, like almost imperceptible footsteps, coming closer.

      The footsteps stopped, and Mulder knew someone was standing over him.

      He heard a giggle, and then rustling sounds.  Suddenly there was a puff of 
      air by his ear as a voice whispered, "I know you're awake."  The rustling 
      sounds again, as if the person had stood. 

      He could not prevent the surprised grunt from escaping his lips when a 
      shoed foot prodded him firmly in the ribs.  He twisted his body away, 
      muscles tensing in anticipation, expecting another blow, but none was 
      forthcoming.

      The footsteps again, and they slowly grew fainter as the person, and 
      Mulder was fairly certain it was a man, the man from the courthouse, 
      walked away.  There was a quiet snick as a door was shut.

      A surge of relief flowed through him and he felt his pounding heart slow, 
      his muscles loosen.   His motion after the poke in the ribs had awakened 
      his bladder again, and he brought his legs up a little, curling his body 
      in to try and relieve the pressure.  Much longer, and he would either 
      embarrass himself, or be forced to try and get the man's attention.

      Mulder tried to get his mind away from the discomfort of his body.  He 
      decided to try some relaxation techniques, knowing they might be a little 
      difficult bound and gagged, but needing to do something.  The blindfold 
      didn't matter, he usually did them with his eyes closed anyway.

      He began taking slow, deliberate breaths, willing his body to relax, 
      starting with his feet.  He imagined them bare and free, his toes 
      wiggling, the ankles rotating loosely.  Going up his legs, feeling each 
      muscle slacken, along his upper torso.  His fingertips, his arms, his 
      neck, imagining each one in turn.  He unclenched his jaw, and eased his 
      face into the carpet.

      Now, to try and clear his mind.  He thought about a happy place.  Did he 
      have a happy place?  Anywhere with Scully, was his mind's prompt response. 
       He realized it was true.
      Even in danger, wandering in the woods, fighting evil monsters, if he was 
      with Scully, somehow none of those things were as frightening.   Not that 
      he wished danger upon her, ever.  These things just seemed to happen to 
      them, and together they faced them, depending and relying on each other's 
      strength.

      Scully.  He pictured her clearly in his mind.  She was sitting on his 
      couch, carefree and relaxed, as he so rarely saw her, or she so rarely 
      allowed him to see her, he corrected himself, and he smiled at the 
      contentment he saw on her face.  It made him content.

      Mulder drifted to sleep, thinking of Scully.

      ***


      The next time he awoke, Mulder knew he was not alone.  He could not help 
      the startled jerk of his body when he realized that fact.  He heard a 
      giggle again, and it was close.  The man was next to him.

      That puff of breath by his ear again, and then the low voice, "This is 
      just to help you relax." 

      At the same time the man spoke, Mulder felt a jab in his thigh.  He 
      wondered what he had been injected with this time.  In moments he felt 
      like he was floating.  

      Mulder felt the handcuffs being undone, and he was rolled onto his back, 
      his arms laying down by his sides.  He tried to move them, to reach up and 
      take off his blindfold, but he could not.  He was aware of his body, but 
      unable to control it.  

      First one wrist and then the other were locked into the handcuffs, this 
      time in front of him.  He felt hands go around his upper arms, and he was 
      hauled to his feet, not realizing until that moment that his ankles were 
      no longer bound.  He wobbled unsteadily, and if not for those same hands 
      holding him up, thought he would have crashed back to the floor.

      The hands tugged him forward, and Mulder found he was able to walk, if 
      with difficulty.  The ground felt far away and unstable, bringing to mind 
      childhood memories of walking on a carnival fun house floor, the kind that 
      shifted and wobbled with every step.  

      He was bumped into a doorframe as they walked, and felt the change not 
      only in the floor beneath his feet, but a drop in temperature as well, as 
      they entered another room.  It was harder, like tile, and his shoes 
      clicked faintly as he stepped on it.  The sanitized smell told him he was 
      in a bathroom.

      The man stopped him, and he felt something hard against the insides of his 
      shoes.  One of the cuffs was undone, and that freed hand dropped to his 
      side.   His other arm was lifted and moved until he felt the coldness of a 
      tiled wall against his palm.   He leaned his weight against it, having 
      lost the extra support of the stranger's hands.  He heard the loose cuff 
      snap around something, a pipe, he thought, and then the man spoke, his 
      voice echoing eerily.

      "I figured you might need to relieve yourself."  There was a clunk of 
      plastic against porcelain, and then the voice continued.  "The seat is up, 
      try not to make a mess."

      Mulder could hear nothing further, and could not tell if the man was there 
      or not.  He was uncomfortable enough having to do this blindfolded, but 
      the fact that he possibly had an audience somehow made it worse.  He was 
      tempted to refuse, but the fullness of his bladder, coupled with the 
      thought that it might very well become the last time the opportunity was 
      offered, convinced him it was a necessity.

      Grimacing, he unzipped his pants and awkwardly shifted himself free of the 
      confines of his clothes.   He leaned forward slightly, his calves pressed 
      against the toilet bowl, and aimed, hoping it was true.  He sighed with 
      relief as his bladder was emptied, the sounds of the loud splashing 
      filling his ears.  He waited a moment, shaking himself, before readjusting 
      himself.  He had never before had to do it one-handed, and it was a 
      struggle.

      One footstep on the tile, and he jerked a little.   The man had been 
      there, silent.  Mulder was thankful his mouth was gagged, it kept the 
      sarcastic comment in his mind, where he would be safe from any 
      repercussions.  Did you enjoy the show?

      The man leaned against him, and Mulder cringed away slightly.  The cuff 
      around the pipe was undone and he was slowly turned.  His hands were 
      cuffed, behind his back again, and he was slowly prodded forward and out 
      of the bathroom.


      This time he counted his footsteps, eleven until he was brought to a stop, 
      although he had no idea if this was the same spot where he had been 
      earlier.  A firm nudge at the backs of his knees, and he dropped to the 
      ground, landing gracelessly on his side with an uncomfortable jolt.

      He shifted, trying to get the weight off of his hip where he had landed.  
      He managed, with some effort, to bring himself into a seated position on 
      his rear, his legs out in front of him.   He wondered why the man had not 
      re-tied his ankles, but was thankful he had not.  Perhaps he would have a 
      chance later to use that to his advantage.  Not yet, though, he was still 
      weak, and he did not know enough about his situation and the surroundings. 
       He would wait.  Listen, and learn.

      Mulder tensed as he felt the man's legs brush against his upper body, and 
      sensed that the man had knelt down behind him.  He felt hands on his hair, 
      and he twitched away.  The hands gave a sharp tug, yanking his head back, 
      and he felt the gag loosen and fall away.
      He spit the wad of cloth out of his mouth, swallowing several times.

      There was a rustle of movement, and the feeling of someone behind him 
      eased. "Here," the voice said.  Beside him now.

      He felt a small plastic rim at his lips.  He tilted his head, and cool 
      water poured into his mouth.  He gulped it down gratefully, and gasped, 
      "More," when the plastic was pulled away. 

      "Not now," the voice said.

      Mulder was disappointed, the brief drink had not quenched his thirst, 
      merely teased him into wanting more.  At least his mouth was not as dry, 
      and the awful taste was gone from the back of his throat.  He moved his 
      jaw from side to side, and opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying 
      to erase the ache from being gagged for he didn't know how long.

      Mulder realized he did not know if the man was still there or not.  He 
      cocked his head to one side, trying to concentrate, to listen for any 
      sound.

      "Are you there?" he asked finally.  His voice was raspy and hoarse from 
      disuse.  He coughed a few times to clear it.  "Hello?"  The minutes ticked 
      by, an eternity in his mind.
      The silence was deafening.  He realized his pulse had sped up again as he 
      tried to detect some sign that the man had not left, the sound of his 
      heartbeats becoming unnaturally loud in his ears. 

      Mulder inhaled slowly and deeply.  In and out.  Again and again.  His 
      heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace, and his tensed shoulders relaxed.  
      He could not help but wonder about the man, and why he had taken him.  He 
      was still sure it was the man from the courthouse, and he did not 
      recognize him.  Perhaps the man was someone he had investigated or 
      encountered in his years with the Bureau, but he rarely forgot a face or a 
      case.   He could not think of why else the man could have wanted to kidnap 
      him and bring him here.  

      The faintest of sounds interrupted his musings, and he immediately tensed 
      again, breathing and heart speeding up again.  He felt like one of 
      Pavlov's dogs, hear a noise and start to panic.   Keep calm, Mulder, he 
      told himself.  Easier said than done.

      A footstep, beside him.  That giggle once again.  Then nothing.

      It was driving him crazy.  "Why don't you say something?" Mulder finally 
      yelled.  He knew he should not antagonize the man, and lowered his voice.  
      "Tell me who you are.  Why am I here?  What do you want?"

      That ticking in his mind again.  Waiting, listening.

      "I want…" the voice said finally.  "You want to know what I want."

      The voice was all around him, he could not pinpoint the man's location, 
      and Mulder pictured the man circling around him like a shark.

      "Yes," Mulder said.  "Talk to me.  I want to know."  Keep him talking, 
      Mulder thought to himself.  Find out more, maybe you can find a way to 
      deal with him, talk him out of whatever he had planned.

      Tick, tick, tick.

      "I saw you," the voice said.  "At the courthouse."  There was a pause.  
      "You intrigued me, you and your partner."

      Mulder tensed at the mention of Scully.

      "I watched you two.  How you were with each other.  Close, like lovers, 
      but yet not."

      This time Mulder caught faint shuffling sounds as the man moved around the 
      room.  He seemed to be able to control the noise he made, to be silent 
      when he wanted, for shock and surprise.

      "Your silent communication was the most astounding aspect of what I 
      observed," he continued.  "Thoughts just winged back and forth between 
      you.  It was like watching a conversation, one that could not be heard."

      The man was silent again, and Mulder waited.  Somehow, he did not think 
      the man was finished speaking yet.  He wanted to ask him his name, to call 
      him something other than 'the man'.  It could also allow him to connect 
      with him, build up a trust of sorts, something he could use to learn more, 
      or to talk his way out this situation.  He was hesitant to interrupt 
      though, wanting to hear what the man had to say.

      "I liked to study people," the man said, finally, his voice musing.

      Mulder realized the man was changing direction, becoming introspective, 
      and he was interested.  He needed to know this man's psyche.  To 
      understand it, maybe learn how to deal with him.

      "I was…I  am a psychologist," the man continued, his voice a singsong.  
      Mulder caught the use of the past tense, switched quickly to the present, 
      and made a mental note to himself.  "Like yourself."  A pause, and then 
      the man continued.  "I loved to study human behavior." 

      There it was again, the past tense, very telling.  There was something 
      there, Mulder knew.  He would get to it, somehow.   He held himself 
      silent, waiting.

      "The people that came to see me, my clients, they were so interesting, so 
      fascinating.  I could sit for hours, listening to their problems, their 
      fears.  And the way they hung on my every word as I helped them, it was 
      incredible.  So easy to get a God complex that way."  He spoke so 
      matter-of-factly.  "I started to…I guess misdiagnose them is a good way to 
      put it.  To give them the wrong advice.  To see what would happen."

      There was complete silence for long moments, no movements, nothing.

      When the man finally spoke, it was in a whisper.  "I left the room after 
      telling my client that I agreed with his girlfriend's accusations about 
      him having a sexual obsession with young children.  When I returned, he 
      had slashed his wrists with my letter opener.  There was blood everywhere, 
      brilliant red.  It was beautiful.  He was lying on the floor, he must have 
      fallen after cutting himself, and I sat down beside him and watched him 
      die."

      The man's recitation was chilling, and Mulder could not help feeling 
      stunned at what he had revealed.  He knew there were evil people out 
      there, how could he not?  His years in Violent Crimes had shown that time 
      and time again, not to mention he and Scully's encounters with all sorts 
      of sick and twisted individuals.  But to hear that a doctor, who had 
      chosen to help people with psychological disorders and problems, who had 
      taken an oath to do so, had let his patient bleed to death, was still a 
      shock.

      "I could have helped him.  Applied pressure, called an ambulance.  I chose 
      to let him die. It was…incredible.  Rapturous, arousing.  To know I had 
      that power over life and death.
      I watched the light go out of his eyes, and it was beautiful."

      The man giggled softly, and the sound sent shivers up and down Mulder's 
      spine.  "So I began to experiment more.  To influence their thinking, to 
      encourage them to do harm, to themselves, and to others.  It wasn't as 
      exciting to hear about it second-hand, though.
      I wanted to see them in pain, to see them die."

      Mulder had an icy cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He thought he 
      knew why he was there now. 

      "I liked to hear them scream," the voice continued.  A high-pitched giggle 
      followed that statement.  "Oh, how I liked to hear them scream."  He 
      sighed then, deeply, and it was a sigh of loss and regret.

      His voice became wistful.  "I was with one of my patients, and I thought 
      the door was locked.  My office was sound proofed, no one could ever hear 
      anything that went on in there, and I always sent my secretary away…but 
      she had forgotten to give me a message and she walked in as I was playing 
      with my patient.  She looked at me with such horror in her eyes, and then 
      ran away.  She must have called the police, for they were there in no 
      time, and it was too late to hide anything."

      Mulder could hear the man's footsteps again, and he seemed to be pacing, 
      following the same path back and forth, over and over.

      "They took away my license," the man continued, and his voice was sad, and 
      bewildered, like a child who had been punished for a bad deed, and didn't 
      know why.  The footsteps stopped and the room was quiet again.

      Mulder shifted uncomfortably, his arms were aching from being restrained 
      behind his back, and his head had begun a slow, steady pounding.  He had 
      been trying not to delve into thoughts of what was going to happen to him.

      The sound must have distracted the man from his reveries, for he spoke 
      again, and Mulder could hear the outrage now.  "They locked me away in a 
      MADHOUSE!" he roared, and Mulder jumped, for somehow the man had moved 
      behind him and spoken right in his ear.  "They told me I was criminally 
      insane, that I was a danger not only to society, but to myself as well." 

      Hands grasped Mulder's shoulders suddenly and he jolted.  The hands shook 
      him as the voice continued yelling.  "YEARS!  I was there for YEARS!  They 
      drugged me, and locked me in a padded room.  Do you know what it's like, 
      to be treated like that?"  The hands released him suddenly, shoving at 
      him, and he fell onto one side, grunting as he landed bruisingly on his 
      shoulder.

      Mulder felt something brush against his ankles, and realized the man was 
      tying them up again, tightly, the rope digging into his flesh.  

      A whisper of sound as the man moved away from him.

      "But I fooled them, oh yes, I did.  I waited, and I played their game, 
      docile and behaved, and then I escaped."

      Mulder listened to the sound of his giggles as the man left the room.

      ***

      Some time later, and Mulder had no way of telling how long, he heard the 
      door open and the man come in.  He could hear the man's footsteps, and 
      something else.  It sounded like he was dragging something.  Or someone.  
      Scully?  He just knew it was her. He struggled up until he was sitting 
      awkwardly, bound legs swinging around in front.

      He felt a brush against his feet, and then he smelled her.  Scully.  It 
      was her.  He would recognize her perfume anywhere.  Delicate and pretty, 
      like her.  He croaked her name, his voice hoarse and scratchy.  "Scully."

      There was no reply, but he thought he heard a faint muffled grunt under 
      the sound of the man's maniacal giggling.  The giggles finally stopped, 
      and the man whispered, "Amazing.  He knew she was here."   One last 
      giggle, and then, "This is going to be fun." 

      Mulder knew the man was talking to himself.  About how Mulder had known 
      Scully was there.  The last sentence sent a shiver of fear down his spine. 
       He pushed it away, he had to know how Scully was.

      "Scully."  He said it louder, head cocked as he strained to hear 
      something, anything that would tell him she had heard him.

      The blindfold was suddenly torn off his head, and Mulder blinked 
      furiously, eyes watering in pain from the glaring white brightness of the 
      room.  His vision was blurry, fuzzy, and he kept blinking until it 
	cleared.

      The breath left his lungs in a rushing whoosh.  Scully lay on the floor, 
      several feet from where he lay.  There was a black cloth wrapped around 
      her eyes, dark against her red hair, and the blindfold and her hair were 
      bright spots of color in the empty white room.
      Her hands were bound behind her, but he could not see with what, as she 
      lay facing him, but her ankles were tied with rope like his.  There was a 
      gag in her mouth too, and he could see that she was straining against it 
      to make more noise than the muffled grunts that were escaping.

      The man stepped into view, and Mulder saw that it was indeed the man from 
      the courthouse.  He walked over to Scully, and Mulder tensed, but he 
      merely yanked her gag down, the cloth settling around her neck.  She spit 
      out the wad of material that had been in her mouth, and called out, 
      "Mulder?"  Her voice cracked, and it was filled with fear and confusion.

      "I'm here," he croaked back, and he saw her relax slightly in relief, a 
      small twitch of her lips that was almost a smile.  He felt an answering 
      one on his own lips.  Leave it to us to be happy to see each other in a 
      situation like this, he thought.  Although he knew it wasn't happiness, it 
      was relief, pure and simple.  His thoughts had been filled with worry for 
      her, and he knew hers had been filled with thoughts of him.  He stared at 
      her, eyes running over her length, checking for signs of injury or hurt. 
      He noticed then that she was dressed casually, in leggings and a 
      sweatshirt, with slippers on her feet.  She must have been taken from 
      home.    

      The man stepped away from her and Mulder watched as he moved to stand in a 
      spot that was midway between he and Scully, where he could see both of 
      them equally.  The man crouched down, and stared, a small smile on his 
      face.

      Mulder wet his lips and said, "What do you want with us?  Why are you 
      doing this?"  He saw Scully start as he spoke, and she cocked her head to 
      listen.

      The man looked at him, that same smile still on his face.  He brought one 
      hand up to his face and rubbed his chin, almost in the Thinker's pose.  
      "Why, you ask, Fox, oh no, wait, you like to be called 'Mulder'."  He 
      paused with another smile and then continued.   "Why, Mulder?"  he asked, 
      voice musing.  "Why, why, why."

      The man stared at Scully as he spoke, but Mulder got the feeling he was 
      not really seeing her, that she was just something to focus his gaze on as 
      he thought.  "Well, I could bore you with stories of my troubled 
      childhood, except it wasn't troubled, I was raised in a very loving 
      environment by both my parents.  I could tell you I was changed by the 
      horrors of war, except I've never had to experience war beyond what I have 
      seen on television.  I could tell you that I became addicted to drugs and 
      would do anything to feed my addiction, but, sorry, that's not the case, 
      either."  He giggled again, and continued, "Don't try and profile me, 
      Mulder.  It won't work." 

      The man stood, and began to walk around the room.  Mulder followed his 
      motions with his eyes, turning his head and shifting his body a little 
      when it became necessary to keep the man in his sight. 

      Mulder's earlier impressions about the room, while blindfolded, had been 
      pretty accurate.  The room was not large, perhaps 15' by 20', and he was 
      sitting on a carpeted floor, the color of which was white, to match the 
      walls.  There was no furniture in the room at all, nor were there any 
      windows, but there was a post of sorts directly behind him.  He had caught 
      glimpses of it as he had moved to watch the man walk around the room.  
      There was one door behind him to his left, the one through which the man 
      had dragged Scully.  There was another one, on the wall adjoining, to his 
      right.  It was closed, perhaps a closet.  He remembered his trip to the 
      bathroom, and realized that was probably it.  

      The man came to a stop behind Mulder, and he felt himself tense again.  
      The man's hand was on his head suddenly, forcing it down towards his lap.  
      The man leaned his knee on Mulder's neck, keeping Mulder in the painful 
      position.  Mulder could feel his neck and back muscles straining, and felt 
      his forehead start to pulse with all the blood rushing to it.   
      One of the cuffs came undone, and his arm was twisted up painfully, and 
      pulled back a little.  He felt the hardness of the post against his arm 
      and heard the clink of the metal as his hand was re-cuffed, so that he now 
      was handcuffed to the post.

      The man's knee lifted and Mulder gasped in relief as he straightened.  He 
      rolled his head and shoulders to ease both his neck and his back.  He saw 
      the man glide over to stand behind Scully again, and knew suddenly why the 
      man had cuffed him against the post.  To stop him from trying to get to 
      Scully when…when he touched her.

      The man knelt beside her, his hands going to her upper arms and lifting 
      her into an upright position.  She ended up sitting on her legs bent 
      beneath her, almost kneeling, her mouth open slightly and her chest rising 
      and falling rapidly as she began to pant with fear.  "Mulder?" she said, 
      and her voice was quavery.

      The man giggled in her ear, and her mouth clamped shut, her lips 
      tightening, skin crawling at the sound and his proximity.  His hand 
      stroked her hair and she pulled away, her nostrils flaring, flinching at 
      his touch.

      Mulder saw the rage cross the man's face and his mouth opened to yell…

      BAM!  

      The man's fist slammed into her head.  

      Scully fell over with the force of the blow and Mulder screamed, "NOOOOO!" 


      The man kicked her in the side, hard, yelling at her to get up.  Scully 
      cried out in pain, and he kicked her again, twice, more forcibly.  She 
      felt ribs crack and could not stop the choked scream from escaping her 
      mouth.  She tried to get up.  She could get no leverage with her hands 
      bound behind her, and the pain in her side was overwhelming.  Her ears 
      were ringing from the blow to her head.  Dimly she heard Mulder calling 
      her name frantically, begging her to get up, for the man to leave her 
      alone. < Mulder.  I'm trying, Mulder> she thought.

      The man looked at Mulder with a smile of pure delight.  "Human behavior is 
      so complex.  I am glad I was right in this.  Watching and hearing your 
      reactions is almost as much fun as doing this."  He reached down and 
      yanked Scully up by her hair, smiling as she moaned.  His hand was 
      clutched around a handful of her hair, close to her scalp, and he held her 
      tightly, so that she was facing Mulder.  His other hand yanked the 
      blindfold down, to join the cloth that had gagged her, lying around her 
      neck.

      Mulder stared at her eyes, swimming with tears, and his heart ached.  She 
      was hunching slightly to one side, as much as the grip on her hair pulling 
      her upright would allow her to, trying to ease the pain in her side from 
      where his foot had connected with her ribs.  He could see she was panting, 
      chest heaving as she breathed.  He saw her mouth move, saw his name on her 
      lips, but there was no sound. Mulder.

      Scully.  His own lips moved soundlessly as well.  Mulder tried to reassure 
      her with his eyes, to tell her everything was going to be okay, but he 
      knew she did not believe him, could not.  His own breath was loud in his 
      ears as it hissed rapidly in and out of his mouth, still thrumming with 
      adrenaline.  He realized that the muscles in his arms were screaming with 
      pain.  He had lunged forward when the bastard had hit Scully, straining 
      towards her, the metal of the cuffs digging deeply into his wrists.  He 
      sagged back finally, his back thunking against the post.  

      The man giggled again and let go of Scully's hair.  She could not hold 
      herself up, and crumpled to the ground.  She tensed, mind screaming NO!  
      Expecting another kick.  But none came and she nearly sobbed with relief, 
      her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  She felt a wave of shame, that she could 
      be so weak and afraid.  She was stronger than this.

      Scully slowly became aware Mulder was loudly whispering her name, the 
      panic and concern seeping into her consciousness.  She popped her eyes 
      open to see him leaning forward and staring at her, his eyes worried.  She 
      lifted her head slightly, and it throbbed in reaction.   She shut her eyes 
      quickly for a moment as the room tilted, and then opened them again, 
      cautiously.   Her head still hurt, terribly, but her vision seemed all 
      right.   She searched the room as much as she was able, but could not see 
      the man anywhere.

      "Scully, he's gone," Mulder whispered, seeing her looking around the room. 
       After Scully had fallen back to the floor, the man had glided past 
      Mulder, giving him one last gleeful look, before going out the door.  
      "Scully, are you all right?"  He was worried about that blow to her head, 
      she seemed kind of out of it. 

      "I'm okay," she mumbled back, trying to move to a more comfortable 
      position, without aggravating her ribs or head further.  Not easily done.  
      She shifted, and bit back a moan as the motion sent waves of pain coursing 
      through her body.  

      "Scully?" Mulder called.  He'd heard her faint moan, could see her trying 
      to move.  "Scully, do you think you can move towards me?"  He would feel 
      better if he could touch her, even if it was just some part of her against 
      his legs.

      Scully raised her head again, not remembering lying it down.  She stared 
      at Mulder, at the maybe three feet that separated them.  Three feet that 
      seemed like three miles.  She was having enough trouble trying to find a 
      position that didn't tug or pull at her ribs.  "I'll try," she replied.

      Mulder watched as she slowly rolled onto her uninjured side, her face 
      scrunched up in pain.  He was wincing himself as he saw her struggling.

      Scully brought her knees up to her chest and by both pushing down with her 
      legs and forward with her upper body, managed to slide herself about half 
      a foot closer to Mulder, feeling the warmth of carpet burn along her side. 
      She relaxed her tense muscles for a moment, panting with the effort, 
      trying not to think of the pain in her ribs.  She brought her knees up 
      again and repeated the motion, this time managing to slide a whole foot.  
      She rested again, raising her head slightly to look at Mulder.  He was 
      staring at her, encouraging her with his eyes, a mixed look of hope, 
      admiration and sympathy for her pain on his face.  It gave her strength to 
      go on, and she did it one more time, heaving herself forward with great 
      effort.  She was rewarded when she felt her head bump firmly into his 
      thigh.

      "Oh, Scully," Mulder whispered.  He wanted so badly to touch her, to 
      stroke his hand through her hair.  

      One more slight push and she was able to lift her head and lay it on his 
      thigh, his leg warm and hard beneath her cheek.   It felt so comforting to 
      be close to him. She was panting with exertion, her mind and body 
      exhausted.  She felt her eyes closing.  

      "Scully?" Mulder whispered again.  He could see her eyes were closed, and 
      he was worried she had passed out.  He had wanted to talk to her, to get 
      her impressions of the man that held them, to see if they could work out a 
      plan to escape, somehow.  He did not know how long the man would leave 
      them alone, or if this would be their only chance.

      "It's okay, Mulder," she whispered back.  "I'm just so tired."

      "Okay, Scully.  You rest," Mulder said, and contented himself with 
      watching her breath, her chest rising and falling slowly as she slipped 
      into sleep.  Her eyelids fluttered once, and then were still.

      His own eyes were getting heavy.  He knew it was from the drugs still 
      lingering in his system, and the letdown from his adrenaline rush, not to 
      mention the fact that he was just plain tired.  He had not slept much 
      during the last week of the Corliss trial, and it was definitely catching 
      up on him.

      Mulder fell asleep.

      ***

      Scully woke with a gasp when she felt something touching her legs.  She 
      lifted her head and saw the man untying the rope from her ankles.

      The man looked up when he heard her gasp and smiled, before returning to 
      his task.

      Scully turned her head slightly and looked at Mulder.  He was asleep, his 
      head hanging low, his chin resting against his chest, rising rhythmically 
      with his breaths, his body slumped.  She could not tell if it was a 
      natural sleep or a drugged one.

      She felt the rope fall away from her legs and then the man was grasping 
      her by her upper arm, hauling her to her feet.  She moaned as the motion 
      made her head swim and her ribs scream with pain.

      The man giggled, and hauled her forward.  

      Her legs were rubbery, and she had a hard time placing her feet.  She 
      nearly stumbled and his grip on her arm tightened, holding her up, still 
      pulling her forward.

      They walked to the door she had noticed earlier, and he turned the knob 
      and pushed it open.  It was a bathroom, small, white and smelling of 
      antiseptic.  He pushed her inside, but did not follow, and she swayed on 
      her feet as his supporting hand left her.  She felt him untying her wrists 
      and then her arms fell to her sides.  They tingled painfully, and she 
      tried rolling her shoulders and swinging them a little to ease the pain.  
      She slowly brought them forward and up, looking at her wrists.  They were 
      red and swollen, grooves and abrasions in the skin from the rope.

      "Go to the bathroom," he said, and it hit her suddenly how full her 
      bladder was, extremely so, in fact.  She stumbled forward to the toilet 
      and stood for a moment, staring at it, wondering if he was going to give 
      her some privacy.  "Now," came his command.

      She turned to ready herself to sit, her hands going to the waistband of 
      her leggings.  She glanced nervously at the doorway.  Although he had not 
      closed the door, at least he was not standing there watching her.  She 
      pulled her clothing down and sat down gingerly, feeling an ache from her 
      ribs as she did so.  The relief was instantaneous.  She finished up and 
      rose carefully, fixing her clothes.

      There was a small towel on the little counter with a sink, and a 
      half-empty bottle of Evian water sat beside it.  She washed her hands, and 
      splashed some water on her face, then dried off on the towel.  She stared 
      at the bottle for a moment.  She wondered who had drank the first half, 
      and if the water was drugged.  She swallowed heavily, her mouth and throat 
      dry.  This could be your last chance, she thought.  She grabbed it up and 
      tipped the bottle to her mouth, slowly convulsively.  It was not very 
      cold, but at least it was wet.

      With one last swallow it was suddenly gone, and she lowered the empty 
      bottle reluctantly.  It had been good, but not nearly enough.

      The man's voice came suddenly.  "Step out of the bathroom and kneel on the 
      floor."

      She put the bottle back on the counter. It was plastic, and useless as a 
      weapon.  She scanned the room quickly, but there was nothing else.  She 
      did not want to anger the man, and slowly stepped out of the bathroom, 
      moving a few feet in front of the door, and got down to her knees, feeling 
      a twinge in her side as she did.

      He came behind her, and his arms came around her and reached for the black 
      cloth of the blindfold, pulling it up and over her eyes, checking that the 
      knot was still tight, and that it wouldn't slip.  She could hear rustling 
      sounds, and then when she felt him re-tying her wrists, knew he was 
      kneeling behind her.  The rope cut into her skin again, and she winced a 
      little.  

      Rustling sounds again as he stood and then his hand came down and grabbed 
      her upper arm again, hauling her to her feet.  She had seen that he was 
      not an overly big man, although he was as tall as Mulder, and she was 
      surprised at his strength.  She wondered if he took drugs of some sort, to 
      give him strength, or if it was just his madness that gave it to him.

      The hand tightened a little, pulling her forward.  She had no choice but 
      to begin to walk, fearing he would just drag her again if she did not.  
      She knew when they passed Mulder, she heard his breathing, a little 
      labored from his position, and caught a faint whiff of his cologne, as 
      familiar to her as her own perfume.

      The man led her from the room and they walked for a few feet, before he 
      let go of her arm and pushed her down.  She had no leverage, and fell 
      heavily, landing on her injured side.  She cried out, feeling a wave of 
      nausea nearly overwhelm her.  She began to take deep breaths, and slowly 
      the feeling faded.  She was vaguely aware of the man retying her ankles.

      Scully rested her cheek on the carpet, the faint smell of must in her 
      nose.  She thought she had been here before, but had no way of knowing for 
      sure.  She had awoken, God knows how long ago, feeling cold and scared.  
      She had been blindfolded, gagged and bound.  She remembered going to 
      answer her door, sure it was Mulder, and being knocked to the ground.  She 
      had a fleeting memory of a man, and then blackness.

      She had felt hands suddenly on her upper arms and then she was being 
      dragged across the floor.  Her legs bumped against something, a doorframe, 
      she thought, and knew she was in another room.  The hands continued to 
      drag her, and she felt something else briefly against her legs.  She had 
      an impression of shoes, and then she was pulled further and suddenly let 
      go.

      She had heard Mulder's voice say her name, questioningly, and then the man 
      mumbled something.  She could hear him moving around, talking, telling 
      Mulder about himself.   Then her gag had been pulled off, and she had spit 
      cloth out of her mouth, saying Mulder's name.  The relief she had felt 
      knowing he was there with her, even over fear for both of them, had 
      surprised her.

      Scully began to breathe heavily, remembering the hand yanking her to her 
      knees, feeling the man behind her, his hand in her hair.  She had 
      flinched, and then the blow to her head.  Falling, helpless to stop 
      herself, Mulder's drawn out cry faint through the ringing in her ears.  
      Then the incredible pain in her ribs, as the man had kicked her 
      repeatedly.  Hearing Mulder begging her to get up.  The hand in her hair, 
      hard, pulling her up to her knees.  Then he had pulled her blindfold off, 
      and she had seen Mulder.

      The hand had let go of her hair, and she had fallen, the pain incredible.  
      Mulder had called to her, and she had managed to drag herself to him, 
      before falling into a pain-filled sleep.  Then being awoken to go to the 
      bathroom.

      So here she was again, cold, scared and hurt.  She could not hear the man, 
      had no idea if he was still there.  She tried to get comfortable, laughing 
      inside at the word, how could she be comfortable?  She wished she was 
      still with Mulder, to gain strength from his nearness, to not be alone.  

      The darkness was total, and she fell asleep.


      ***

      Mulder came awake slowly.  That dryness in his mouth was back, the awful 
      taste in his throat.  He must have been drugged again.  He raised his 
      head, his neck sore from having been in the same position for some time.  
      He rotated it slowly, wishing he could rub it with his hands or that 
      Scully could give him a neck rub.  Scully.  

      He panicked, realizing she was no longer resting on his leg.  He looked 
      around frantically, wondering how long she had been gone.  He yelled her 
      name, loudly.

      His only response was a giggle.  Behind him.  He turned his head to the 
      side as far as it would go, but could not see.  "Where is she?" he yelled. 
       "What did you do to her?"

      Silence again.  "You bastard!" he cried.  "Talk to me!"  His breath was 
      coming fast, his heart racing.  How could he have fallen asleep?  He 
      should have stayed awake, protected her.  He snorted to himself.  How 
      could he protect her?

      "Don't call me a bastard," the man hissed in his ear, and then the man 
      kicked him in the thigh, hard.  

      Mulder flinched, but did not cry out.  "Then what should I call you?" he 
      said, trying to keep his voice calm and modulated.  He could not afford to 
      anger him, he did not know what the man was capable of, or would do to 
      him, or to Scully.  He felt a dart of fear.  Maybe he had already done 
      something, something more, to her.  Stop thinking like that, he told 
      himself.  He forced himself to take deep, even breaths, to slow his racing 
      heart.

      "Let's see," the man said, as he came from behind Mulder to crouch a few 
      feet away, in Mulder's line of sight.  "How about Dr. Feel Good?"  He 
      giggled, quite amused with himself.  He watched Mulder's eyes, and Mulder 
      kept them open, focused on the man's face.  "No?"  He continued after a 
      moment.  He rose to stand, and began pacing again.  "I actually loved to 
      hear people say my name.  My patients, my colleagues, my secretary.  It 
      sounded so important, so dignified.  I was so proud the day I officially 
      became Dr. Mark Campbell.  Dr. Campbell, the name seemed to roll off my 
      tongue.  I would stand in front of the mirror, saying it over and over 
      again.  Getting it just right."

      He had come closer to Mulder with his pacing, and whirled suddenly, 
      dropping to a crouch and leaning forward, just inches from Mulder's face.  
      "I want to hear you say my name."

      Mulder swallowed, wanting to pull away, feeling the man's warm breath 
      against his cheek, but did not.  He held steady, still meeting the man's 
      eyes, and said, "Dr. Campbell, where is she?"

      "That doesn't matter right now," Dr. Campbell replied.  He was still 
      leaning close to Mulder, staring curiously at him.  "I want to understand 
      the connection between you, how you knew she was there.  How do you do 
	it?"

      Mulder could not explain, how could he? He didn't really understand it 
      himself.  The connection was just there.  He felt more alive, saw better, 
      heard better, when Scully was near. He usually knew instantly when she 
      entered a room, even before he saw or smelled her.  With one glance, he 
      could determine her moods.  Most of the time, anyway, he thought. There 
      had been times when he had been way off base.  He felt complete when she 
      was with him.  As he had told her not so long ago, she was his touchstone.


      Mulder could not say any of that to Dr. Campbell, it was private, and none 
      of the man's business.  So he lied, and hoped the doctor would not know.  
      "I have a very strong olfactory sense.  I could smell her perfume.  I gave 
      it to her one Christmas."  He actually wasn't lying, he had smelled her 
      perfume.  But it had been after he had just known that she was there.

      Dr. Campbell made a humming noise as he mulled Mulder's answer over.  
      "Perhaps," he said quietly.  "But I don't think so.  There's something 
      more, something you're not telling me."  He smiled then, a cold smile, one 
      that sent chills down Mulder's spine.  "We'll talk more, later," he said, 
      rising to his feet.  He walked away, his steps almost silent, and if 
      Mulder had not seen him exit the door, closing it behind him, he would not 
      have been sure if Dr. Campbell had left the room or not.

      Mulder released the breath he had unconsciously been holding after Dr. 
      Campbell had smiled, and sagged against the post.  He tugged again at his 
      wrists, but they were still handcuffed.  How in the hell was he going to 
      get them out of here?  

      Mulder thought furiously.  How long had he, had they been here?  He did 
      not know if it was morning or night, or which day it was.  The lights of 
      the room had been on every time he was conscious, and there were no 
      windows.  He had not noticed if Dr. Campbell had been wearing a watch, and 
      cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner.  He would have to look the 
      next time the doctor was back, and hope that the doctor had one on, and 
      that he would be able to read it.

      His only hope was that when they did not show for their meeting with 
      Skinner, whether the time for that had passed yet or not, he did not know, 
      their superior would be concerned and try and track them down.  But how 
      Skinner would actually find them here, wherever here was, he did not know.

      Perhaps Scully would have a chance.  Her hands were not handcuffed, but 
      only bound with rope.  Only. He shook his head at himself.  She was 
      injured, and her hands were bound behind her.  How could he expect her to 
      free herself?  Unless the doctor made an error somehow, left her unbound 
      for a moment, gave her a chance to hit him…

      Mulder thought about the doctor.  He was unstable, yes, so perhaps a 
      chance would come.  The doctor had also not drugged him in awhile, maybe 
      he would forget and the next time Mulder's hands were free, he would make 
      his move.  He sighed heavily, a lot was riding on whether the doctor made 
      a mistake, or slipped up somehow.

      Mulder found he was tired again.  Sitting reasonably inactive, and with 
      little company except his own mind, he could not muster the strength to 
      stay awake.  His eyes closed, and he promised himself he would only doze.  
      For just a little while.

      Within minutes, his head slipped back down to his chest, and his soft 
      snores filled the room.

      ***

      Mulder's sleep was troubled.  He kept seeing Dr. Campbell as he held 
      Scully by her hair.  Saw his fist smash into her head.  Saw his foot 
      kicking her in the side.  

      He jerked awake with a gasp, muscles aching as he strained upwards. His 
      eyes popped open, and Scully was lying a few feet away.  Her mouth was 
      gagged again, and she was staring at him, her own eyes wide.

      Mulder saw that she was actually looking behind him, and turned his head 
      to the side, craning it upwards.  Dr. Campbell was standing directly over 
      him, a curious look on his face.

      "How interesting," he mused.  "She was in here less than a minute, and you 
      awoke.  Is your sub-conscious as aware of her as your conscious self?"  
      Dr. Campbell began to pace around the room.  "Remarkable, really.  I have 
      never seen such a link between two people.  I would love to study you two 
      in every day situations for a great length of time.  I did manage to 
      observe you in the courthouse, but that wasn't nearly enough."  He sighed, 
      still pacing about, one hand rubbing his chin.  "It would certainly make 
      an interesting paper."   He stopped in his tracks, just to the side of 
      Scully.  His breath began to come faster, his shoulders heaving with their 
      force.  "But I can't do a paper anymore, can I?"  The last was a shout.

      Mulder saw his face grow ugly, angry.  The doctor whirled suddenly, his 
      booted foot coming up and kicking Scully in the stomach.  Mulder saw her 
      eyes go enormous, bulging with pain, and a muffled scream came from her 
      gagged mouth.  She curled in, drawing her knees up and tucking her head 
      down, to protect herself as much as possible.  
      He continued to kick out at her, most of the blows landing on her legs and 
      her side.

      Mulder could barely hear the doctor yelling over the sound of his own 
      screams.  "You bastard! Leave her alone!"   The name 'bastard' caught his 
      attention, and the doctor stopped, his head swiveling around, his eyes 
      raptor-like.  

      "What did you call me?"  He hissed the question.

      Mulder could see the doctor's fists were clenched tight with rage.  He 
      turned around, facing Mulder fully.  That's it, come to me, Mulder 
      thought.  "You heard me, bastard." 
      Got to get him away from Scully.  "What's the matter, bastard?  Don't like 
      that name, do you?" he taunted.  Mulder was dreading what would happen 
      next, but he would do anything to get him away from Scully.  His gaze 
      flicked to her, saw her lying there, her body shaking with sobs.

      The doctor saw him look at Scully, and there must have been something on 
      his face, for he turned his head to look at her as well, before looking 
      back at Mulder.  He laughed then, and Mulder was truly frightened, more 
      than he had already been.  "Oh, Mulder, how very…fox-like of you.  Very 
      sly."  He glided around Scully, who had heard him and was watching 
      apprehensively, her body tense.  The doctor knelt behind her, and slid his 
      hand along her arm.  He smiled when she cringed and then shuddered. "To 
      draw my wrath to protect her."  His hand slid back up her arm to tangle in 
      her hair.  "And how very telling!" he cried, yanking her up.

      Mulder lunged forward instinctively, and felt the cuffs bite deep into his 
      wrists.  He nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets.  A cry was torn 
      from his mouth, a loud wail of fear.  

      Dr. Campbell dragged Scully by her hair until she was only a foot away 
      from Mulder's shoes, his legs stretched out, ankles bound.  The awful 
      smile was still on the doctor's face as he crouched down next to her, hand 
      still twisted in her hair.  

      "Look in her eyes," Dr. Campbell said, his other hand coming to grasp her 
      chin roughly, holding her face steady, directly in Mulder's line of sight. 


      Mulder could see the man's fingers digging bruisingly into the flesh of 
      her face, their tips white from the strain of gripping so hard.  He lifted 
      his misery-filled eyes to hers, not wanting to see the hurt and fear he 
      knew would be reflected there.  He closed them again briefly, but the 
      image was seared on his brain.  

      Scully's blue eyes were only partially open, and what he could see hurt 
      his heart.  Dull, lifeless, her spirit gone.  It was as if she had 
      retreated to some far corner of her mind, away from the terror and the 
      pain.  Mulder hoped that she would feel safe there, protected, the comfort 
      he was unable to provide. 

      "What do you see?" Dr. Campbell asked impatiently, shaking her slightly.

      Mulder did not know how to reply.  His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. 
       He could not take his eyes off Scully.

      "What do you SEE?"  Dr. Campbell asked again, louder, lips tight with 
      anger.  He stared at the wordless Mulder before leaning forward, turning 
      Scully's face towards him.  "Oh, no, you don't!"  he yelled. His hand left 
      her chin and slapped her cheek, the crack loud in the room.  "You can't 
      escape that way!"

      Mulder saw her head rebound with the slap, and wobble on her neck, 
      dropping forward.
      "Scully?" he cried, and she lifted her head weakly, her mouth working 
      behind the gag.  He heard her garbled response.  Mulder.  He leaned 
      forward as much as he could, to keep his eyes focused on hers.

      They were wide and swimming with tears, the lids red-rimmed, but she kept 
      them focused on his.  It almost seemed like she gathered strength from 
      him, her head lifting, her back straightening a little.

      Mulder felt a surge of relief that quickly turned to terror when the 
      doctor punched her in the face.  Blood spurted from her nose, running down 
      her face in rivulets, staining the gag in her mouth.  It fell to the white 
      carpet in big, red drops, and Mulder saw the doctor smile in delight.  

      Time slowed.  Mulder felt as if he were in a horror movie, in a scene 
      where the camera slowed to halftime, where the actor appeared to be moving 
      through molasses.  He saw Scully's head fall back from the force of the 
      blow, and then come forward again, her eyes and cheeks bulging as she 
      choked on the blood running down her throat.  He saw Dr. Campbell reach 
      one trembling finger out to catch a drop of blood as it fell from her nose 
      and bring it up to stare in fascination at it glistening on the tip.  
      Mulder opened his mouth to yell, and time lurched forward.

      "SHE'S CHOKING!" he screamed, lunging forward against his restraints, 
      trying to get to her, to help her.

      Dr. Campbell looked stunned for a moment, and then finally reacted.  He 
      grabbed the gag and yanked it down, one hand coming up to rest on Scully's 
      neck, pushing her head forward and down.  

      The blood still poured from her nose, reminding Mulder eerily of the 
      nosebleeds that had resulted from her cancer, and then Scully began to 
      cough, chest and body heaving with the effort to breathe.

      Dr. Campbell got to his feet slowly, his breath coming in pants.  Mulder 
      could see that his eyes were glazed as he still stared at the blood, on 
      Scully, and staining the carpet.  Mulder saw him mouth the word, 
      "Beautiful."  He bent then and grasped Scully, who was on her knees and 
      bent at the waist, by her upper arms.  He pulled her up easily, and 
      half-carried, half-dragged her away.

      Mulder yelled her name frantically, his head craned to the side, watching 
      her hobbled footsteps, hampered by the rope around her ankles, as they 
      went out the room.  He stared at the trail of blood drops that traced 
      their path.

      There was a thud and then Scully's muffled cry of pain.  Mulder yelled her 
      name again, louder.  Several sounds of a body being hit, Scully's body 
      being hit, and her answering cries.   A loud scream came then, and it sent 
      chills down his spine.  Mulder screamed himself, again and again, his 
      voice growing hoarse.  He kept his eyes on the door, and his last scream 
      died halfway when he saw the doctor coming through it and towards him.

      His face was filled with fury, and his quiet grace of earlier was gone as 
      he stomped his way to Mulder's side.  He knelt beside Mulder, yelling, 
      "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"  His spittle flicked out, hitting Mulder's 
      cheek.  His fist was suddenly plowing into Mulder's face, and Mulder's 
      head snapped back, hitting the post.  Everything went black for a moment 
      and he shook his head weakly, stunned.  The doctor smiled with 
      satisfaction, and stood again, still staring.  His foot lashed out and 
      kicked Mulder in the thigh, the side, anywhere he could reach, raining 
      blows for long moments.  

      Finally he stopped, his breath coming in harsh pants, staring in 
      satisfaction at Mulder, slumped painfully against the post.  Mulder lifted 
      his head weakly as the blows ceased and stared at the doctor, his face 
      twisted in pain.  "Why are you doing this?" he managed to get out, voice 
      wobbly with the effort.

      Dr. Campbell looked at him in surprise and then smiled.  "Why?" he 
      repeated, as he had earlier on.  He paused for a moment, as if searching 
      for the right answer, his head cocked to one side.  "Why…"  His voice 
      trailed away.  The doctor shook his head and then smiled again before 
      muttering, "This will help keep you quiet."  One hand reached up to the 
      breast pocket of his shirt and withdrew a hypodermic needle.  

      Mulder's eyes widened and his body tensed as he watched the doctor bend 
      slightly, his arm with the needle rising up over his head.  It descended, 
      almost faster than Mulder's dazed eyes could follow, and he felt it jam 
      into his upper arm.  He grunted with the impact and then numbness spread 
      throughout his body.  His eyes grew heavy and he blinked them slowly.

      He saw the doctor's face blurrily as the man leaned in close and 
      whispered, "You want to know why?"  He paused and then answered, his voice 
      filled with a sick sense of pride.

      "Because I can."

      The words rang in his head, and then Mulder was gone.

      ***


      Scully could hear Mulder yelling her name as the doctor dragged her out of 
      the room.  She was unable to call back, struggling to keep her balance 
      with her ankles tied, and her mouth still filled with blood.  The doctor's 
      hands on her arms were bruising, and then he suddenly released them, 
      letting her fall to the ground with a painful thud, Mulder's screams 
      echoing hollowly in her ears. 

      The fall jolted terribly, awakening both new pain and old pain, and she 
      cried out into the carpet, having landed face down.  She turned her head 
      to the side, gasping for air.  A foot crashed into her already injured 
      ribs, and Scully saw stars.  She received another couple of kicks to her 
      ribs.  She was unaware of the gasping cries she made as each blow 
      connected, and the pleasure the doctor derived from hearing them.

      She managed to twist her body, so that the next kick instead landed low in 
      her back, over her kidneys.  She arched her body in reaction, her mouth 
      and eyes opening wider than she thought possible, a loud scream finally 
      torn from her. The pain was so intense.   He must have liked her response 
      because he followed up immediately with two more to the same location.  
      Her scream was choked off, her breath stolen from her lungs.

      Black spots filled her vision, and she desperately sucked in air, almost 
      mewling with pain.  She tried to keep her body still, to keep the pain at 
      a minimum, but her body bucked with the effort to breathe, and it washed 
      over her in great waves.

      She realized vaguely the blows had stopped, and faintly from the other 
      room she could hear the doctor yelling at Mulder to shut up, and the 
      familiar sounds of a foot striking a body.  "Mulder," she whispered 
      brokenly, tears hot and thick running down her face.  Oh God, Mulder.  
      Please don't hurt him.
        
      She was so tired, and she hurt so much.  The pounding of her head was a 
      distant ache compared to the wrenching pain in her ribs and lower back.  
      Breathing was an effort, her body tensing with each lungful she drew in.  
      Her eyes were heavy, burning with tears, and she fought to keep them open. 
       She wanted nothing more than to sink into black oblivion.  

      Scully surrendered finally, and slipped into unconsciousness.

      ***


      Epilogue

      Georgetown Memorial Hospital
      Present Day
      12 Hours Later

      Mulder came slowly awake, his hands flexing on cool, crisp sheets.  He 
      kept his eyes closed, still drowsy, and began to stretch.  Pain flared 
      through his body at the exact moment his nose registered that particular 
      smell he had long associated with hospitals.  The smell of injury, and of 
      death, never completely masked by harsh disinfectant.

      His eyes popped open, and a low moan escaped.  One hand came up to touch 
      the ache in his ribs and reality crashed in.

      Scully.

      Mulder struggled to rise, breath hissing out with the strain.  He had to 
      find Scully, he had to see her.  He heard the scrape of a chair and felt 
      strong hands on his shoulders, keeping him down.

      He looked into the concerned eyes of A.D. Skinner and gasped her name.  
      "Scully?"

      When he was sure Mulder was not going to move, Skinner removed his hands 
      and straightened.  With a look at Mulder that warned him he was about to 
      adjust the bed, Skinner carefully manipulated the hospital bed into a 
      partially reclined position.

      Mulder winced slightly with the motion, his hand going first to his ribs, 
      and then to his face to touch his cheek.  He probed the area gently, 
      remembering the punch he had received.  He also noticed both his wrists 
      were bandaged, and he was hooked up to an IV.

      Skinner sank back down into his chair and waited for the questions to 
      begin.

      "Scully?" Mulder said again.  "Where is she?"

      "She's here," Skinner replied, looking down briefly before continuing, 
      "She's in intensive care."  The muscle in his jaw was flexing wildly, and 
      he rubbed his hand wearily over his mouth, his eyes tired.

      "Intensive care?"  Mulder almost shouted the words, unconsciously tensing 
      and leaning forward.  His heart began to pound with dread.  "What the 
      hell's wrong with her?  You have to tell me.  Is she alright?"  His breath 
      was coming harsh and fast, and he felt like he could easily begin to 
      hyperventilate.

      "Take it easy, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, leaning forward a little 
      himself, ready to restrain Mulder if necessary.  "Agent Scully will be 
      fine.  She was badly hurt however, and there had been some fear of 
      internal bleeding."

      "I have to see her!" Mulder cried, and again struggled to rise, teeth 
      clenching with the effort.

      "Agent Mulder!" Skinner barked.  "Calm down.  I'll take you to her, but 
      not right now."  He saw Mulder's mouth open to protest, and he held up one 
      hand.  "Not now, I said, Agent Mulder."

      "Try and stop me!" Mulder said fiercely, once again trying to get up from 
      the bed.  "I'm going to see her.  Now."

      Skinner stood and stepped closer to the bed, lifting one hand to press 
      down on Mulder's chest.  "If I hadn't already spoken to your doctor to 
      warn him about how insistent you would be in getting out of that bed, and 
      gotten his medical okay, you would see how difficult that would really 
	be."

      Skinner's voice was dry, and as Mulder stared into his superior's eyes, 
      the man's gaze level and intent, he knew it would have been an interesting 
      skirmish.  He relented, easing back into his pillow.  "What's wrong with 
      her?" he repeated, his voice much calmer.

      "Aside from the obvious bruises and wounds to her wrists from the 
      restraints, Agent Scully has three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and 
      badly bruised kidneys.  The doctors figure she was kicked repeatedly and 
      quite severely to result in such injuries.  There was thankfully no sign 
      of sexual assault."  Skinner's voice had been flat as he answered Mulder's 
      inquiry, until his last sentence.  There, emotion flared.  Mulder could 
      see the A.D. was very disturbed by his recitation and knew that Skinner 
      would not have handled that sort of attack on Scully any better than he 
      himself would have.  He also knew their superior had a soft spot for 
      Scully, and probably one for him as well.  

      Mulder closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the white room.  He 
      could hear Scully's cries as the doctor kicked her, saw her eyes staring 
      at him with pain and fear.  He forced the picture from his head, shaking 
      it once, before opening his eyes again.  He had to know what had happened 
      to…that man.  He could not bring himself to say the man's name.  "And 
      the…psycho that did this to us?"

      Skinner's jaw twitched again.  His reply was terse, short.  "He's dead."

      It wasn't enough for Mulder.  His eyes bored into Skinner as he asked, 
      "How?"

      Skinner knew Mulder would not be assuaged by anything less then the truth. 
       "He had a gun, which we later discovered was your service weapon, and it 
      was pointed at Agent Scully, lying on the ground.  One of us, and I am not 
      sure now who, yelled, 'Freeze!' but he made no move to stop.  I swear I 
      saw his finger tightening on the trigger, and…" his voice trailed off, and 
      he looked away.

      "We opened fire."

      Mulder blinked slowly.  Skinner's reply had been clipped and concise, but 
      Mulder could read between the lines, to the rage and the horror the man 
      must have felt at seeing an agent down and in danger.  He also knew 
      Skinner would probably not speak further on that matter, so he laid his 
      curiosity aside for now.  He swallowed, and then cleared his dry throat.  
      "How did you find us?"

      Skinner rose from his seat when Mulder spoke again and turned to the 
      bedside table.  He reached out and poured some water from the carafe 
      resting there into a cup, and handed it to Mulder, who took it gratefully. 
      He watched as Mulder drank, and accepted the empty cup back when he was 
      done.  He raised an eyebrow, wiggling the cup slightly, silently asking 
      Mulder if he wanted any more, and Mulder shook his head in the negative.  
      Skinner returned to his seat, sinking into it with a sigh.

      "We were lucky, Agent Mulder.  Very lucky," he began.  "When you two did 
      not show for our meeting yesterday morning, I had Kimberley check your 
      home and cellular numbers.  Several times.   There was no answer, and I 
      grew…a little concerned.  I received a call from Agent Scully's mother 
      just as I was preparing to go check out your apartments.  She told me 
      Scully had been talking to her on the phone the night before yesterday, 
      and had promised to call her back after answering her door. She never did. 
       So I went to Agent Scully's apartment.  The door was unlocked, her stereo 
      playing, and her weapon, I.D. wallet and cellular were all there.  After 
      further investigation, I determined that Scully had been at home, and 
      something must have happened to cause her to leave suddenly.  I had 
      brought another agent with me, and we began questioning Scully's 
      neighbors.  One of them had seen a man half-carrying, half-walking Scully 
      down the hall.  We brought her in for a composite sketch, and sent another 
      pair of agents to your apartment.  Nothing unusual seemed to have happened 
      there.  There was very little else in the way of evidence, so we called 
      the local TV station, and had them broadcast your pictures, without 
      explaining your identities or the reasons why we were looking for you." 

      Skinner paused, clearing his own throat, before continuing.  "An employee 
      at a local market saw your picture and phoned in to the hotline number we 
      had given out.  He told us you had been in, and that he had found your 
      groceries strewn about the parking lot.  He recognized them, he said, by 
      your sunflower seeds."

      Mulder smiled slightly. Thank God for his little habit.

      "We distributed your plates to the sheriff's and police departments, and 
      it was just a fluke that a rookie patrolman spotted your car in an upscale 
      Georgetown neighborhood.  Fortunately he followed protocol, and called it 
      in, and when we checked the address, we learned the house belonged to a 
      disbarred doctor, Mark Campbell.  Further investigation revealed Campbell 
      had escaped from a mental institution several weeks ago.  Agent Storm and 
      her partner had joined us by this time, and when we had a picture of him, 
      she remembered seeing him at the courthouse.  We also showed the picture 
      to Agent Scully's neighbor, and she identified him as the man she had seen 
      with Scully."

      Mulder thought of all the little things that had added up to allow Skinner 
      and the other agents to find them.  Skinner was right.  They had been 
      lucky.  As had he and Scully.
      "Then what happened?" he said, wanting to hear more.

      "We were setting up down the street from Campbell's house, and the rookie 
      got eager.  Campbell came out of the house, and was headed to your car, 
      and he spotted the police cruiser.  I guess it made him nervous and he 
      looked around.  Saw the unmarked cars, one of the pairs of agents.  He 
      turned and ran back to the house.   We knew the surprise element had been 
      blown, so we followed him in."  

      Skinner looked away for a moment.  He removed his glasses, pinching the 
      bridge of his nose before replacing them.  His face was a mask, difficult 
      to read.  "We found him with Agent Scully, neutralized him, and then found 
      you in another room."

      Mulder grimaced slightly at Skinner's use of the word 'neutralize' to 
      describe the death of Campbell.  One small part of him, a very small part, 
      felt regret that he could not talk to the man, to learn more about why he 
      had done what he had.  The biggest part of him, however, wished he had 
      been conscious and able to unload his clip into the psychotic bastard.

      A nurse walked in then, to check his vitals she cheerfully announced.  
      Skinner pushed his chair back and stood up, moving over to the window and 
      staring out, to give him some privacy.  Mulder lay silently, watching the 
      nurse bustle about, checking his pulse, his temperature, and peering 
      carefully at his bandaged wrists.   She then removed his IV, smiling as he 
      flinched slightly when she pulled the needle from his skin.  She covered 
      the small wound with a bandage, and with a final pat on his arm, left the 
      room.

      Skinner turned from the window and strode over to the small dresser unit 
      across the room.  There was a small stack of hospital clothing folded 
      neatly on its top, and he picked up a pair of pajama bottoms and a robe.  
      He brought them over and placed them on the end of the bed.  "Are you able 
      to get out of there on your own?" Skinner asked.

      Mulder swung his legs carefully over the side of the bed, feet dangling.  
      He felt a tug in his ribs, and his head swam slightly with the motion.  He 
      sat still for a moment, until the feeling passed and slid off the bed, 
      wobbling slightly.  "I think I can manage," he said, voice a little tight 
      with strain.

      Skinner jutted his chin towards the door.  "I'll be right back.  Get 
      dressed and cleaned up and I'll take you upstairs to see Scully."  With 
      that, he turned and left the room, the door shutting automatically behind 
      him.

      Mulder pulled on the pajama pants and shrugged into the robe with a little 
      difficulty, hissing with the twinge from his ribs and the muscles of his 
      arms.  He shuffled to the bathroom and made use of the facilities.  He 
      grimaced as he saw his reflection in the mirror above the sink.  His face 
      was pale, except for the starburst of color over his cheekbone, and his 
      chin and jaw were stubbled with a few days growth of beard.  His hair 
      spiked out in every direction and he ran his hands under the tap before 
      slicking them through his hair, neatening it up as best as he could.

      With one last look at himself, he made his way back into the other room 
      and sat in the chair Skinner had vacated to wait for his boss to return.

      The door opened a minute later, and Skinner came in, pushing a wheelchair. 
       Mulder frowned, mouth opening to protest, but Skinner forestalled him 
      with a brusque, "Doctor's orders.  Get in."

      Mulder heaved himself out of the chair and up across the room to sink back 
      down, in the wheelchair this time.  Skinner maneuvered the chair and its 
      occupant around and out of the room with a little difficulty, and headed 
      towards the elevators.  To Scully.

      ***


      Intensive Care Unit
      Georgetown, D.C.


      Mulder stood uncertainly, staring at the curtains circling the bed in the 
      far corner of the Intensive Care Unit.  Scully had to be behind them.   He 
      had scanned the room twice, staring at the occupants of the other beds 
      when he had first entered, not seeing the distinctive red hair of his 
      partner.

      The moment stretched endlessly, until a nurse twitched the curtains open 
      from the other side to reveal Scully, lying on the bed, her eyes closed.   
      It was obvious the nurse had been tending to Scully, in her hands she held 
      a tray with what looked like dirty white bandages and a pair of scissors.  
      She smiled gently at Mulder, swaying slightly where he stood, and gestured 
      to the bed.  "Go on then, young man.  There's a chair by the bed for you."

      Mulder nodded as she walked past, his gaze never leaving Scully, and moved 
      slowly forward to stand beside Scully's bed.  His eyes traced the features 
      of her face, surprisingly unmarked other than the slight redness around 
      her nose.  She was pale and wan-looking, her red hair spread limply on the 
      pillow.  He continued his visual examination, seeing the IV in one arm, 
      the bandages on her wrists, arms resting along her sides, on top of the 
      covers.  The rest of her body was hidden by those covers, which were 
      pulled up to her chest, but he could just see the tubing that snaked out 
      from beneath the blankets and dropped down the side of the bed.  
      Remembering that she had a punctured lung, he assumed it was a drainage 
      tube of some sort, to keep her lungs clear of fluid.

      Finally he lowered himself to the chair beside the bed, pulling it closer 
      so that he could reach out and clasp Scully's hand. Her fingers were cool, 
      and he brought his other hand up so he could cradle them between his, 
      elbows resting on the bed.  He squeezed her hand as he stared at her, not 
      wanting to be the one to wake her, but wishing she would wake all the 
      same.  He needed to see her eyes, to hear from her lips that she was okay.

      Mulder did not know how long he sat there, waiting for Scully to wake.  He 
      was only vaguely aware of the sounds of the Intensive Care unit around 
      him, of nurses bustling about, of patients moans and cries, of the family 
      members visiting their loved ones.  There was only Scully.  The slight 
      rise and fall of her chest, the reassuring beep of the heart monitor, the 
      pulse in her wrist beating against his fingers.

      The nurse who had spoken to him earlier came back and efficiently changed 
      Scully's IV solution.  She lifted the covers discreetly, apparently to 
      check the tube in Scully's chest, and then took Scully's pulse and blood 
      pressure, noting both down on a chart, which she took with her, along with 
      the discarded IV bag, when she was finished.  She smiled at Mulder as she 
      passed, and he turned his head to watch her walk back to the nurse's 
      station.  When he turned back to Scully, it was to see her eyes begin to 
      flutter.

      "Scully?" he whispered, squeezing her hand again.  He was rewarded by a 
      weak squeeze in return.  He stood and leaned down, releasing her hand so 
      that he could bring one of his to her cheek.  He stroked that softness 
      lightly, and her eyes opened, focusing on him.  He smiled, and watched as 
      her lips moved, trying to form his name.

      "Shhhh," Mulder whispered.  "Don't try and talk."  He straightened, his 
      side aching, and Scully's eyes opened wider in distress.

      "Please…stay…" she gasped out, wincing with the effort of talking, breath 
      whistling slightly.  Her gaze implored him, and her hand lifted weakly to 
      grab for one of his.

      "Oh, Scully," he said softly.  "I'm not going anywhere.  I promise."  He 
      moved the chair along the bed, closer to her head, and lowered himself 
      into it, wincing slightly.  He wrapped his fingers around the hand still 
      hovering in mid-air, and squeezed it lightly.

      "You…hurt?"  Scully wheezed, her eyes running over his face, pausing at 
      the bruise on his cheekbone.

      He smiled gently, bringing her hand to his lips.  He pressed a kiss on her 
      knuckles, and then held it against his cheek.  "It's nothing," he said. 
      "I'm fine."

      "That's…my…line," she managed, a small smile flirting at her lips.  It 
      fell away, and her eyes closed, her face twisting with pain.  She must 
      have sensed his instinctual move to rise and get help, for she opened her 
      eyes again, and whispered his name.  "Mulder."  Her grip on his hand 
      tightened, and she said it again.  "Mulder…I'm…okay."

      "I wish it was your line, Scully," he whispered back, his tone almost 
      fierce.  "You're not okay," he continued, more quietly. "That bastard hurt 
      you.  Hurt you badly."  He stared intently at her, his eyes dark with 
      remembered fear.  

      Mulder watched as she swallowed thickly and her eyes grew distant.  He 
      cursed inwardly, knowing she was remembering her assault at the hands of 
      the psycho who had held them, and that it was because of his words that 
      her memories were flooding back.  There was nothing he could do now.  
      Except be there with her.

      Scully was silent for long moments, and then she shuddered, blinking 
      rapidly to clear the tears that stung at her eyes.  Her hand tightened on 
      his again, spasmodically, and her chest began to rise and fall more 
      rapidly as she struggled not to cry.  "Mulder," she whispered, her voice 
      faint and breaking slightly.

      "I know, Scully, I know," he said, bringing her hand to his lips again.  
      He held it there as he continued to speak soothingly.  His other hand 
      stroked up and down her arm.  "He's gone, Scully.  He can't hurt you, hurt 
      us, anymore.  You're safe."

      "He's…dead?" she asked, her eyes intent on his.  She swallowed visibly 
      again, grimacing slightly.    Her voice was still low, and Mulder realized 
      her throat was probably very dry.

      "Yes, he's dead, Scully," he said.  He rose carefully, looking around, and 
      spied a water carafe and plastic cup on the little table on the other side 
      of Scully's bed.  He made his way around to it, trying to conceal his 
      discomfort, conscious of her eyes watching his every move, and half-filled 
      the cup with water.  He turned and tenderly cupped one hand beneath her 
      head, lifting it off the pillow.  He guided the cup to her lips with his 
      other hand, and helped her drink.

      Scully drank it all, and he saw the relief wash over her face as the cool 
      liquid soothed her throat.  Mulder lowered her head carefully, hand 
      lingering for a moment in her hair, and then returned the empty cup to the 
      table.  He then made his way back to his chair, sinking back into it with 
      a sigh.

      "You…are…hurt," she said, voice slightly accusing.  Her gaze pinned him as 
      he sat in his chair, and he felt himself squirming a little.  Her 
      Scully-radar had not been damaged, that was for sure.  Even injured, 
      groggy with drugs and flat on her back, she could tell that he was not in 
      tip-top shape.

      "Not too badly, Scully," he replied.  Her eyebrow lifted, and Mulder 
      understood her silent inquiry.  Skinner had told him about his own 
      injuries as their boss had wheeled him up to the Intensive Care Unit, and 
      he related them to Scully.  "Cracked rib, dehydration, and some bruises.  
      That's it."

      Scully frowned, wondering if he was glossing over the truth for her 
      benefit. His face looked honest, open, and he was here visiting her, so he 
      must be okay, she decided.  She realized suddenly that here was definitely 
      more than just a hospital room.  She was in a specialized unit, more than 
      likely Intensive Care.  She lifted her head slightly and studied her 
      surroundings.   The set-up of the large rectangular room, with six 
      hospital beds, the nurse's station in the center of one long wall, placed 
      to survey the entire room, along with the presence of many nurses, 
      confirmed that it was indeed the Intensive Care Unit.  

      <How badly was I hurt?> Scully thought.  

      She began to take stock of her body.  She had noticed her wrists were 
      bandaged as she had reached out to Mulder, and knew it was from the rope 
      that had bound them, remembering their red puffiness when the doctor had 
      untied her to allow her to use the bathroom.  There was an IV in her arm, 
      and she could feel thick bandages on her side.  She shifted slightly, 
      wincing at the pain the action caused, feeling a pull beneath the 
      bandages.  She knew she had cracked, if not broken, several ribs, and with 
      the pain she had breathing, she surmised she had suffered a pneumothorax, 
      and that the pull was from a drainage tube.  There was more pain, duller, 
      in her lower back, over her kidneys.  The kicks she had received there 
      must have bruised them. Her whole body ached, and the parched feeling in 
      her throat confirmed she too had been dehydrated.

      Her eyes had drifted closed as she thought, and she became aware of Mulder 
      moving anxiously beside her.  She opened them again to see him watching 
      her, the concern plain on his face, his gaze flitting from her face to her 
      IV and then her wrists, and then back to her face.  There was something 
      else in his eyes, and she widened her own, trying to read the emotion 
      there.   <Guilt?> she wondered, bemused.  She whispered his name 
      questioningly, "Mulder?"

      Mulder ducked his head down, hiding his eyes from her, and she realized 
      suddenly that it was guilt.  He believed, somehow, that this was his 
      fault.  "Mulder," she gasped.  "This…was not…your fault!"  She squeezed 
      his hand, and he finally looked up, misery swimming in his eyes.  
      "Mulder," she continued, straining towards him with the effort to make him 
      see, to let him know that there was nothing he could have done.  "Mulder, 
      there was…no way…you could have…prevented…this!"  Her voice had risen at 
      the end with the pain in her side and she sagged back down into the 
      pillow, breathing harshly, her heart monitor beeping loudly at her 
      elevated heart rate. She took several slow, careful breaths, and managed 
      to calm herself down.

      Mulder had half-risen from his seat, his own heart thumping madly, 
      clutching her hand tightly.  "Scully?" he said, prepared to yell for a 
      nurse.  He felt her hand squeeze his, and saw that she seemed to have 
      settled down.  The redness that had bloomed in her cheeks had subsided, 
      and the heart monitor had returned to its quiet rhythm.  He sank back down 
      into the chair, relieved, still not quite meeting her eyes.

      "Mulder.  Look at me." she said firmly.  "Mulder…look at me!" she 
      repeated, a little louder.

      He did finally, to see that her lips were pursed tightly, and her face was 
      seriously intent on his.  He felt the tension in him ease suddenly.  
      Mulder knew that if she could give him shit, which is exactly what she was 
      going to do, that she was okay.  He smiled then, a small one, and saw that 
      his action had surprised her.  Her mouth, which had opened to continue 
      lecturing him further, closed.

      Scully paused, and his smile made her smile in return.  "I'm going to be 
      okay, Mulder."
      She swallowed heavily, her mouth dry again.  "Water, please?" she asked.

      Mulder rose from the chair again and poured her another half glass of 
      water, again helping her to raise herself so that she could drink it.  He 
      replaced the cup on the table and sat back down.

      "Mulder, you do know that…don't you?  That it…wasn't your fault…" she said 
      softly.  She reached out and grasped his hand with one of hers, squeezing 
      it tightly.  

      "I just can't help but think that if I wasn't your partner, this would 
      never have happened," he answered quietly.  His eyes reflected the misery 
      in his voice.

      "Mulder, we've…had similar…arguments like this before," Scully returned.  
      "A lot of things wouldn't…have happened to either of us…if we had never 
      met.  But unless you've…suddenly discovered a way to turn back…time…I 
      think you're stuck…with me."  She smiled gently.  "And vice-versa."

      His answering smile was slight, but it was a start. 

      ***

      Walter Skinner stopped at the entrance to the Intensive Care Unit, his 
      eyes unerringly going to the corner where Scully lay in her hospital bed.  
      Mulder was there, as close to the bed as he could be, without actually 
      being in it with her.  Skinner watched the pair for long moments.  Their 
      hands were clasped, and Mulder's head was bent low to hers. 

      It was a very intimate scene, as if they were the only two people in the 
      room, and he knew that to his agents, they were alone.  Together.

      Skinner turned and walked away.  


      The End