Title: Passions

Author: Theresa Jahn (theresa@xf-mindseye.com)

Category: X-file

Rating: PG

Distribution: This was written for the IMTP Virtual Season

10. Two weeks exclusively on VS10, after that archive

anywhere. Just drop me a line to let me know!

Disclaimer: The X-files and any characters related to the X-

files belong to Chris Carter and Tenthirteen productions.

Alexander belongs to me.

Thanks: To all the VS10 producers! You gals are the

greatest! Thanks also to Vickie and Susan for their super-

fast beta. Thanks to Jesse for being my vampire inspiration.

*****

Passions

By Theresa Jahn

Teaser

The Lone Gunmen Headquarters

Location Unknown

11:45 p.m.

“Where is he?”

“Mulder,” Frohike greeted him as he opened the door wider so

that both agents could enter. Virtual reality goggles were

slung to his forehead, and he held a joystick halfway

disassembled in his left hand. “You’ve gotta see this.”

“Is it that bad?”

Scully glanced first at Frohike, barely stirring at his

unusual appearance. She quickly switched to look at her

partner, searching for a glimmer of understanding in his

urgency. Her head went back and forth, back and forth like

some windshield wipers, until she could stand it no longer.

“What’s happened?” she exhaled forcefully.

Both men looked at her as if they’d just realized she was

there. Frohike answered the question, but directed it toward

Mulder.

“Langly’s gone shopping.”

Both agents flinched.

Then Frohike continued, as he looked at them each in turn,

the tension building in a small vein at the outside tip of

his eyebrow. “He went shopping… with Byers.”

“What?” Scully exclaimed. “That’s why we’re here? Mulder,

did you…?”

“Just hold on a minute, Scully,” he coaxed gently. He took

Frohike by the shoulder and directed him toward the other

side of the room, behind one of the metal shelves stocked

with computer equipment from who-knows-where.

She sat down at a light table decorated with black and white

negatives for the next issue of the Lone Gunmen Newspaper.

“Utterly amazing…” she mumbled. The rhythm of whispering

from behind the shelves skipped a beat, but continued along

quickly as she began to lift and inspect one of the strips

of film.

‘So what?’ She thought to herself, ‘they went shopping…

For some new computer hacking equipment, no doubt. Langly

and Byers have different taste and different reasons for the

stuff, true. But it’s not like they would have gone on a

shopping spree at the mall. What, like Langly needs advice

in picking out a…’

“Ahem.”

The faint smell of aftershave seeped through the usual ozone

and oil smell that filled the main room. Scully’s shoulder

blades became like ice, sensing a creepiness. It was the

kind of feeling she felt when Mulder’s monsters came to life

before her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to deny their

existences.

She turned slowly, placing the negatives gently back onto

the light table. She looked first out of the corner of her

eye, then turned to fully face him. It was a complete

transformation. He wasn’t like anything she expected at all.

If a trip to the mall with Byers could do this… there’s no

telling…

“Nice suit, Langly,” Scully gasped out. Suddenly, she seemed

to be losing her breath.

“My dear Agent Scully. Dana. May I call you…” he stepped

closer to her, and took her hand to his lips, “Dana?”

The flash of his gleaming smile, and the boring gaze of

Langly’s pale blue eyes held her motionless. All her limbs

became useless to her, and she felt that she needed to be

held up. Langly smoothly pulled her into his arms. She

couldn’t help but to think how good he looked, how his whole

persona was so sophisticated, so dashing, so… sexy. What

was she thinking? It could never work out. He was a friend.

And Mulder was right there behind the shelves with

Frohike…. How could she even think of doing this?

But his face drew closer, became soft and loving toward her.

She could feel his breath on her face. A strand of blonde

hair escaped its slicked-back binding at the nape of his

neck and shimmered against the light of the exposed bulb

hanging behind him. Before she could even think of resisting

or even convince her mind that she wanted to, Langly’s lips

closed upon hers. She had always thought they would be stiff

and awkward. But he knew exactly how she liked it. She liked

it how Mulder did it…

Mulder….

Mulder….

“Mmmbph!” Scully blurted out as she pushed herself away.

“Mulder!!!”

Two heads popped out from behind the wall of twisted metal

and wires. Both jaws hung loose in amazed disgust. Mulder

could barely figure out if he were stunned, amused or

insanely angry with his geek friend turned Casanova.

Luckily, Frohike spoke up first.

“Get your hands off her!” The short man dumped his equipment

at once and strode over to grab Scully from the clutches of

what Langly had become. “Keep your calamari fingertips away

from her. It doesn’t matter who you choose does it? As long

as she’s female! You *know* I’ve been…”

Frohike bit his lip and remembered the agent behind him.

“You know she’s Mulder’s woman! You sicko!” He dragged

Scully away from him and sat her on the high stool next to

the light table. Mulder stared at her. Her lips were still

pink from the pressure of Langly’s kiss. The kiss he had

just witnessed… right in front of him! Damn it to hell!

Mulder shuddered. Scully smiled at him with a ‘please

forgive me’ look. She touched her lips and sighed, as if

savoring the so recently past, but very real moment.

“Frohike,” he growled out under his breath, staring at

Scully’s pale, perfect fingers covering her blushing cheeks.

“I want to know everything.”

Act I

5 days earlier

An undisclosed apartment in Georgetown, VA.

10:30 p.m.

Alexander sat in the far corner of the loft-style living

room, in the filtered blue light of the television set. His

short, bleach-blonde hair appeared frosty and sculptured

from the special gel he’d used tonight. One foot rested on

the coffee table, next to a half-eaten Entenmann’s Danish

Ring he’d picked up on the way over. Blood was always more

to his taste, but the mass-produced sugary pastries of this

century helped to keep his energy going between feasting.

His piercing brown eyes weren’t watching the news report of

his latest supper. It was always dubbed a “mysterious

attack.” He rarely, if ever, left enough evidence afterwards

for the authorities, and was proud of his skill.

Instead, his eyes watched the nerdy-looking newbie trying

his best to fit into the chaos of the game. For a virgin

live-action-role-player, he’d been doing quite well for his

first time at Vampire. He exuded an air of experience, an

intelligence the others could never dream of. It was no

wonder he’d chosen a “mental twink” as his first character;

the character strength of mental intelligence fit perfectly

with his bookworm attitude. Yes, this one could prove quite

useful.

Alexander got up, stretched his long, muscular limbs,

adjusted his floor-length black trench coat, and made his

way over to the active center of the game. It was funny,

Alexander had only thought to acquire this body for its

possible knowledge of charm and valor; all he seemed to get

from it was a mediocre understanding of this stupid game he

played every week and the locations of various porn sites on

the Internet. Computers were a whole new mystery he had to

conquer, but… Still, his good looks and strength weren’t

going to get him very far, it seemed. This was a strange

time for man.

Several other small scenarios played out to his right and

left as he passed them. Other players flicked their wrists

in a rock-paper-scissor gamble, winning and losing the

action, gaining experience points, joining forces with other

players in the hopes of making themselves more powerful. It

was all a fantasy game. Each player created his own

fictitious Vampire character, determined their special

traits, and went into situations where they’d confront other

Vampires. They’d gain their points according to their

performance and use of their characters against their

opponents.

They were proud of their conquests, and humiliated by their

losses. Much of it was political, clans were created for

alliances, and the most skilled at the game became the most

powerful. Alexander scoffed at it all. He wanted *real*

power.

It was all different in this century. Power, or at least

respected power could never come with brute force. And if

one gained too much, he’d likely become famous and drift

into the spotlight, under scrutiny by all. Nothing was

private. The news press nowadays controlled a ghastly

network of truth and rumor. How he longed for centuries

past, hundreds of thousands of moonlit nights ago; he could

be a respected lord, could have his riches, his political

power, and still live with his deadly secret. Who would have

thought the lord of the castle was one of the undead? Now he

found himself in a mockery of it — it had all become a

legend, a fantasy.

Years of evading discovery had taught him common sense and

the common habits of man, but certainly not enough to

survive much longer. He couldn’t keep switching hosts

forever — he wanted a body he could live in, not just

settle up in for a few weeks until his face appeared on

every post office wall in the country. The one he wore

tonight only got him another “in” to this charade of Vampire

living. Hiding in plain sight? You couldn’t have missed

Alexander in this body if you tried. And a real live…

excuse me, real DEAD vampire hiding out in a fantasy Vampire

game? One could not have asked for a better setup.

The tall pale-skinned man ambled his way over to where the

newbies were stationed. The frail, long blonde-haired man

hunched over his character sheet like a buzzard, his eyes

flicking back and forth, his fingers wiggling as he became

excited and calculated his next move.

“Come on, Langly, out with it!” an impatient player shouted,

his pudgy arm losing strength, as he’d been holding a fist

out toward his opponent for some time.

So that was his name, Alexander thought. Langly sneered out

an expletive, and concentrated once again on his sheet. He

pursed his thin, colorless lips, pushed up black thick-

rimmed glasses and announced his move.

“Okay, I’m intimidating enough not to bow to your ‘dread

gaze.’ You will cower at my ‘leadership,'” he said and held

out an identical fist toward his adversary.

The vocal actions mainly came with physical signs of a

confrontation. This round had been going back and forth for

more than a few minutes already, and the obvious lack of

exercise Langly’s opponent practiced did not help in keeping

his arm out straight for long periods of time. Relieved at

finally hearing an answer, the man quickly lowered his arm.

The two of them turned aside and shook their fists as if

shaking up a can of soda, then turned back toward each

other. The one held his hand out with two fingers like a

scissor. Langly held his out flat, like a piece of paper.

“Ha,” the first player chuffed out.

Langly squinted his eyes in thought, clearly trying to

figure out a good way to take control of the game. The first

player, Lawson — Alex remembered the “social twink” from

last week — looked around at some of his buddies,

exchanging glances like he knew he was hot. He had, in fact,

only been to the game once before. Langly’s counter attack

drew his attention back to the confrontation at hand.

“Well now,” Langly began, raising his eyebrows in

confidence, “I’m going to be wily enough to ‘dominate’ you.”

“And I’m ‘determined’ enough so that you won’t.”

They proceeded to run through another action of rock-paper-

scissor. This time, Lawson came up with scissors again, but

Langly held a tight fist — rock.

“Crunch,” he said, as his imaginary rock crushed his

opponent’s scissors.

A few more actions of the game proceeded on, and Alex was

becoming bored. As he was about to turn away, he heard not

another action being taken, but an argument over a tie in

the game. The Story Teller present referred to each player’s

traits to determine the outcome, and found that even though

Lawson had played an extra night, that Langly had a higher

number of traits than he, and that would win the round.

Out from the few sheets of papers he held with his

information, Langly pulled out a small card and gave it to

his opponent.

“No hard feelings, hey bro?”

The other player accepted reluctantly. Alex peered over the

edge of the card. All it said was “bag.” Lawson muttered to

himself and walked away with his friends.

After the player left, Langly told the Story Teller, and all

who were around the area, that the “bag” he’d given Lawson

was filled with explosives, and was set to explode later on

that evening. The heavy-set man suddenly whipped his head

around and scowled at Langly as he retreated.

“Has been noted,” the Story Teller said, and the rest of the

group broke up to go and search for another confrontation.

“I like this game,” Langly said smugly, crossing his arms as

he watched the other men mill around the studio. Although it

was a first time, Alexander was impressed at Langly’s quick

usage of his “mental” abilities.

Proud of his own intelligence, Alex could feel the force of

energy beating off Langly in waves. This one could win. Yes,

it was a game, and yes, it was his first time, but first

impressions counted for a lot. He could foresee Langly’s

character quickly gaining influence and status among the

others. He had another agenda in mind.

Alexander’s eyes shone with anticipation. He needed this

one. He needed to be a winner again, because he was damned

if he was going to hide out with these freaks any longer

than he had to.

***

“Nice moves,” a clear, deep voice commented.

Langly pulled his chin back into his neck so that the

wrinkles of skin around it made him look like a conceited

turtle. He snorted, unimpressed by the compliment.

“Whatever,” he said shrugging his shoulders, lips curling in

a sneer.

“No, I mean it, dude. You’ve got real potential.”

“Potential? Are you telling me I’m not good? Lawson could

inform you otherwise.”

Both men glanced over to the chubby middle-aged player, his

back to them, already engrossed, as was the rest of the

crowd with a random decision to take orders for a late-night

pizza run.

“No, you’re good, but you’d never beat me. I know too much.”

“Do you?”

Alexander nodded.

“Well, let’s go then, big man,” Langly challenged, cocky in

his first triumph, and stepped closer to his challenger. The

man dwarfed him by head and shoulders. Langly was face to

face with Alexander’s chest, which he poked with his index

finger. Alexander was a huge man, and if brute force counted

for anything in other centuries, he could prove it all over

again with the menace of his height and breadth. The large

man crossed his arms.

“Ready when you are.”

***

The Lone Gunmen Headquarters

Location Unknown

2:06 a.m.

Langly stood outside the door, mentally counting off each

lock as he heard the scraping metal each one made as Frohike

opened them on the other side. Last was the dead bolt on the

floor, and the door creaked open an inch.

He pushed through and entered the chaos of the main room,

now dark except for a small TV in the corner where Frohike

had fallen asleep watching one of Mulder’s tapes — before

he had to get up and let his roommate in. Langly went

straight for his computer to check his email. The soft sound

of static moaning and heavy breathing set the background

music for his task.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Frohike teased as he wiped a gnarled

hand over his scruffy face. “Where you been?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere must be an interesting place. You were there for

eight hours.”

“What are you, my mother?”

Frohike looked down at himself, his white t-shirt belly

hanging out above his boxers. He pulled the faded striped

terry robe around himself and tied the belt.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the younger man scowled.

“Fine, man. Don’t blow your gourd,” Frohike mumbled, as his

feet padded back to watch his movie. The ticka-ticking from

Langly’s keyboard did well to distract him, and he had to

rewind the VCR to find the place he’d left off. Now where

was he before he fell asleep?

“What the ffff…” the hissing sound of the “f” continued

and fizzled into a spitting sound as Langly stared at his

inbox. Among some other junk his hacker buddies left him,

there was an email from an address he didn’t recognize, but

he knew exactly whom it was from. It was titled, “I beat

you.”

“How in the hell did this asshole get my email address?”

Langly was fuming. Not only had Alexander proven his

expertise by beating his ass into the ground during game,

but now he was gloating about it. Langly scanned the mail

for viruses and any hidden nastiness before he opened the

message. When he was satisfied, he opened it.

:: You lost tonight, but I can make you better.

:: Meet me at the Starbucks around the corner

:: from Mike’s loft tomorrow around 11. I’ll

:: give you some pointers. Then, maybe you

:: can help me out.

:: Alexander

“You’re awfully quiet over there, buddy. What’d you get a

love note?” Frohike sung out. All that was visible were his

bare feet propped up on the desk next to the TV.

“Yeah. I’m going to send him a nice little present for our

first date,” he said with a rumble to his voice. He gritted

his teeth as he started jabbing forcefully at the keyboard.

In response, he wrote:

:: Re: I beat you.

::

:: You’ve got a big dick there, Alex. Here’s

:: a Trojan to keep it quiet.

:: See you tomorrow. 🙂

::

::

“Wow, I didn’t know you were going all the way on a first

date.”

Langly nearly jumped out of his seat. Frohike had snuck up

behind him and stood to read the email over his shoulder.

“A Trojan Horse? What did this guy do to you?”

“Beat me at the game.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, you stick to your gigs, I’ll stick to mine.” Langly

got up, shut off the computer and unplugged it. After all,

he didn’t know what this guy Alexander was really capable

of. “I’m going to bed.”

“Nighty-night!”

“Shut up and watch your porn.”

Frohike stuck out his tongue, shuffled over to his TV set

and hit play.

***

Act 2

Scully’s Apartment

Georgetown, VA

10:15 a.m.

She pressed the sponge against the line of Soft Scrub she’d

just squirted and began rubbing in circles. It was long past

the time where the gray ring around the interior of her

bathtub could be considered ‘a distressed look.’ It needed

to be rid of. She couldn’t enjoy herself in it anymore, and

that wreaked havoc on her stress levels. A good hot soak was

one of the things she was looking forward to on her

“Mulderless” weekend.

Scully squeezed the foamy white liquid out of her sponge and

ran it under the faucet. As she unlatched the showerhead

from its hook on the wall, ready to rinse the mess down the

drain, the phone rang.

“Great,” she said without enthusiasm. Quickly, she wiped her

hands on her sweatpants and thumped into the living room to

answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“What are you wearing?”

Scully huffed. “Mulder, you know full well what I’m doing

this morning, what do you think I’m wearing?”

“You mean you’re really wearing thigh-highs and heels?”

She looked down at her splattered grungy sweatpants and

flip-flops.

“That’s hardly practical attire for cleaning the bathroom.”

“Ooh, work that scrub brush, Scully!”

Scully laughed. She could hear the smile in his voice. “So,

what’s up? I thought we agreed to have a weekend to

ourselves?”

“Well, you know, cleanliness isn’t one of my greatest

virtues. What do you say you come over later and give me a

few pointers?”

“Oh, no, one apartment is enough for me. That’s your

territory, Mulder,” she said with finality. Besides, she

thought, knowing Mulder, how much actual cleaning would get

accomplished? More likely an unmade bed and a pile of

clothing on the floor.

The silence in the receiver was filled with disappointment.

Her throat clenched.

“Mulder, I’m sorry, but I already have plans to go out

tonight, and I’m seeing Mom, Bill and his family tomorrow.”

“Ooh, ah…” he cleared his throat before continuing, “You

can count me out with seeing Bill. That’s all you, Scully.

But what’s that you mentioned about tonight? Are you going

out on a hot date behind my back? I’m hurt!” The sarcasm was

heavy in his voice, but it was coupled with an undertone

that sounded not just a little suspicious.

“If you must know, I’m meeting up with Mel.”

“Harmon? From the lab? I didn’t know you two were *that*

friendly.” There was another pause — the kind of pause

Scully knew all too well.

“Mulder…”

“Hey, Scully, maybe the both of you together can help me out

with this new case–”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Mulder,” she said slowly, as if explaining to a

child, “this is my weekend off. I need a break.”

“But–”

“Mulder, no.” She sighed heavily, hating to put her foot

down with him. He could just be so stubborn sometimes. She

filled her voice with consolation, and gently said, “I’ll

see you Monday.”

After a long empty moment of dead air, he mumbled, “Okay.”

His mouth was too close to the receiver, and his breath

created a loud hissing noise in her ear. She could

practically feel that pouting lower lip against her cheek.

“Have a good weekend.”

“You too, Scully.”

Click.

Of course she felt badly, but he just couldn’t hover over

her every day. A working and personal relationship with the

man got a little oppressive sometimes. More often than not,

she loved being around him — adored it. But this was “her

time” this weekend, and she damn well deserved it.

She went back into the bathroom and rinsed out the tub. Next

she prepared herself to wash down all the floors. She

couldn’t even remember when she had done them last. It’s was

no wonder all the hardwood looked so dull. She got the big

bucket and placed it in the tub, ready to fill it with hot

water, then remembered she needed the soap.

Trudging into the kitchen, she swung open the doors below

the sink. She began pulling out various bottles of cleaning

supplies: window cleaner, bleach, bug spray, and wood

polisher. Finally she found the bottle of Murphy’s Oil

soap… and it contained a mere tablespoon of liquid.

“Murphy’s law,” she sighed, turning over the bottle to watch

the spit of soap inch down the inside of the container.

“Guess I’ll have to go to the store.”

As she grabbed her keys and wallet, she took a glance at

herself in the mirror. She looked like hell, her hair bound

up in a rubber band, sweatshirt and pants too big and

ragged, and her bare feet in flip-flops. Those, at least had

to be changed. She pulled on her running shoes, without

socks, and left the apartment.

“I can’t be bothered,” she thought as she locked the door,

and headed down the hall to the elevator.

***

Starbuck’s Coffee Shop

One block away from Mike’s loft.

Georgetown, VA

10:43 a.m.

The white foamy steamed milk swirled in the metal cup she

held. The small spout from the cappuccino machine became

engulfed as the air expanded the liquid. Her hands held the

cup tightly, fingernails clipped close so that she wouldn’t

bite them. Langly knew she had that dirty little habit, at

least ever since he’d been coming to this coffee shop.

He indulged himself in a latte every now and again if he was

having a bad day, especially a dark and rainy one like

today. He discovered this place in Georgetown because of his

D&D buddies, and because of Scully. It was a no-brainer

driving the van to this neighborhood, considering the number

of times Mulder had been unfit to drive.

Jenny knew him well enough not to call his order across the

shop. He liked drinking sweet lattes with lots of sugar, but

cringed every time he had to utter the frou-frou French-

sounding drink.

She passed the tall paper cup over the high counter to him.

“Here ya go, Langmeister,” she said and winked. “You’re up

early,” she commented as she re-tied the green bandana

wrapped around her head.

“Yeah,” Langly answered. He took a long sip from the tiny

hole in the plastic lid. He couldn’t quite think of anything

to add to the conversation, though Jenny stared at him in

anticipation of more. Instead, he drowned out the chance to

speak with another long sip of the coffee and sought out one

of the small round tables scattered around the shop. He made

sure he faced away from her. He didn’t want to be caught

staring.

The coffee was sweet in his mouth and it warmed his throat

going down. Sitting there, tasting and smelling the

Starbuck’s brew felt comfortable. And although he could

sense Jenny peeking over the counter from time to time, he

did his best to ignore her.

If it was out of self-consciousness, he’d never want to

admit it, and so he didn’t do anything at all. He could

almost imagine the soft caress of her eyes drifting over his

neck, moving the long strands of hair away from the skin.

But it was all in a fantasy. He shivered with the thought of

her actually reaching out and doing something like that.

He raised his hand to rub the sensation off his neck, when

he encountered strange fingers hovering millimeters away

from his shoulder. The fingers were stretched wide, so that

he could feel the electricity of the approaching hand just

before it touched him.

“I knew you’d come,” the clear strong voice from last night

said softly, close to his ear. It was a little too close,

just like Alexander’s fingers practically reaching to comb

through his hair.

Langly stood and spun around to face the tall man’s chest.

He stepped back to the other side of the table, just enough

to catch a glimpse of Jenny. Her curiosity was turning into

something more like fascination. The flirtatious way she

hooded her eyes with dark lashes widened into something akin

to a goldfish, glassy and round. The kind of stare you gave

when you know you shouldn’t be looking, but you just had to

see how it all turned out.

Langly was wondering about the same at this point.

“So, you wanna talk game or are you gonna seduce me, big

man?”

“You started it, my friend,” Alexander said as he swung his

leg over the back of the chair and sat at the small table.

He spread his long legs wide so he could lean over it.

Langly sat opposite him, lowering himself slowly as if the

seat of the chair were too hot; like a freshly run bath – a

little too hot to be comfortable, but you knew it’d get

better in time. This one didn’t.

The large man took off his sunglasses, laid them on the

table, and out of the breast pocket of his trench coat,

Alexander pulled out a small square package. It was flat,

except for a thin doughnut shaped bump in the center.

“I can play that game, too, although I don’t think your

little friend over there would be so friendly anymore.”

Langly eyed the shiny red plastic wrapper of the condom,

hidden from everyone’s view except his own. Alexander held

it just in front of his chest, dangling in his fingers until

he saw Langly’s nose twitch, and eyes flash downwards toward

the table.

“Good,” the vampire crooned softly, and replaced the object

back into his pocket.

“So how long you gonna fuck with me, huh? You deserved it

for being such a cocky bastard last night.”

Alexander chuckled under his breath. “I may have deserved

it, but there’s a small Internet cafe a few blocks away

that’s taking the punishment for me.”

He stared at Langly, and Langly stared back. It was

difficult to get one over on the techno-geek, but this guy

seemed to be able to press all the right buttons.

“I know what you can do, my friend, and I didn’t take

Lawson’s advice lightly when I asked for your email

address.”

The skin on Langly’s face seemed to pull tighter, his eyes

began to bulge forward, and his coffee was getting cold.

“What’s this really about, Alex. You didn’t ask me here to

give me pointers on a game.”

“No, that’s true.”

“Then what the hell do you want? I can be a real asshole

real quick if you’re going to play head games with me too

much longer.”

“Ah, but isn’t all of life a game?”

He’d said that strangely. It wasn’t a witty remark as it

might have been meant to, but more like a growly, sultry

come-on. Alexander’s large hand slowly inched across the

table and brushed his companion’s fingers holding the

cooling coffee cup.

Langly reacted violently, jerking his hand away, and

throwing the half-full cup to the floor. What was a soothing

treat had become a splattered mess on the floor, dotting

Alexander’s black pants with foamy brown droplets.

The tall man leapt up, but didn’t lunge after the other as

one might have expected. Instead, he knelt down into the

puddle of coffee and tried desperately to clean up what had

fallen.

Langly stood there and stared down at him, sopping up the

liquid with a wad of napkins he pulled off the next table.

One after another, Alex dropped down a paper napkin,

absorbed what he could, and stuffed it into the empty paper

cup.

After the fifth round of watching this bizarre act, Langly

regained his conscious thought. “I don’t know what game

you’re playing, man, but I am so out of here.”

He started to walk away when a sticky wet hand grabbed his

wrist.

“No, please,” Alexander pleaded, one knee still on the

floor. “I need your help.” The begging in his dark brown

eyes held Langly even tighter than the grasp on his wrist.

It was so strange. All of a sudden, he felt badly for this

hulking idiot. Alexander’s grip loosened, and he began to

move down to hold Langly’s hand, a trail of coffee marking

his path.

“Langly, I need you,” Alex repeated.

Just then, Jenny came over with a mop, her eyes showing

practically all of their whites when she heard that

statement. She stopped dead in her tracks, observing what

looked like a twisted engagement proposal between the two

blonde men. Silently, quickly, she turned and brought her

mop back behind the counter.

Langly watched her distractedly, not really sure if he was

embarrassed by the situation. He knew he should have felt

like kicking this guy in the nuts, but he just couldn’t

bring himself to do it.

“You… need me?” he drawled out.

“That virus you sent me last night was just a taste of what

I want to learn from you.”

“Why me? Why not Lawson? He’s a good hacker.”

“Not as good as you. And, I like your style. From how you

played the game last night, I can tell you’re adaptable. You

hardly knew the game, but you came this close to beating

me,” Alexander admitted, pinching his fingers together in

front of him to demonstrate the close call.

Langly coughed out a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It got me this far,” that low, sultry tone entered his

voice again.

“Get up,” he said, pulling Alexander by the hand he still

held. “All right, grasshopper, I’ll teach you some of the

kung-fu. But I gotta go shopping first.”

Alexander looked at him with a puzzled grin, and then

glanced over at Jenny.

“No, not her,” he blushed a pinker shade of pale, if such a

thing was possible for Langly. “Frohike’s been dogging me

for the last two days about the groceries. We’ve only got

ketchup and two slices of bread in the fridge. A big strong

man like you will be a good bag-carrier.”

The tall man pursed his lips and shoved his hands into the

pockets of his long coat. “Hmm,” he murmured, displeased

with the errand, but followed his new friend out of the

coffee shop nonetheless.

***

Super-Fresh Grocery Store

11:21 a.m.

Of course, a trip to the grocery store just to get soap

never turned out to be a mission just for the one item.

Scully ended up picking up a new head for the mop, more

paper towels, some low-fat yogurt ice-cream bars —

chocolate covered, and oh yeah, the Murphy’s Oil soap.

The store was chilly, as usual, and her sockless feet in

running shoes, damp from the rain outside, were quickly

becoming numb. Her steps squeaked down the shiny linoleum

floor and the metal handle of the shopping basket dug into

her hand from the weight of the extra items. And as if she

didn’t have enough to carry already, she stopped by the

refrigerated unit at the head of the produce aisle and

admired the cut flowers.

“These would be nice in my newly cleaned apartment,” she

mused.

She bent down to smell a bunch of multi-colored carnations,

when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“No, we have to get the green leaf lettuce, not the iceberg.

Byers is always particular about that. Don’t worry, if he

gets that, then I’m getting the Cocoa-Crispies.”

She stood up straight and turned at the voice. There,

weighing a head of lettuce was Langly. It was funny, she had

been over to the Lone Gunmen’s apartment so many times, yet

she’d never actually pictured them doing any… chores… or

normal household tasks like everyone else. Langly’s presence

in the grocery store was like Mulder in the Hoover building

cafeteria; it wasn’t unheard of, but somehow, it just wasn’t

expected.

He was with someone she didn’t know, too — a tall bleach-

blonde haired man, about six feet tall, well built, and

wearing the longest, darkest trench coat she’d ever seen. It

made him look even taller and more overbearing than he

already was. Langly looked like a frail teenager next to

him.

Then, in the process of wrapping up the vegetable in a

plastic bag and turning the cart around, Langly caught

Scully’s eye. He waved to her, a relieved expression on his

face as he glanced down at the crumpled paper held tight in

his fist. His friend followed a few paces behind, seeming

utterly bored, until he noticed her.

For a moment, Scully forgot that she was dressed in the

dregs of her closet, or that her feet were freezing. This

tall man fixed his dark piercing eyes on her, blurring out

all the murmurs of other shoppers, the beeps from the

electronic registers, even the whirring from the

refrigerator behind her. It was as if he weren’t looking at

her, but inside her, seeing her soul, pulling it out so that

he could examine it more closely.

He stopped in front of her, a tall mass of black blocking

her view. She could hear his every breath; feel how it made

the blood in her veins pulse in time with its rhythm. Her

hands began to loosen up in the cold refrigerated air of the

supermarket, regaining feeling with the stronger beating of

her heart, releasing her fingers from the heavy weight of

her basket…

Cla-kunk.

Her plastic shopping basket fell to the floor, spilling its

contents. Scully jumped, and snapped her gaze down at the

scattered items. “Oh, thank God,” she thought, relieved that

the bottle of soap hadn’t burst open from the fall. Then,

“Oh, no…” Her yogurt pops weren’t so lucky. The heavy

bottle of Murphy’s had smashed them.

“Scully, are you okay?” Langly said, bending to help her

gather the groceries.

“Yeah, fine.”

They both rose, but left the full basket on the floor so

that she could make it through an introduction of this new

person. She looked at Langly, then at the tall man, then

back again. Langly picked up on her hint.

“Dana Scully, this is my friend Alexander.”

“Hello,” Alexander said in his deep voice.

“Pleased to meet you,” Scully answered, a little breathier

than she had intended. She held her hand out for a

handshake, and stiffened a little when she realized his hand

was even colder than hers. Yet, she smiled politely, trying

hard not to stare at him too intently as Langly rattled off

what a pain it was to be doing the shopping.

“… like a freakin’ mother hen lately. Frohike just won’t

let up on me. Hey, Scully, do you know where they keep the

aluminum foil in this place?”

“Uh, aluminum, foil…?” She hesitated, because she really

wasn’t listening to him at first. Then she compiled her

thoughts in order to give him an accurate answer. “Yeah,

it’s on the bottom shelf in the meat aisle at the back of

the store.”

“Hey, thanks,” he said, pinching his eyebrows together

before he walked on. “See you later, Scully.”

“Yeah, later,” she said at length. Alexander gave her a

half-bow and a smirk on his lips, and then followed his

friend. She almost smiled back — almost — finally a little

uneasy at the way he stared at her.

She turned again to pick out a bunch of flowers from the

refrigerator unit. She found a nice arrangement with pink,

yellow and white flowers, and fished them out of a bucket in

the back row. On the back wall of the refrigerator, there

was a mirror. In the reflection, she could see Langly

pushing his cart back through the produce aisle to get to

the rear of the store. It was still strange, she thought, to

see him doing the chore. And that friend of his…

Wait a minute.

She looked at the mirror again, and saw Langly stop to pick

up some bananas, clear as day, but there was no sign of his

black trench-coated friend. Considering his size, he’d be

pretty hard to miss.

She whirled around to see where he’d gotten off to, and saw

him there, standing with Langly, placing a pair of black

sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose.

“Trick of the eye,” she thought to herself. “My shoulder

must have been in the way.”

She bent down again to pick up her basket from the floor,

trying not to drip the wet ends of the bouquet too much all

over the polished floor. As she walked away toward checkout,

Langly also turned the corner from the produce aisle.

Alexander followed him, though his reflection in the

refrigerator was suspiciously absent.

***

Act 3

Basement Office, Hoover Building

Monday morning, 8:37 a.m.

The elevator sounded a “ding” as it reached the basement,

and the doors shifted open. They moved slowly this morning,

sluggishly ambling to the side, just like she was feeling.

She counted her steps toward the office. As she got closer,

she smelled coffee. Five, four, three… Turning the corner

into the office, she saw Mulder bent over his desk, folders

spread across the surface. Two, one…

“So, here’s the thing, Scully. I’m onto a hunch here, and I

want you to take a look at these files. I’m sure you’ll see

the similarities right away.”

And, the weekend was over.

Scully sighed and sat down in front of the desk, her gaze

moving slowly over each unopened file folder. Mulder had

taken one, spread it wide open and was writing some notes

onto a yellow legal pad. He tore the page off and stuck it

into the folder.

Scully watched him lean back in his chair, head tilted back,

thinking about whatever he’d just written. He cocked his

head toward her and looked at her curiously.

Pointing the eraser end of his pencil, he directed toward an

untouched cup of coffee. “That one’s yours.”

“Thanks,” she accepted, and took a careful sip. She had to

say one thing, Mulder did know the way she liked her coffee.

It helped to come back to a familiarity like this. Her time

alone was slowly becoming a nice memory to savor, and the

present, with Mulder, was beginning to unfold again into

it’s normal routine.

Mulder waited until she put the cup down, an unspoken signal

that she was ready to listen. Then he launched it on her.

“I noticed a pattern in several murder cases that had

recently come up in the last few months. All seemed to be

closed and solved, but there was something unusual about

them. Something that made me think there was something else

to them.”

“Something the untrained spooky-eye couldn’t pick up?”

Mulder smirked at that. He leaned over the desk, palms flat

on an exposed section. “You’re cute when you’re sarcastic.”

“Thank you,” she replied matter of factly.

He stood up again, and continued to pace around the desk,

keeping his eye on her as he moved. “All these murders were

committed by different men, as you’ll see from the many

files I’ve pulled. The funny thing is, all these guys

decided to die a week, sometimes even days after they killed

their final victim.”

Scully picked up one of the folders and studied the mug shot

and autopsy photos of one of the killers. Nothing unusual

there. “They mentally couldn’t handle the guilt?” She threw

it out as a theory, knowing Mulder had more to tell her.

“I don’t think it was suicide,” he stopped pacing a moment

and regarded her, as if seeing her expression helped him to

think better himself. “There’s another funny thing here,

Scully. All the victims *and* their murderers were all dried

up.”

“Dried up?”

“Of blood.”

“Vampires? Again, Mulder?”

“Not so fast, Scully. These are different. I don’t really

think they’re true vampires. More probably, they’re part of

some cult. Like a copycat murder club. They’ll keep the

chain going so they can leave their mark.”

Scully considered this. She wondered why violent crimes

hadn’t already picked up on something like this. A cult

wasn’t too farfetched a cause for murder or suicide, no

matter what Mulder thought. Perhaps they simply gave it to

him because it had “spooky” written all over it.

“Mulder, how could this have gone unnoticed? I mean, such

similar deaths… in the last few months, you said?”

Her partner shifted uncomfortably, playing with his pencil

and pacing in shorter steps, until he came to a stop next to

her. “Well, I’ve *noticed* the similarities in the past few

months. The actual murders occurred several years apart, the

most recent of which happened a few months ago.”

“Ah.” Bingo. She knew there was a catch. So this was what

Mulder did when he was bored, or just didn’t feel like

cleaning.

Mulder stopped fidgeting and watched her take another swig

of coffee. “How was your weekend, by the way?”

“Not long enough,” she said between sleepy mouthfuls. The

coffee was helping, but she couldn’t quite get her brain to

work fast enough in a few minutes for something Mulder had

been stewing over all weekend.

He stuck the pencil behind one ear, and moved around to the

back of her chair.

At first, they were brushes against her shoulders, barely

felt through her suit jacket and blouse. Slowly, Mulder’s

hands began to knead at her upper back. His strong fingers

worked into the tight areas right between her shoulder blade

and spine. She nearly purred with the pleasure of it.

“I missed you,” he whispered. His hot breath stirred the

neatly brushed copper strands near her ear.

Scully sighed, and breathed out her reply, “I missed you,

too.”

She could feel herself sinking deep into a hypnotic state

with every revolution of his thumbs. The massage was getting

a little intense for office hours. She cleared her throat,

and he slowed the kneading to a soft rubbing on her

shoulders again. Then she felt him part her hair at the nape

of her neck and press his lips gently to her skin. He wiped

away the moisture left behind with his thumb, lingering it

over that spot she was forced to think of every time they

had a case involving alien abductions.

He leaned down on the back of her chair, his knuckles just

touching her back. “So what do you think?”

She put down her cup, and opened a few more folders. Some

were from the early forties, others as recent as 1999, and

of course, the one that happened last fall. Mulder quietly

made his way back around the desk and pretended not to watch

her. He tapped his keyboard randomly, the way he did when he

was browsing the Internet. No doubt he’d found something on

the web related to this vague chain of murders.

As she browsed through the autopsy reports and photos, she

noticed something strange. The reports were just as Mulder

had explained, but the photos… she couldn’t quite place

what it was about them. She pulled all the prints from the

paperclips holding them in their respective folders. Then

she laid them out side by side on the edge of the desk.

“What is it?” Mulder asked, rotating in his chair.

“I don’t know, Mulder. It’s…” she sucked on the end of her

fingernail, studying each face of the dead murderers. An

excitement began to tighten her chest. She knew she was

seeing something in the photos, and she wanted to tell him,

but she was damned if she could figure out what it was.

“It’s almost like… I recognize them.” She looked up at her

partner, his eyebrows knitted and his bottom lip had

disappeared in between his teeth.

She felt a creeping guilt begin to crawl through her

stomach. She felt like she was cheating him out of

information, yet she didn’t even know herself where it was

coming from. The familiarity of those faces was like a dream

she hadn’t quite forgotten.

“What do you mean?” he prodded gently.

Scully inhaled a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. It

didn’t work. They all still had a commonality she just

couldn’t piece together. “I don’t know. But, I think you’ve

got yourself a case here, Mulder. I, at least, want to get

to the bottom of this now.”

Mulder nodded, his patience proving to be a kinder

persuasion this morning. She was thankful for it. Scully

scooped up the photos and tucked them back into their

folders.

***

8:28 p.m.

The smell of sweet wax filled his nostrils as he lit the

last candle. It was good to be in the dim light, the cool

basement. He moved about the room slowly, watching the

shadows dance across the walls. The flickering from many

flames scattered them in all directions, and it looked like

a ghostly waltz surrounding him.

His trench coat lay sprawled across the bed like a limp

body. The maroon velvet comforter was just the color it

might be if that body had bled to death, soaking it like a

dye.

He picked it up and brought it to the large closet near the

bathroom. The candlelight jumped through the narrow opening

when he opened the door. He moved some full hangers over to

hang up the heavy coat. As he did so, he glimpsed the long

mahogany box that lay on the floor behind. It reached deep

into the large closet, all the way to the back wall. A large

closet was good to have in a studio apartment; storage was a

high commodity. This one was meant to be a walk-in.

Alexander needed it for other reasons.

As he arranged his clothes on the rod again to hide the

coffin, he tried not to think of his sickly wrinkled body

laying there in the sleep of the damned. The muscles of his

current body were fresh and strong, yet useless without his

true vessel nearby. He closed the closet.

The sound of his own sleeping breath was imaginary, but he

always seemed to hear it. It haunted him with every move he

made. Alexander flipped on his computer and sat on the edge

of his bed, waiting for his new friend, hoping he could use

him to find a better, bigger place — a large mansion with

separate wings, so he could be far enough away from *it*,

where he didn’t have to be reminded of that body, that link

to this accursed afterlife.

***

Alexander’s basement studio

Somewhere in Virginia

9:05 p.m.

The room was dark. Candles were set strategically around

Alexander’s studio apartment so that no electric lights were

needed to get around the place — not that there weren’t

any. If Langly hadn’t known better, he would have thought

Alex wanted more from him than a lesson in hacking.

“So, what you have to do is learn the algorithms. Then break

it down and figure out what kind of system a particular

system would typically be run on. How are you at math?”

“I knew a mathematician once,” Alexander said airily from

his bed, leaning back onto his elbows. “I learned a lot from

him. But what I learned must be obsolete by now.”

“Well, the basics are the basics. How long ago was it?”

Alex’s right eye squinted, and he moved his jaw around as if

he were sucking on a jawbreaker. He was, in fact trying to

figure out when he’d been inside that man’s body last. Was

it 1852? “It doesn’t matter, I’m sure I’ll pick up on it in

time.”

He sat up and felt around the bed for his sunglasses. When

he found them, he went to sit over by Langly at the computer

and put them on. His friend curled his lip and adjusted his

own glasses.

“You really take this vampire thing seriously, don’t you?”

Alexander let out a dark chuckle. “‘The eyes are the window

to the soul.’ And my soul… wants… to be a vampire.”

He paused to see how Langly would react. Sarcastic deadpan.

But Langly kept an undercurrent of humor, and he soon

explained. “Actually, it’s a matter of my handicap enhancing

the experience. The glare from the computer screen bothers

my eyes. It’s the same with fluorescent lights.”

Alexander’s eyes may have been shielded by tinted plastic,

but Langly could feel the man studying him.

“You know,” Alex hinted, “I could do the same for you. I

mean, enhance the experience of the game for you.”

Langly clamped his mouth shut and began typing random server

locations into the computer’s favorites menu; servers a

beginner wouldn’t be able to mess up — too much.

“Hey, man,” he said stiffly, “I don’t do drugs, if that’s

what you’re saying. No way you’re getting me to kill any of

these beautiful baby brain cells of mine.”

“No, no it’s not like that at all,” he replied, covering the

hand Langly had on the mouse.

Langly pulled away, and stood up. “Look, you’re getting a

little too touchy-feely for my liking. And you’re starting

to creep me out in more ways than one.”

“You want to get creeped out?” Alex asked with a toothy

grin.

The smaller man was speechless. It was the second time in a

matter of three days, a new record for Langly. He always had

a good comeback. Not with this guy.

“What?” he squeaked out incredulously.

“I’ve got this new storyline for the game next week. You

wanna try it out before I get it approved by the Story

Teller?”

This was amazing. The man had a gift for glazing over his

own creepy faux-pas. Yet, Langly wanted to know. If there

was one thing he enjoyed in his free time, it was escaping

into a little fantasy role-playing. And he did like the way

Alex played, though he’d never admit it after being beaten

so badly. Besides, a little weirdness in personality could

go a long way as a Story Teller.

Langly fidgeted in his jeans pockets, searching for

something to occupy his hands with. He thought about the

offer. Then thought about what else he had to do that

evening. Nothing.

“All right, what the hell.” He threw his hands up loosely in

surrender.

“Good.” Alexander smiled, lifted the velvet bedspread and

reached beneath the bed frame. He pulled out his books and a

few loose sheets of notebook paper, where he’d written down

an outline of his storyline. “Grab a chair. I’ll take the

bed.”

Thank goodness for small considerations of personal space,

Langly thought. At least he hadn’t invited him to *join* him

on the bed.

Alex took off his sunglasses, and arranged the papers out in

front of him on the maroon velvet. He closed his eyes and

touched his fingertips together, pausing in a moment of

thought.

“All right. I’ll begin by setting the scene.”

Langly sat back in his chair and folded his arms. It was

silent for a long moment, and he almost started to get

impatient. Yet, he waited. Something inside him was still

curious. The game was too interesting to give up, and so, he

remained still in his chair until Alex began.

“You’re in a night club. It’s dark. The lights are flashing

everywhere, the music is booming from the ten-foot

amplifiers, and there are gorgeous women everywhere. Some of

them are your kind, a vampire, and some of them are human.

You can tell the difference easily, though…”

Langly imagined a large room. He imagined his character,

dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, much like his normal every

day outfits. None of the beautiful women Alexander was

describing gave him a second glance.

In a moment that passed by unnoticed, there was a shift in

reality, like going from being awake to sleep. His

surroundings became sharply realistic, and it seemed that

Langly really was walking through the space. The music was

so loud it sent vibrations through his skin. He imagined

himself becoming engulfed in the crowd, sifting through

narrow paths between the people, trying to make his way

toward one end of the room…

“You arrive at the other end of the room, to the bar.

There’s another vampire there, and he offers you a drink…”

Langly’s eyelids were feeling heavy with the thought of this

scenario. Yes, there was the other vampire. He was tall and

sat with his elbows on the edge of the bar. He was drinking

what looked like…

“…a red beer,” Alexander’s voice said. “You know better

what it is. He introduces himself. ‘Good evening. Name’s

Bishop Canterbury.'”

“Oh, that’s Alex’s character,” Langly thought. He reached

out to shake his hand, unconscious to the fact that he

really *was* reaching out to shake Alexander’s hand. When he

felt the contact, the cold skin of his friend, he snapped

his eyes open.

At the same instance, Alexander did the same. He stared hard

into Langly’s eyes with light blue, nearly white, irises and

black tiny pupils. At the edge of his consciousness, Langly

mused at how strange it was to have tiny pupils in the dim

lighting. And didn’t Alex have brown eyes?

“Those that accept my brew must contribute to it. Would you

desire that power, to join me, to become part of my clan, so

that you may taste of this brew?”

“What… would it gain me, oh… Bishop Canterbury…”

Langly fought to keep his words coherent.

“‘To be part of a clan with the great political standing and

power we hold in our vampire realm, it would be an advantage

to you. Will you become a part of us?’

“As he’s speaking to you, you notice a stray dog pacing the

length of the bar. He’s old and ragged, yet his eyes glow

red. He’s watching you, appraising you.”

The images engulfed him further, possessed him. He could

feel the pressure of being cornered. Surrounded by a Bishop

and a feral dog was not a nice place to be thrown into. He

felt the strain of a decision to join with a strong clan,

but felt threatened by this other creature. He could

actually see the dog’s red glowing eyes and the strobe

lights catching only glimpses of the dog’s movements.

He began to panic. Langly’s strategy for the game wanted to

kick in, pose his character’s skills against Alex’s. He

needed to defend himself, prove himself worthy. But he was

finding it hard to voice his commands. He felt his lips move

into words he did not want to say, and all of a sudden, he

was saying, “Yes.”

A myriad of images filled his vision. At one moment, it was

Alex, still staring at him with those crazy blue-white eyes.

At another, it was the blur of dark mottled fur, growling,

and teeth lunging for him. Alex had not even continued with

his scenario. Langly did not hear his voice anymore. The

story was progressing all on its own. He was paralyzed by

fear and fascination.

Suddenly, he felt a deep pinch on the inside of his right

arm, close to his wrist. He felt Alexander’s iron grip on

his hand, then a release of tension after the shock of pain.

It was like the pain was being drawn out of his arm, flowing

out… being sucked out. Fuzzily, he realized that this is

what Bishop Canterbury meant by contributing to the brew.

His blood was being taken from him.

The Bishop’s lips smeared red with it, and there was nothing

he could do. After all, he had agreed to it. Now he would be

part of his clan. The visions of hypnotism faded as his

lifeblood was sucked out. Langly dozed sitting up, and

temporarily faced a dream of blank grayness — left in a

void as his friend stopped the story.

Alexander wiped the sleeve of his black shirt over his lips

and cleaned away the blood before Langly could wake up

again.

He looked at Langly, sitting in the chair, mouth hung open,

still caught in the trance Alex had expertly coaxed him

into. He began the story again and slowly, Langly imagined

himself bleeding all over the bar in the nightclub, the

feral dog lapping it up off the floor like a puddle of

water.

Alexander slid his tongue over his canines, sucking up the

last bit of Langly’s blood. Then he squeezed his eyes shut,

weary from his chore, but satisfied he’d accomplished the

first step to his plan.

Laboriously, he continued his story, “You are weak from the

exchange, and are leaning on the edge of the bar. The Bishop

tips the glass above your head, and trickles some of the red

beer into your mouth…”

Alex then bit down hard into his own wrist. The warm red,

almost black fluid dripped from the punctures in his skin

and into Langly’s mouth. He smiled as the drops disappeared

onto his friend’s tongue. As the third drop fell, he quickly

pulled his arm away. Too much vampire blood would change

Langly over to the other side too quickly. He didn’t want to

do that… just yet. The decision had to be Langly’s. Alex

wanted him for other reasons.

He opened the drawer from the bedside table, pulled out a

roll of gauze and wrapped Langly’s arm. When that was

finished, he bound his own. When he brought Langly out, he’d

suggest that he was bitten by his pet dog.

As he spoke the mesmerizing words into his friend’s mind,

Alex began to see more of what he’d created. As Langly sat

motionless, envisioning the scene within his hypnotic state,

Alex was able to envision it with him. As mists part when

the sun rises and burns away their obscurity, so he could

see what Langly was seeing, and was pleased. What he’d

planned had taken exactly as he’d wanted it to. His

thoughts, his desires, implanted themselves into Langly’s

seamlessly, although his friend did not know it yet.

“‘You are almost a part of our clan, now.'” Alexander said

as the Bishop, “‘You will still not be accepted fully until

you have proven yourself in battle. Please, take part in our

entertainment tonight.’ He invites you toward the dance

floor. What will you do?”

Langly’s head lolled to one side, slowly coming back to an

upright position. He squinted his eyes, and yawned, trying

to regain some oxygen. He was feeling so weak, like he’d

just woken up.

“I uh… partake in the entertainment? I’d rather watch.”

Langly was coming back to reality one layer at a time.

“The Bishop can see you have insecurities over this type of

interaction. As a member of this clan, you must learn to be

a little more dashing, good to the ladies both of our kind

and not. How else will you be able to feed with us?”

Finally, the dreamy clouds of Alex’s hypnosis dissipated. He

blinked, and looked up at his friend. His eyes were back to

a bottomless dark brown again. Langly sat up straight and

thought about his initial move. “Can you offer me a spell to

help me along with that? I based my character a lot on

myself. But this clan sounds a little high-class for me.”

“You can’t back out now,” Alexander replied in his deep

resonant voice.

“No, I want to get experience, Bishop. What can I do to make

myself better?”

“Okay, I think that’s enough preview, don’t you Langly?”

Alexander said, offering his friend a way out of the

scenario. Besides, he was feeling quite tired now.

Langly jerked at the sudden switch back to reality. “Oh,

yeah. Well, great story, Alex. The guys are gonna flip over

it at the next game.” He laughed uneasily. “I guess I got a

little carried away there.”

“Thank you. Although, this isn’t the first time I’ve done

this. I have been playing a little longer than you, you

know.” Hundreds of years longer, Alex commented silently to

himself, a little ironically.

Langly got up and glanced at his digital watch: 11:30 p.m.

“Whoa, lost track of time. Do you uh, want anymore help with

the computer tonight?”

“No, I’ve had my fill.”

“Well, see you later then, man. If I don’t leave now, I’m

gonna crash on your floor.” He yawned and waved a lazy

goodbye. Closing his friend’s front door behind him, and

walked out into the cool darkness of night.

***

The next afternoon

2:35 p.m.

“You know, Mulder, I really hate having to park so far away

from the guys’ place.”

“If we didn’t, someone would recognize the car eventually.

They like their secrecy, Scully.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

Scully stomped her new chunky high-heels as she walked,

clicking them hard in rebellion. Then her sensitive toe

began to prick a little. It was always the first to complain

when she was breaking in new footwear. Mulder glanced down

at her from time to time, an amused, childlike excitement

puckering his cheeks.

“What?” Scully asked flatly.

“I still can’t believe you want to devote so much effort to

this case, even without Skinner’s approval.

They had presented the files to their superior, without so

much as a grunt in response. Skinner hadn’t approved it, but

he hadn’t exactly disregarded it either. Scully inhaled and

tucked her chin into her chest as they crossed the street.

“Well, in some ways, it’s simply fascinating…”

“Do tell, Spock.”

She jabbed him with her elbow for that one. Mulder rubbed

the spot and mouthed a silent “ow.”

“On the other, I feel a personal connection with it somehow.

It’s almost like I was meant to discover something here.

It’s just beneath the surface, and I only have to be able to

find the right hook to pull it out.”

“Spooky.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. Hesitantly, she continued, “You must

know what I mean, Mulder. I mean…”

Mulder stopped in mid-stride and touched his partner’s

shoulder to halt her. “Think of it as your intuition

speaking to you. Don’t fight it. Don’t be afraid of it.”

“But I am,” she stared up at him, trying to think of how to

explain that she had felt this way all weekend.

He took her hand reassuringly tight in his grip, keeping his

questions to himself, and they continued down the sidewalk.

She had always felt some niggle of psychic ability that she

never admitted to anyone, even herself. But this was not it.

When she was out to dinner with Mel on Saturday, it first

began to prod at her. In the restaurant, she kept thinking

someone was watching her. But every time she turned to look

around, all the patrons were involved in their own

conversations.

Even stranger was when she was at her mother’s house. She

kept expecting someone to call, or to show up at the front

door. Bill had eventually picked up on her strange behavior.

After several minutes of her nephew hitting her knee with a

squeaky plastic hammer, with no reaction from his Aunt Dana,

Bill demanded to know what she was so distracted by. Scully

begged off that her mind had just wandered and forced

herself to pay closer attention to the family she rarely saw

anymore.

She didn’t want to tell Mulder that what she was

experiencing felt, in all its strangeness, like a high-

school crush. The fluttering of her heart each time the

phone rang, the quick glances every time she heard a man

with a deep voice. It was nothing like the endless longing

she had for Mulder, but she feared he wouldn’t understand.

He’d been hurt by loved ones too often. And she had so

recently been able to open up her feelings to him. It hurt

her to keep things to herself. She wanted so badly to spill

it all out, but her Scully instinct chickened out. Better

that he didn’t know.

Her mind flipped back to the case. She had the strangest

premonition that she knew all the murderers. How could she?

Mulder was sure to have dug the files up from the dustiest

archives in the entire Hoover building. But she’d seen a

sign, a vague trait in all of those mug shots — she still

could not pinpoint exactly what it was — that reminded her

of *him;* Langly’s friend, Alexander, who seemed to haunt

her thoughts ever since she met him that cold, rainy morning

in the supermarket. Seeing all those pictures just forced it

all into the foreground. This was no ordinary passing fancy.

It intrigued her. It scared her.

They walked the last few blocks in silence, holding hands

until they reached the front door to the Lone Gunmen’s

apartment. Scully appreciated the consideration Mulder had

for her. Although she knew he was holding back a million

questions, he did not press the issue. He simply expressed

his support with the gentle squeezing of his hand.

***

“Start your search in the suburbs of major cities, like

D.C., New York, Chicago, Detroit.”

“You got it, G-man.”

It was always fascinating to watch the two of them work

together, Scully thought, as the bluish glow of the computer

lit up Mulder’s and Frohike’s faces. She could just see from

the bridge of their noses and up, their eyes the most active

portions of their faces. Bright blue reflections flicked

back and forth in their eye sockets, skimming the lists of

names on the screen. A simple “yes” or “no” had Frohike’s

fingers flying over the keys.

She listened carefully when Mulder found a name that might

give them a lead. Normally, she wouldn’t hover so near to

them during database research, but she wanted to know as

much as possible, as quickly as possible, to be rid of this

case. She had this inexplicable hunch that this Alexander

was involved. She hated it when she couldn’t explain

herself. But if he was responsible for Mulder’s cult theory,

it was her responsibility to stop him. Alexander certainly

had the gift of persuasion behind him, their first meeting

at the grocery store had proven that to her. If it was

indeed a cult following, he could definitely be the one to

lead it.

Frohike printed several sheets as they went along, and she

picked them out of the printer tray. While the boys did the

dirty work, she skimmed through them. She was deep into the

third set of family survivors when Mulder lifted his head.

She could see his mouth and chin now, under lit with the

eerie blue glow.

“Do you see it, Scully?”

“Well, they all had pretty unremarkable relatives. And none

of them really lived that close to their families. I’d say

these guys were loners and didn’t ask much of life. Only

thing is…”

“They didn’t end that way,” he finished for her.

“No, they didn’t,” she agreed. “In the last one or two

years, sometimes even months, they became much more

successful.”

“One-hit-wonders, eh?”

She put the pages down and met her partner’s eyes. She could

see his line of thinking was identical to her own:

yesterday’s research, tracking down all the miniscule

details of the murderers’ profiles. It had lasted late into

the night, and Mulder ended up sleeping on her couch

blanketed in papers instead of in her bed. These guys were

all nobodies, a wish away from the emerging wealth they

gained too quickly toward the end.

“I don’t get it, Mulder. What, did they sell their souls to

the devil?”

“More like the devil just took their souls from them,” he

said hollowly, and bent down over the computer with Frohike

again.

There was a staccato knock at the door.

“Two and six!” Frohike bellowed in the direction of the

door. Then softly, he mumbled, “Ass-wipe.”

The two agents shared confused glances. The sound of

jangling keys tinkled from the other side of the heavy door,

and then two of the locks snapped open, clicking loudly

among the subtle whirr of computer equipment.

When the door swung open, Langly sauntered in, and smiled at

all in the room. He flipped several of the locks back into

place, and then hopped over to his computer. It was amusing

to see Langly in such a cheerful mood. But even more

surprising was why he was in it.

“He ditched me at the computer show this morning for a

couple of babes pricing out monitors,” Frohike grumbled low

enough so that only the two agents could hear. Scully craned

her neck, trying to get a better view of Langly, searching

for a change that might possibly have attracted not one, but

two women.

“Aw, come on, Frohike,” Mulder prodded, “What are you afraid

of, a little competition?”

“I wasted precious bargaining time looking for that blonde

bozo. Then I see him flirting with those two…” he clenched

his fists, clearly holding back violent punches to his

keyboard. “It served him right to find his own way home.”

“You left him there?”

“It doesn’t look like it bothered him too much, does it?”

The short man said with venom, as he continued to scroll

through files.

Another knock came at the door. Frohike huffed and shot an

awfully sharp glare toward Langly as he went over to see

whom it was. No more than a quick peek at the surveillance

monitor had him opening random locks, and then Byers walked

in.

“The gang’s all here!” Langly called out from his end of the

room, leaning dangerously back on two legs of his chair.

“What’s with him?” Byers asked the rest of them. “He made

the trip back, uh… interesting.”

“Ah, shit,” Frohike cursed. From the scrunching of his face,

it seemed he had really hoped to give the youngest member of

their little group a hard time for ditching him. And Byers

had put a big wrinkle into his plans by picking Langly up

and giving him a ride home.

Byers opened his mouth halfway, and then clamped it shut as

he saw that there was obviously a conflict going on between

his other two roommates. He puffed up his chest, cleared his

throat, then noticed the two agents taking in the little

drama he’d unknowingly contributed to.

“Hi Mulder. Hi Scully. I’ll, uh, be in the back,” he said

politely, then carefully stepped past a fuming Frohike and

disappeared into the maze of shelving.

Mulder stood and fixed his gaze upon Scully, lifting one

eyebrow hesitantly, a silent question of, ‘should we get out

of here?’

Scully tapped the edge of her stack of papers on the table

to straighten them into a neat pile. She shook her head ever

so slightly, trying to hide the unspoken conversation from

their friends. She tipped the stack of pages toward herself,

and looked pointedly over at Langly. With her pen, she

pointed at Mulder, then at Frohike. Mulder nodded as he

looked down, cleverly hiding his acknowledgement.

When Frohike returned to his research, Mulder sat with him,

trying to resume their previous intensity without effort.

Satisfied the boys were occupied enough, Scully carefully

navigated her way over to Langly, in the hopes of

discovering the cause of his strange behavior.

Langly flipped on one of three monitors surrounding his

keyboard. He drummed his fingers on the desktop absently,

and puckered his cheeks in a smirk. He was far away

somewhere — perhaps back at the show — reliving a pleasant

moment. “God,” Scully thought to herself, a little

disturbed. He had one of those big cheesy ‘I just got laid’

smirks on his face.

Then he swiveled in his chair and turned on her. She stopped

dead in her tracks, heart skipping a beat at the suddenness.

“Langly–” she leaned an elbow on his desk, feigning

casualness. She hoped it was working. “How was the show this

morning?”

“Incredible,” he said airily. Damn, he really did look like

he’d just gotten laid.

Clearing some nonexistent phlegm from her throat, she

continued, “What’s up with Frohike?”

He swiveled dramatically back toward the computer screen,

causing the squeak in his chair to make a loud angry noise

that made everyone’s skin spring up with goose-pimples. “You

tell me. Tell him to lay off and give me some breathing

room, will ya?”

“But, you three have always been a team. I’m sure he’s only

looking out for your–”

“Oh, please! He’s just jealous I’ve got a new group of

friends to hang out with.”

She was surprised at that statement. Langly rarely, if ever,

thought of climbing the social ladder. From the years she

and Mulder had known him, he’d been content to spend his

days glued to the computer. Digging up obscure facts on

strange phenomenon and testing the limits of secure archives

were a passion of his. Mulder had always been able to count

on him for it, and Langly along with the others, was ready

at their beckoned call. A social life would have interfered

too much with that.

“What makes these friends so special you’re willing to give

up the only family you’ve got?”

“They’re not my family.”

“They’re not blood, but they care for you enough. Whether

you see it or not, it’s what they are.”

He took off his black-rimmed glasses and turned toward her

again. She could see his eyelids squinting with the struggle

to focus on her without them. The pitying expression she

must have had on her face made him think better of the

decision, and replaced the lenses onto the bridge of his

nose. Then, he fixed a sterile, unguarded gaze at her. His

eyes followed the line of her arm, the subtle curve that

lined her hip beneath the tailored suit jacket, all the way

down to her feet. Her sensitive toe throbbed at the new

attention to her shoes.

“You’re right. I need family. But I’d rather start my own,”

he said low enough that the men on the other side of the

room could not possibly hear.

Shocked and appalled, Scully was about to slap him clear

across the face for such a comment. As she reared back and

prepared for the blow, she noticed him slumping forward.

Quickly, she switched gears from attack to rescue, and

pushed him back up into the chair. Holding his forearm for

support, she waited while Langly took some deep breaths and

regained his composure.

When she was confident he would be all right on his own, she

released the arm, but not before she realized that beneath

her fingers, instead of the bare skin, she felt a soft patch

of gauze — and it was damp. Suddenly, Scully became aware

that Langly was actually bleeding in her grip. “When did

this happen?” she scolded him. Immediately, she began to

unwrap the wound.

“Last night. Friend’s dog,” Langly answered without concern.

Sure enough, beneath the red-splotched gauze were two

puncture wounds near his wrist. But the holes in Langly’s

delicate white skin had already begun to heal as if they

were a few days old. The scabs opening up again caused the

fresh bleeding.

“Are you sure? This was only last night?”

Langly nodded. Scully bent over his arm and examined it

closer, turning it in the light. It couldn’t be. It was just

impossible to heal so quickly. She dabbed at it with a clean

part of the gauze, then stepped back.

“Well, we need to clean and dress it again either way. You

don’t want it to–”

Langly lifted the arm and licked at the fresh blood.

“– get infected! Langly, stop that!” She grabbed his arm

and led him straight to the bathroom. She ran warm water and

soap over the arm, ignoring the hissing from her friend. She

was intent on her ministrations; consumed by her doctoring

that she didn’t notice how close Langly was standing to her.

When she turned the water off, she froze. He was breathing

deeply, not from pain, not from exhaustion. He was

*smelling* her hair!

She jerked back, hands dripping with water. The corners of

his mouth drew up in an awful leering grin. This time, she

didn’t hold back. Water droplets painted the walls of the

bathroom as the back of Scully’s hand made a cracking sound

against Langly’s cheek.

His arm still laid wet and dripping pink rivulets of water

as Scully stomped out of the bathroom.

“Hmm,” Langly intoned in a gravelly voice that wasn’t quite

his own, “I love the spunky ones.”

*****

Alexander’s Basement Studio

Same time

Back in the basement studio, Alexander sat cross-legged on

his velvet bedspread. Yes, this Scully was definitely a

fireball. That red hair was no lie.

He’d seen the whole exchange. He’d even gained some kind of

control over Langly’s movements, insinuating thoughts into

his subconscious. But he had to be more careful. His blood

was it’s most potent now, fresh in Langly’s bloodstream. If

he were going to have Langly do some dirty work for him, it

would have to be soon. And he couldn’t let his centuries old

longing to be with a woman get in the way, just now —

especially with this one. She was a clever girl. He’d have

to be careful. He had a strange sense that she would be able

to unravel everything at the slightest hint.

He made a motion toward his arm as if he were brushing off

some water with a towel. Then encircled his wrist with an

invisible piece of fresh gauze. Langly had finished treating

his wound.

He knew of Langly’s fear of the opposite sex, but he had to

use him in order to get Scully off his scent. She already

knew her friend was acting strangely, but she’d never expect

something as strange as him making a pass at her — much

less try and seduce her.

Yes, that was it. And she’d make a nice meal out of it too.

Langly was going to lead her to him.

Alex shook his head free of the mental connection with

Langly and put on his sunglasses. One thing was for sure; he

had to find out how to make Langly more receptive to a

strong-willed woman like Scully. And he knew just the place

to get some input on the attractions of Langly.

*****

Act 4

Starbuck’s Coffee Shop

10:20 p.m.

Frohike tried to make sense of the day’s events as he stood

in line at the coffee shop counter. Being in the

neighborhood had somehow perked up his taste buds.

Mulder, being his usual self, was hot on a trail and

insisted on running back to the office to pick something up

before returning to Scully’s apartment for the evening.

After the long day of research at the library, Frohike had

offered to drive Scully home, so that she wouldn’t have to

suffer a trip back and forth.

What a fiasco. Library equipment was not his ideal choice of

tool, but it did have access to hundreds of databases, and

they had made some good headway. Staying at the home base

wasn’t going to work after today’s… whatever it was.

Scully had exited the bathroom in such a huff and demanded

to continue the research somewhere else. No explanation

further than that she had confirmed his opinion about his

roommate: Langly was being a major asshole.

And what news was this to him? Ever since he’d started

playing those Vampire role-playing games, he’d picked up an

incorrigible ego. Langly had always liked the sunshine blown

up his bony ass. He must be good at this game, because the

ego was growing into a conceited attitude — even worse than

usual.

The darts in Scully’s eyes as he dropped her off, even after

making the special drive out to console her, told him a lot.

Langly was changing, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. And

if he was rubbing Scully the wrong way, something had to be

done. Nobody was going to mess with his — er, Mulder’s

woman.

As he stepped up to the counter, Jenny greeted him, a

regular server at the coffee shop they all had become

familiar with over the years.

“Hi, Frohike. What can I get my favorite customer today?”

the young face beamed at him.

“Black.”

“Whoa. Not your regular cream and sugar?”

“I need a buzz, Jen. It’s been a long day.”

“Is it Langly?”

His head snapped up to look at her. “What?”

“That two-timer. I’ve been working him gently ever since the

day he first walked in here. And have I ever gotten a second

glance from that man? No.”

“What are you talking about, Jenny? Does he have a girl?”

Frohike was getting a bitter taste in his mouth, and he

hadn’t even taken a sip of the medium black coffee Jenny had

handed him. First the two at the show, now someone else?

What, did his hormones just start kicking in? Maybe his

nerdiness had broken down and he was trying to make up for

lost time. He grunted and set the cup down to rummage

through his wallet to pay the girl.

“I’m not even sure he’s interested in girls at all, you

know.”

Frohike snorted as he dropped the change into her cupped

palm. “Langly may be running around being an idiot, but I

don’t think he’s gay.”

She slammed the register drawer shut and checked behind

Frohike to make sure there were no more customers. “Well

that ‘friend’ of his came in here today and asked me about

him. Said, could I give him some ideas of what a woman would

find attractive about a guy like Langly? What would I

expect, say if he were to come in here and sweep me off my

feet.”

She blushed and looked away from her customer. Frohike had

known that Langly had liked Jenny for a long time but was

too stupid to make any kind of move. Now he could see that

Jenny felt the same way and was ashamed of it. A nice girl

like her shouldn’t have to feel like second fiddle to a

geeky asshole. Langly needed a talking to. He didn’t care if

he was coming off as a mother hen. It broke his heart to see

a woman used and disappointed.

“Which friend was this, Jenny?”

“Tall guy. Bleach-blonde hair. Dark sunglasses.”

One of Langly’s new Vampire game friends, he knew that much,

but didn’t know his name. The game was proving to be more

and more of a bad influence, if it involved meddling

perverts like this guy.

“I think *he’s* interested in him,” Jenny whispered

conspiratorially. Her eyes glistened with tears held back.

“I feel bad for him, if that’s true, but I’m more worried

he’s asking on behalf of another girl.”

Never in the mood to see a woman cry, Frohike assured her,

“Langly may be an asshole, but I’m sure there isn’t anyone

else he thinks of more than you. Don’t worry. If this guy is

messing with my friend’s head too much, he’ll be taking it

up the ass in more ways than one.”

He patted her hand. “Langly will come back. I just gotta

knock him off his pedestal a little so he can realize what

he’s got right here.”

Ever the romantic, Frohike trotted out of the coffee shop to

go jump onto his white horse. The ancient VW van was a

disappointment in that respect, but his knowledge of

shortcuts through the streets of Virginia carried him faster

than any lightning fast stallion. If Langly were going to

get an education on romance from anyone, he’d have to pass

through the master first.

*****

Lone Gunmen Headquarters

11:18 p.m.

Uck. What filth men of great minds lived in these days. Alex

grimaced as he nudged empty plastic bags that once held junk

food away from Langly’s workspace. His appearance and living

conditions were definitely going to have to improve if he

was to take his body eventually.

Langly flipped through the pages of a rules book, catching

up on the etiquette of Vampires for the upcoming weekend

game. Alex was here to improve his image, supposedly so that

he could fit in better with the rest of his clan at the

game. It would prove useful for more than that reason alone,

soon enough.

“A suit? Man, maybe this clan is a little too elite for me.

Can’t I be the grubby one?”

“No, I’m sorry pal. A suit you must have. And we’re going to

start dressing more for the parts in upcoming games. The

Story Tellers thought it was a good idea when I suggested it

to them after reading my scenario.”

“Isn’t it a bit over the top though? I mean, it’s just a

game.”

“You’ll thank me for it later.”

Langly flipped through some more pages. He guessed it would

be cool to enhance the experience by dressing the part. That

way of “enhancing” was a lot less scary than Alex’s original

methods. He’d had some pretty bad nightmares last night he’d

be happy to not relive any time soon.

Where was he going to get a suit, though? He’d borrow one

off of Byers, but his clothing didn’t seem to be hip enough.

He rarely wore anything other than a suit, but he just had

that librarian look to him. Still, he could grab a hold of

Byers easier than Mulder, although the G-man did have a good

look going for him.

“Your friend Mulder has better taste in clothing, I think.”

“Yeah well, he’s got a lady to dress for.”

Alexander leaned his elbow on the table, his smirk hidden as

he cupped cheek and part of his mouth in one hand. Langly

hadn’t noticed that Alex had answered a question he hadn’t

vocalized. And further than that, Langly had never spoken

openly to him about Mulder.

He could feel a warm glow consume his body with excitement,

like those all too short moments after he’d fed. The hot

blood would run from his victim’s veins and seep through his

belly into his cold dead flesh. It gave him his only taste

of life, though he had to bear the disgusting mode of

nourishment to achieve it.

He shivered slightly as he watched Langly’s pale, although

very much alive, fingers skim over the black and white

printed pages of the rules book. Blue veins stood out on the

backs of his hands, blood returning to the heart to

replenish itself in the natural cycle of life. He fancied

that he could hear the pulsing rush of it moving up Langly’s

arms, through the chest, and up into that large artery at

the side of his neck.

Alex’s stomach began to growl. This was all suddenly making

him hungry. Entimen’s treats were not going to do it for him

this time. He needed his blood, and soon.

The scraping and clicking of locks being opened announced

the arrival of someone returning home. A short man, troll-

like in appearance, entered the room. This was Frohike, he

gathered. He’d never met the man, but knew he was one of

Langly’s closest friends. As much as Langly complained about

his nagging at times, Alex noticed through their mind-link,

that Langly thought of him sometimes as a father figure. And

as cocky as he could be sometimes, Langly always made room

to take note of Frohike’s opinions — though, he’d never

admit it.

It was this man, this height-challenged, greasy-haired troll

that came straight toward Alex with a grimace that would

make even a pit bull look friendlier.

“You. You’re the one who’s started all this.”

Alex made his eyes big and glossy, pouting his lips, playing

it up as if he didn’t have a clue as to what Frohike was

referring to.

“What are you doing to him?” Frohike spat out.

“I’m making him my friend.”

“Yeah? The kind of friend that teaches him to be an asshole?

The kind that scares the crap out of a girl who’s had a

crush on the geek for months now?”

Langly’s head snapped up at this, finally paying attention

to the exchange.

“Langly makes his own decisions.”

“Yeah,” Langly jumped in with determination, “I make my own

decisions.”

“He doesn’t need you anymore,” Alex added.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do anymore,” Langly

repeated the sentiment.

“Oh come on, man,” Frohike shot back incredulously. “I don’t

know what kind of Jedi mind trick he’s using on you, but

you’ve got to snap out of it.”

Panic ran down Alexander’s spine and he felt his colon

clench. Shit. He didn’t like the way Frohike was talking.

Maybe he was just using analogies. He didn’t know what a

“Jedi” was, but just the fact that one would use a “mind

trick” made him think that maybe this little man knew more

than he was allowing credit for.

“This bastard’s gotten Jenny all upset. Don’t be such an

asshole, Langly. If you don’t care what I think, think about

her. If you care about her, you’ll see this meddling bastard

for what he is.”

Alexander stood up to his full height so that Frohike was

staring at his belt buckle. “So what do you say, man,” he

said to Langly, but stared directly down at Frohike as he

spoke, “You gonna come out with me tomorrow night, or are

you going to stay home with mother hen here?”

Alex didn’t need this kind of obstacle getting in the way of

his plan. He shot an intense gaze over to Langly, burning

his eyes into his mind. The threat was clear in that one

look. He had to make a choice. Alex used the mingling of

Langly’s blood in his veins to influence his answer, tried

his hardest to bring Langly over to his side. A spray of

sweat was becoming evident on his pale brow.

Langly’s eyes filled with fear. Damn it. Too much.

“You know what, Alex, why don’t you leave for a while.” He

noticed Frohike flinch at the answer. Then spoke to him,

“Sorry, man. I’ll catch ya in a few.”

“So you’re staying?” Alex asked.

“For now…”

Alex smiled in return.

Frohike stepped aside before the huge man could stomp him in

his exit. Alex left the apartment heavy-footed, and slammed

the door on his way out.

*****

“Hey, man,” Frohike attempted to console his friend, “I’m

sorry I had to come down on him like that. But you’ve really

changed these last couple of days. I was beginning to

worry.”

Langly had been watching the door since Alex had left. Now,

he looked at Frohike, a sad, helpless expression creasing

the skin between his eyebrows.

“I need to get out for a while,” he said, absently

scratching his head. He looked dazed, like he really wasn’t

sure he wanted to follow through with his own decision.

He walked over to an open doorway around one of the shelving

units, and ducked his head in to speak to Byers. Frohike

couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it sounded like Langly

was begging him for something, whimpering like a puppy-dog.

When he emerged again, Byers followed, jangling his keys

into his blazer pocket, ready to go out with the van. He

gave a shrug as he passed Frohike. The shorter man grabbed

his elbow before he had a chance to continue.

“What’s going on, Byers? You guys conspiring against me or

something?”

Byers jerked back in surprise, his boyish features below the

trimmed beard flushed at the accusation. “No. Uh, it seems

that Langly wants to go shopping,” he answered matter of

factly.

The two younger men left the apartment, leaving Frohike with

raised eyebrows and mouth hung open. What the hell was this?

Maybe he ought to keep his meddling to himself, too.

Watching over Langly just made him tired. And if Byers was

going to gang up on him like this, he’d be better off

leaving it alone. Still, there was something he hated about

that Alex.

He stripped his coat off, and went to play with some virtual

reality goggles he’d begun to disassemble. He just couldn’t

figure it out. The whole day just kept replaying in his head

as he worked. First Langly acting weird. Then Scully. And

Langly’s weirdness was the cause of Scully’s.

He put the equipment down to search for a smaller

screwdriver. He’d nearly emptied his entire toolbox looking

for it, sifting through a thousand other tools, but failing

to find the one he needed. Giving up, he walked through the

main room and scanned all the desks. He finally discovered

the tool at Langly’s workstation, among the glossy covered

rulebooks for his Vampire game.

He was about to go back and continue his work, when he

noticed the corner of a newspaper clipping marking one of

the pages. It was a little old and yellowed, and it made him

wonder if Langly had raided one of the archives carelessly

in order to make a quick bookmark.

The anger made his stomach tighten. He couldn’t restrain

himself. He had to look. Yes, he’d promised himself not to

meddle any more, but if the bastard was jeopardizing

archival information, it was going too far.

He pulled the paper out of the book. It was folded in such a

way that a small photo was uncreased and fully visible on

the flat portion of the paper. It was a candid shot of

Scully at a news conference.

Frohike crumpled the paper in his hand. It was all making

sense to him now. Jenny upset. Scully slapping him in the

face. Alex meddling and asking questions. Scully was the

other woman Langly was after.

“Nobody touches my girl,” Frohike grumbled.

He threw the paper into the trashcan, archival or not, and

dialed Mulder’s number.

*****

Present Time

“And that’s why I called you. Octopussy just got his mitts

all over Scully before I could explain it all,” Frohike

concluded his explanation of the story.

“Who the hell do you think you are? And what are you doing

trying to pressure Scully into something you know she

doesn’t want to do.”

“Hey, a guy’s gotta live his life to the fullest, right

Mulder? Besides, I didn’t want her for that.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at the cleaned-up version of

Langly. Without the dorkey thick-rimmed glasses hiding his

face, he appeared more forceful, direct, commanding

attention. It was different, yet as Scully studied him, a

sick realization came over her.

“Langly, let me see your arm,” she said hesitantly. Mulder

started to object, uneasy about letting her even touch the

man that had just tried to seduce the woman he loved. Scully

touched his elbow as she passed, a reassuring gesture to let

him know she was okay.

She pulled up the sleeve of his blazer and unbuttoned the

cuff of his shirt. Where the strip of gauze had been, were

only two faint scars. Thinking back to the case she, Mulder

and Frohike had been researching until Langly made that

first pass at her; she noticed that the nearly healed skin

resembled the shapes of those wounds she’d seen in the case

folders.

Two puncture marks. Just like the bite of human-sized

canines.

She stood in shock. Too many times Mulder had described the

traits of Vampires to her. They were highly social, sexual

creatures. They fed on the blood of the living, and

sometimes possessed other humans in order to move freely and

search for their next victims. They also preyed on the

suggestible mind.

She let Langly’s wrist fall from her grip and backed away.

“This wasn’t a dog bite, was it Langly?”

She hadn’t taken the time to second guess her diagnosis when

she’d first seen his wounded arm. Now it was all making

horrific sense. Maybe she really *didn’t* see Alexander’s

reflection in the flower case mirror that day. Maybe she

really wasn’t responsible for how she was feeling. Maybe

that’s why she couldn’t control herself against Langly

today. And maybe Alexander really was–

“Who are you? What do you want with Langly?”

Langly chuckled in a deep voice that wasn’t quite his own.

“You are a clever girl, aren’t you? Why, I want what any man

wants. Langly’s got the brains to help me get it, without

being noticed.”

“How can you not notice a complete personality change? Your

social skills aren’t as good as you think.”

“I’m getting him new friends. He needs to expand his

horizons. He should be using his intelligence for bigger and

better things.”

“Like being *your* friend? So you can manipulate him? So you

can just, just–”

“Scully, what’s going on here?” Mulder asked, taking the

chance to break the volley between the two. “What do you

mean, *who* is he?”

“That’s not Langly, Mulder,” she looked at him, trying to

explain what she knew, but finding it hard to explain what

she normally wouldn’t even believe herself. “I mean, it *is*

Langly, but he’s being controlled by someone else.”

“What?”

“Look, you know the case we’re working on? What if it isn’t

a cult following, a chain of murderers picking up where the

others left off. What if it’s not a man, but some kind of

entity, going from host to host, possessing them, and then

killing his host body when he finds a new one that will

fulfill his means? Not just to survive, but to improve.”

Mulder groped for a nearby stool, and sat listening to his

partner spew out the unexpected hypothesis.

“Brava,” Langly interrupted. “Well, now you know why I chose

Langly.”

“You weren’t learning anything that would get you what you

wanted. It would take a man of average intelligence too long

to amass the wealth you were after. You had to find someone

who would be smart enough to do it criminally, but

undercover. You wanted Langly for his hacking abilities!”

Langly nodded, squinting his eyes as Alexander forced his

thought into the foreground of his mind.

“I don’t believe it,” Mulder commented. Clearly, he was

excited and impressed to hear this revelation from his

partner.

“Look at him,” Langly gestured toward Mulder, “He can’t even

believe your words. What good is he to you?” The subject of

the insult answered with a defensive scowl.

“Langly, you know how Mulder and I feel about each other.”

Langly winced. He groaned as if in pain, and held the heel

of his palm against his forehead. “Ah! Yes… Yes, I do

know. I don’t want to do this.”

He hobbled back and forth, as if losing his balance. Frohike

was at his side before he collapsed against the light table.

Langly was weak, and his hair was falling out of its

ponytail. “I want to make my own decisions Frohike. I don’t

want him to do this to me, to Scully…”

“He’s not going to do anything to Scully. Not if Mulder and

I have anything to say about it. And he’s not doing anything

to you. We’re going to keep you here if we have to tie you

down.”

Langly belted out an anguished cry. “I’ll get my blood from

somewhere else,” he said in Alex’s voice. One more long and

painfully tortured cry escaped from deep within his throat.

Then he was silent, hanging his head in exhaustion.

Alexander was gone.

The three gathered around him in concern. Scully began

checking his pulse, which made her feel a little funny. She

wasn’t exactly sure what to find there but was relieved when

everything seemed normal. Langly was just knocked out for

the moment.

Suddenly, his head snapped up and he looked at all his

friends. “Oh, no.” he said.

“What is it, Langly?” Mulder coaxed.

“He’s gone after Jenny. He’s going to kill her next to get

back at me… because I forced him out of my head.” Panic

gave him a new strength to stand up again. “We have to stop

him!”

“Mulder,” Scully said, “how do you kill a vampire?”

*****

Langly had given the location of Alexander’s apartment to

Mulder and Scully. They’d decided to split up. Langly and

Frohike were going to go after Jenny, while they were going

to take care of Alexander.

“Why are we going to Alexander’s studio if he’s going after

Jenny in the coffee shop?”

“Because, Scully, we have to kill the original body. If what

you’re saying is true, Alexander can’t be stopped by killing

his current host. We have to kill him at the source. It’s a

good thing Langly had been to this guy’s apartment already.

And the mind-link he shares with Alexander gave him enough

information to confirm that the original body is there.”

Scully nodded in agreement, running her fingers over the

broken end of the baseball bat Mulder had slammed against

the concrete corner of the Lone Gunmen’s apartment building.

She knew he was going to be angry with her, but she expected

more disappointment than a physical display of violence

toward inanimate objects. He said the broken bat had a

purpose, though. It was meant to be used as a wooden stake

to drive into the vampire’s heart. She guessed the venting

of Mulder’s frustration on it was an extra-added feature.

“How did you know?” he asked as calmly as he could while

driving evasively through downtown traffic.

She picked off some stray splinters from the point of broken

wood. How much did she have to tell him? She leaned against

the passenger door as Mulder made a sharp left at the light.

She had to tell him everything. If she had done so earlier,

they may have been able to stop this whole fiasco before it

had gone too far.

“I met him before.”

“You *met* the vampire? How could you keep something like

that from me?”

“I didn’t know he was a vampire when I met him. I just had

this… feeling.”

“Like you had about those photos?”

“Yes. I saw the same thing in Langly today. It was *him,*”

she said with an intensity she didn’t mean to let loose.

Mulder glanced at her quickly while he screeched the car

around another corner.

“‘Him?’ Is ‘he’ why you wanted to follow this case?”

Scully was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the

speed at which Mulder was making conclusions. And it was

going in the direction she had hoped it wouldn’t. Time to

fess-up to the facts.

“I had to find out more about him. The minute I saw those

photos, I recognized his presence. It’s not something I can

explain. I just had to find out more. It was scary as hell

for me to go on a wild chase like this, but I needed to make

sure it was really him. All of a sudden, it was like an

obsession, an infatuation…”

“An infatuation?”

“Mulder, I had to be sure. When Langly started acting

strangely, I didn’t know what was happening at first. After

I uh…”

“Slapped him around?”

She smiled shyly at that. “Yes… after that, I knew

Alexander was beginning to take control. I had to get us

away from there before he had a chance to influence me too.”

“You knew he was planning to seduce you.”

“Yes.”

There wasn’t much further to drive. Mulder took his speed a

little slower, as they were now driving through a

residential neighborhood. Alexander’s basement studio was

the bottom level of a house, Langly had said. They found the

house, and were out of the car just as Mulder cut the

engine.

They ran to the entrance at the back of the house, as Langly

had directed. The door was closed, and the small window in

the door was dark. Nobody was home. That is, nobody living.

“Do you think Langly will be all right?”

Mulder turned to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Langly has to do his job to defend Jenny. He’ll be fine.

We’re all doing our parts.”

Scully nodded again in silence, feeling guilty over her

deception, and the danger she was placing on all of their

heads. She felt Mulder squeeze the shoulder he still held.

“Hey,” he lifted her chin with one finger. “Don’t worry,

Dracula won’t win this time.”

He broke the glass of the window, and opened the door to

Alexander’s basement tomb.

*****

Starbuck’s Coffee

12:30 a.m.

The van wasn’t going nearly fast enough for him. Frohike was

a good driver, and he was breaking all the speed limits for

him, but nothing was going to get him there now, in this

instant.

He hadn’t realized how much Jenny meant to him before her

life was in danger. She was definitely one of his top five

people he did not want to see dead.

The coffee shop was in sight, and through the glass

storefront, so was Alexander. He was holding Jenny by the

throat, watching the van screech to a halt. Waiting for

Langly.

Langly was out of the van and through the door in an

instant, flinging a chair out of his way as he made long

strides toward his enemy. Jenny gazed up at her attacker

with a dreamy smile on her face, entranced by the closeness

of her seducer. She paid no attention to the pressure on her

throat, but batted her eyelashes flirtingly at Alexander.

He dragged his lips across hers, not kissing her, but

enticing her with the prospect. He grinned evilly at Langly

as he did it, bearing his pronounced canines. His pupils

were black pinpoints in the blue-white irises. He had

hypnotized Jenny, and wanted Langly to see what he was about

to do.

“You see, Langly, she really doesn’t care about you.”

“I love her, damn you. You’re not even giving me a chance!”

Jenny’s face began to change form. The hypnotic trance Alex

had placed on her was beginning to fade and she began to

whimper in fear of her life. She tore her gaze away from

Alex, struggling against his firm grip.

“Langly…” she groaned out. “Make him stop…”

Langly hesitated, but only for a second. The decision wasn’t

hard to make. It was either Alex, or Jenny. He lunged toward

the big man, startling him enough to release the girl. Now

it was Langly’s hands gripping Alexander’s throat.

The vampire heaved at Langly’s arms and lifted the smaller

man’s whole body from the ground. Though his valor was

immense, Langly’s physical strength could not compare to

Alexander’s muscular arms. He could feel Alexander slowly

forcing his hands away. Even his nails digging into the skin

of his adversary’s neck couldn’t give him the upper hand in

this battle.

“You… can’t have her… you bastard,” Langly huffed out as

he fought to keep control.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet,” the vampire commented, “You think

your love is stronger than thousands of years of evil? You

think that’s all it will take? I made you want her. I made

you confident enough to get this far. You think you can stop

me now?”

“I’m ‘determined’ enough to keep you from killing her. You

will not lay a hand on her, or me, ever again!”

Alex laughed out loud, amused by Langly’s quote. “This is no

game, my friend. You can’t win this one by a game of chance.

You’ll just have to accept that I’m going to win and I’m—”

Alex stopped short mid-sentence. He froze in place holding

Langly’s hands inches from his neck. The blood from Langly’s

scratching was just beginning to sprout up through the skin,

black and thick, dripping like molasses down Alexander’s

shirt collar.

Then Alex convulsed, and threw Langly to the floor. He held

his chest, wheezing with an effort to breath. Black blood

seeped out the corner of his mouth as he stared,

disbelieving at the frail man hauling himself up against the

counter. He convulsed again, as if someone had taken a blow

to his gut. He doubled over and crashed his knees to the

floor.

Langly shuffled over to him, blazer hanging off his

shoulders, shirt untucked from the dapper suit pants he

wore. Alex raised his eyes toward him imploringly.

“You’re really…” he coughed, spurting blood from between

his pale lips. “You’re killing me.”

“That’s right. I know all about you now. It’s all over,

Alex. It all ends right here.”

From the center of Alexander’s chest, a dark spot grew and

bled through the black shirt. His pale hands looked white as

porcelain as they clutched at the blood-soaked fabric.

Smudges of red stained his fingernails. He looked down at

his messy hands dripping blood onto the floor. He groped for

the napkin dispenser; a senseless desire to clean up the

miasma his death was leaving behind.

The metal box of napkins slipped out of his already slick

fingertips, as he lost his balance reaching for them. He

fell prostrate onto the floor, nothing left in his body. No

life to sustain him, no blood to nourish him, no spirit to

roam any longer over the earth.

Five miles away, in a closet, hovering over an open casket

by the light of a candle, Mulder made the last thrust into

the Vampire’s chest. The sleeping form never moved a muscle

as he did his work, Scully by his side cringing as she

watched the whole ordeal.

The thick black-red blood finally welled up around the

ragged point of the broken baseball bat. Mulder left the

bloody makeshift stake sticking up inside the dead flesh of

the corpse, afraid to remove it, should the vampire come

back again from the dead into the world of the living.

He held to the edge of the casket, weary from the effort.

Scully wiped her sleeve over his face, where some of the

blood had splattered.

She kneeled down next to him, held his hand and promised,

“I’ll never keep anything from you again.”

*****

Epilogue

Next Day

Starbuck’s Coffee Shop

“It will take a few weeks at least, maybe even a month for

Langly to recycle all the blood in his system. Until then,

he may still have some, uh… vampire traits left over for a

while?”

“Great. I thought his days of being a total prick were

over,” Frohike muttered as he took a sip of his regular

coffee.

Mulder came over and sat with them at the table. “Brian

Callaghan’s body will be returned to his family after the

autopsy. I don’t suppose you want to take care of that one,

do you Scully?”

“Not a chance.”

Langly was standing at the counter, elbow propped up so he

could lean over and talk to Jenny. She beamed at him;

hopelessly in love with not only the geek she’d had a crush

on, but at the hero that saved her from a vicious brute the

night before.

“So tell me, Scully, what kind of ‘vampire tendencies’ do

you think Langly will have left over?”

She blushed at this. Frohike pinched together his eyebrows

in confusion. Mulder, however, seemed to catch on to her

reaction.

In a low tone, he politely explained to his friend,

“Vampires are known to be highly sexual creatures. Remember

how Langly was trying to seduce every woman in sight?”

“Not *every* woman,” Scully said a little defensively.

Mulder chuckled and reached across the table to squeeze her

hand. “Not, every woman, true.” Then he turned back to

Frohike. “Let’s just say Jenny better make good on the

situation while it still lasts.”

They all broke out into hysterical laughter.

Langly, oblivious to the source of all the commotion, had

pulled himself away from the first real conversation he’d

ever had with Jenny. A big, contented cheesy grin curled his

lips as he walked over to the table. When he arrived, his

friends snorted and exchanged glances as they struggled to

keep their glee under wraps.

“What?”

The three of them looked at each other in turn, then back at

Langly, and laughed even harder.

*****

The end.

This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. Characters used without permission. No  infringement intended.

TITLE: The Death of Me Yet

AUTHOR: Jo-Ann Lassiter

EMAIL ADDRESS: 70302.3654@compuserve.com

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Post anywhere. Thanks.

SPOILER WARNING: Season 8, only for the reference to Kersh’s

new title

RATING: R

CLASSIFICATION: S, R

KEY WORDS: Mulder/Scully UST/Romance

SUMMARY: Scully and an ailing Mulder track a killer in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

THANKS: As always, to Gerry.

The Death of Me Yet

by Jo-Ann Lassiter

70302.3654@compuserve.com

Teaser

February 5

Deputy Director Kersh’s Office

9:16 a.m.

“Mulder, I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, okay?” Scully

paused in the doorway, gently guiding her partner out the door.

At his look of utter befuddlement, Scully had to fight down the

almost overwhelming urge to take him in her arms and make him

all better. She settled instead for rubbing a hand between his

shoulder blades while sending him on his way. “Go on. I’ll be right

down,” she whispered.

Mulder nodded shakily, then turned and walked stiffly away.

Scully took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she closed the

door behind him, stepping back into the office. She faced the man

at the desk.

Kersh wasn’t even pretending he hadn’t witnessed that touching

little scene at the door. “Something, Agent Scully?”

“Yes, sir.” Standing tall, Scully squared her shoulders, ready for

battle. “Why did you pull Agent Mulder off the X-Files to work on

this case?”

Kersh leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I

believe I already explained that, Agent.”

Scully strode to his desk; she knew enough not to sit unless she

was invited. “You said that the Portsmouth office needed a profiler

in New Hampshire. What you didn’t say is why you’re sending

Mulder when you’ve got all the profilers in the ISU at your

disposal.”

“Two-thirds of whom are out with the flu.”

Scully just stared at him. “Sir, Agent Mulder has the flu, too. Yet,

you’re sending him, and it’s not even his *job*.”

“Agent Mulder looked perfectly healthy to me,” Kersh said,

waving her off. “If he’s so sick, why was he here?”

“Because he was ordered to be here!”

A long, slow smile grew on Kersh’s face, making Scully want to

shudder more than she ever had at the sight of any ghost, mutant or

Reticulan. “Are you telling me…” Kersh let out a laugh. “…So

you’re trying to tell me that Agent Mulder, lying in bed with the

latest designer flu, got up, got dressed–quite dapperly, I might

add–and came in here because he was *ordered* to?” Kersh stared

at her, as if actually expecting an answer, then continued without

giving her a chance to formulate one. “Forgive me, Agent, but

that’s bullshit.”

Counting to ten under her breath, Scully waited until she was sure

steam wouldn’t escape from any external orifices before she

opened her mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She wondered

if Kersh was aware that the soft, controlled tone she’d just utilized

was the one that caused Mulder to nearly wet his pants whenever it

was directed at him.

Kersh laughed harshly just before he slammed his fist on the

desktop. Placing both hands palm down, he raised himself until he

was towering over her. “Do you know what, Agent Scully? I don’t

care. I don’t care if it took every last ounce of strength he had to

get here; the fact is that he did it. And if he can do that, then he can

*damn* well get his ass up to New Hampshire to work on this

case.”

“Sir, that makes no sense…” Scully felt herself spiraling out of

control. “Why didn’t you order one of the ‘real’ profilers out of

bed? Why Mulder? He’s not–”

“I’m making him useful, Agent. I’m justifying his even being in the

Bureau at all. I’m giving him a real case where he can use real

skills to find a real killer. And if he wants to keep his job, he’ll

*do* his job.”

Stunned, Scully fell into the nearest chair, protocol be damned.

Kersh must have been counting the days to Skinner’s vacation so

he could pull this stunt. “He can barely stand, sir. How can you

expect him to work?”

“Oh, he can work.” Kersh smiled again, and Scully felt sick to her

stomach at the sight of it. “Agent Mulder’s abilities to work while…

indisposed… are legendary. That’s why I know he can do this.”

Kersh sat back down, looking much like the cat that ate the canary.

“That’s why he *will* do this.”

“Sir…” Scully leaned forward in her chair, all shows of strength

rapidly deserting her. “He really is sick,” she said softly. “Isn’t

there anyone else–”

“No, there is not,” Kersh said sharply; then he sighed, and Scully

became immediately wary as his face softened into something

almost resembling human compassion. “If it makes you feel any

better, the Portsmouth people jumped at Mulder’s services–and

they requested yours, too.”

Scully narrowed her eyes, wondering when the hell he was going

to tell her this little tidbit of information. After all, she’d been out

the door already, only returning to plead Mulder’s case. “Mine?”

Kersh nodded. “The local coroner’s admitted that he’s way out of

his league, and they figured that since Mulder’s coming and you’re

his partner…” Kersh looked her in the eye. “Or would you prefer

that another pathologist accompany him?”

“No,” Scully answered quickly, before he could change his mind.

“No. I…” She stood up. “I’ll go.” Quite aware that she was leaving

without being dismissed, Scully strode to the door, opened it and

got the hell out of there.

*****

Act I

February 5

FBI Resident Agency

Portsmouth, New Hampshire

8:48 p.m.

“Agent Scully, I’m so sorry. If I had known he was sick–”

The young Supervisory Senior Resident Agent looked beside

himself with concern, and Scully wanted to allay his fears that he’d

killed a fellow agent. “It’s not your fault, Agent Watts,” she said,

rushing into the conference room where Watts was standing

helplessly behind her partner, who lay hunched over the

conference table, face down in a river of yellow legal paper. “Do

you think you could…?” She smiled weakly at the flustered SSRA.

“Oh. Yes. Yes. Sorry.” He started to move away, yielding his

position at Mulder’s back to Scully. “Is he…” The young man

swallowed audibly. “Should I call a doctor?”

Scully shook her head. “I’m a doctor.” She laid a hand gently on

Mulder’s forehead. “He’ll be all right.”

Watts hesitated a second, his eyes darting to the prone agent. “I

didn’t know what to do,” he stuttered. “He was telling me what he

had so far, and he just… bam! No warning, no indication that…”

The agent sucked in a breath. “I’ll be just outside if you need

anything.” And he hurried out of the room.

Even as she frowned at the heat her hand encountered, Scully

allowed herself a small smile. Watts was okay. Thrilled when she

and Mulder arrived, horrified when he took one look at Mulder and

discovered how ill her partner was, Scully found the SSRA an

intelligent man with a compassionate heart. Instead of dispatching

her off to the White Mountains, where the killings took place and

the bodies were being held, he had asked her if she’d mind very

much waiting until tomorrow and flying up with Mulder.

Something about a gas shortage and favorable weather conditions

and some other B.S. that he’d conjured up.

Mulder moaned, and Scully gave him her full attention again.

“Hey…” She brushed her hand through his hair.

“Scully…” he groaned, raising his head. “Scully, I…” His head fell

back to the table. “Scully, please… Please take out your gun and

put me out of my misery.”

“How is my pistol-whipping you going to make you feel better?”

she asked, tugging at his arm until he rose to his feet.

“Funny,” he mumbled. “No wonder you went into pathology.”

“Come on, Mulder,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist.

“I’m taking you to the motel and putting you to bed.” When she

received no indecent comment, not even a leer, Scully knew just

how ill her partner felt.

“Scully, I’ll give you anything if you’ll just let me lie down right

here,” he whimpered, aiming himself at the table.

“No can do, partner.” As she yanked him away from the smooth,

polished wood, her hand came into contact with his thigh, and she

rubbed it soothingly. “You’ll appreciate this in about half an hour.”

He froze at her words and stood, staring at her, panic and disbelief

on his face.

“What?” she asked.

His face flushed even more than it already was, and he ducked his

head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” she asked, pulling him closer to her, snaking a hand

under his jacket and around his waist, getting ready to help him

out.

“I can’t…” He mumbled the rest.

She leaned in closer, trying to see his face. “What? I can’t

understand you?”

Angry, embarrassed eyes met hers. “I said I can’t…” he snapped,

then looked away. “I can’t make love to you tonight. I don’t think I

can—”

“Oh, Mulder,” she said, sympathetically, finally tumbling to the

fact that his mind had gone there after all; she lifted his arm around

her shoulders and propelled them toward the door. “I would never

proposition you when you weren’t well enough to enjoy it.”

He angled his drooping head so that he was eye to eye with her.

“Make me better, Scully.”

*****

February 6

FBI Field Base of Operations

White Mountain National Forest

Rocky Gorge Campground

11:45 a.m.

Scully snapped off her gloves and tossed them in the hazardous

waste bin, looking around at the canvas walls as she strode to the

rear of the large tent. Well, it wasn’t the worst place in which she’d

performed an autopsy, but it certainly ranked in the top five. At

least, she reasoned, shivering in the frosty mountain air, there was

no need to haul the body back into a refrigeration unit. What the

hell kind of a person killed under these conditions anyway?

Gazing down upon the man who might be able to answer that

question, Scully hated to wake him. “Mulder,” she said, softly,

shaking him gently. “Mulder, c’mon. Wake up.”

“Wha… Scully? Time to go?” he murmured sleepily, grunting as

she helped him to sit up. “Are you done?” He rubbed his eyes with

the heels of his hands. “God, I feel like shit.”

“I know,” she said, rubbing her hand up and down his back.

“Find anything?” he asked.

She nodded. “The coroner’s reports indicated the cause of death as

‘blunt instrument trauma.’ While this may be true, there was

something done post death which leads me to believe that we’re not

dealing with your average serial killer.”

“What?” he asked, tiredly. She could tell that he was trying his

hardest to act interested, but he didn’t quite pull it off.

“I noticed a tiny hole just above the ear, so I decided to take a look

inside.”

At an inarticulate noise from Mulder, she paused, but he waved her

on.

“Well, judging from the miniscule amount of matter I found on the

skin near the pinhole…” She took a breath. “…I’d have to say your

suspect sucked out all of the brain fluid, and a good deal of the

brain matter–”

Mulder’s hand immediately covered his mouth. “No more. Don’t

tell me anymore.” He struggled to his feet with her aid. “I need

fresh air.”

Once outside, he gulped in several breaths and looked around. “Is

there anyplace warm around here?” He stuffed his hands into his

pockets and tried to burrow deeper inside his jacket. “You can give

me all the gory details, and I can make a few more refinements to

the profile if I can find somewhere to write.”

Scully nodded. “The rangers’ cabin. Behind the hospital tent. It has

real heat and hot water.”

“Great,” he said, heading in that direction. “Let’s make the

additions before we head up to the first crime scene.” Mulder

coughed into his gloved hand, a harsh biting sound that Scully

thought had to be hurting his throat.

Scully wanted to tell him to forget about the crime scenes, that he

should be in bed, resting, but she knew he couldn’t. Not with Kersh

breathing down his neck. “Mulder, why are they making you do

this?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

Mulder doubled over with a series of hacking coughs before he

answered her. “Because they know I can do it,” he said, out of

breath.

She steadied him, returning his nod of thanks. “That’s what Kersh

said.”

“Ah,” Mulder said, trying to suppress another cough. “The fabled

iron profiler legend knows no bounds.”

“So it’s true?” Not that she doubted it, but to hear it confirmed

appalled her.

He gave her a sickly smile. “You’re witnessing it first-hand.”

She pulled him to the edge of the woods when his next bout of

coughing unsettled his stomach. Holding him as he vomited up the

water and crackers she’d made him consume earlier, she found her

thoughts straying to the deputy director.

And what a bastard he was.

*****

February 6

Ranger’s Station

12:45 p.m.

“You’re kidding, right?” Scully stared at Special Agent Dale

Forsberg as she watched a second head sprout up from between the

man’s shoulders. “You don’t seriously expect us to ride in one of

those… things.”

Forsberg shrugged. “It’s the only way to get up there. That, or

walk.”

Scully planted her feet and shook her head. “Neither of those is

acceptable.”

“Acceptable or not, Agent Scully, those are your only options.”

“We came here by helicopter. Why can’t we–”

“It’s too thickly wooded up there. There’s no place to land, and you

don’t want to be lowered down in those crosswinds.”

Scully was at a loss; she wondered if Mulder would forgo the visits

under the circumstances. Then she heard Kersh’s voice spewing all

that garbage about Mulder’s job, and she knew he couldn’t.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else we could take?” She glanced at

her partner, curled up on a cot practically on top of the stove.

Forsberg’s face softened, following her gaze; he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. You were originally scheduled for the regular four-

wheelers, which only seats one, but we thought it might be better if

you took the two-seater.” The agent reached behind him and

picked up three sheets of yellow paper with her partner’s

handwriting on them. “Agent Mulder’s drawn us a pretty good

picture already. Does he really have to go up there?”

Scully looked at Forsberg, then back at Mulder. Did he? Again she

heard Kersh’s voice and again she knew that even if they could get

away without visiting the sites, they shouldn’t because it would

only come back and bite them–bite Mulder–on the ass when they

got back to D.C. and it was discovered that they hadn’t touched all

the bases.

“Where’d you say it was?” she asked, facing Forsberg again.

He walked over to a window, and Scully followed him. “Right

there.” He pointed to a lean-to in which she could see a group of

four-wheeled vehicles, one of which, the two-seater which

resembled a mini-jeep, was to be their transportation. “If this was

any other winter, you’d be on a snowmobile,” Forsberg continued,

“but we’ve gotten hardly any snow this year so you’ll have to take

the four-wheeler.”

“We’re going to freeze,” she muttered, gazing at the open-air car.

“Uh, they gave us these…” Forsberg produced a bundle of cold-

weather gear from thin air. “Snowsuits, gloves, hats, goggles and

boots.”

Scully took the articles, not even curious as to whom the ‘they’

might be.

They were going to freeze.

**

Act II

February 6

Somewhere in the White Mountain National Forest

2:25 p.m.

She had to give credit where credit was due. ‘They’ had actually

provided the correct sizes–for both of them. Not only was she

attired properly, after half an hour of driving exposed to the frigid

mountain air, she was not quite the popsicle she’d thought she’d be.

Mulder, however, wasn’t faring so well. As she glanced at him,

huddled beneath all the blankets she could wrangle out of

Forsberg, she doubted that anything short of a blast furnace could

warm her partner.

“How are you doing, Mulder?” she asked.

“Okay,” came the muffled reply. “How much longer?”

She glanced quickly at her watch, then at the folded trail map she

held pressed between her hand and the steering wheel. “About ten

minutes.”

The wind caught a pocket of the map and tore it out of her hand;

when she made a grab for it, the four-wheeler ran off the trail and

nearly smashed into a tree. As she fought to get them back on the

trail, she abandoned her hold on the map, and it flew out behind

their heads.

Finally getting the vehicle back in control and on the trail again,

she skidded them to a stop. She gazed over at her partner, who was

dazedly unburrowing himself from his nest. “Look,” she panted, “I

know you don’t feel well, and I’m sorry, but I could really use some

help with navigation.”

His expression changed rapidly from frightened to confused to

shamed, and she immediately felt awful for yelling at him.

“Where’s the map?” he asked, in a quiet voice.

Scully secured the 4-wheeler and stepped out. She gestured to the

woods around them. “I’ll… find it. You…” She pointed at him. “…

stay here.”

Mulder nodded, then reached across and grabbed her arm. “Scully,

wait! It’s right here.”

Following his gaze, Scully snatched the map from where it lay

plastered to her seatback by the wind. She smiled at him, getting

back in and handing him the map. “Maybe our luck is changing.”

She caressed his cheek as lovingly as she could in her extra-thick

insulated mittens. “Maybe you’ll be feeling better soon.”

“Maybe,” he agreed cautiously, as he gathered the blankets around

himself. “Is the wind picking up?” he asked, and she could see him

trying to keep a firm grip on the trail map.

“Yeah,” she said. “The higher we get, the windier and the colder

it’s getting.”

Scully put the vehicle in gear and sent them bouncing over rocks

and branches and tree roots again. Mulder made a sour face and

pulled the blankets more securely around himself.

“Peachy,” he said.

**

February 6

3:47 p.m.

They were at the third site when Scully realized that their earlier

luck had been just as she’d feared: a fluke. Instead of getting better,

her partner’s condition had worsened to the point where she felt not

only concern for his well-being, but for his survival.

“Okay, Mulder, we’re almost there.” She relaxed the death grip she

had on him only for the two seconds it took for her to maneuver

him into the four-wheeler. “You with me?” she asked once she had

him settled in.

“With you,” he wheezed, then broke out into a coughing fit.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the seat beside him, she quickly

uncapped it and held it to the lips of the still-coughing man. “Try

to drink some water,” she told him, tilting the bottle. “Your throat’s

too dry, and it’s making you cough. The last thing you need is

oxygen deprivation.”

She managed to get some down his throat, and the coughing eased

but the wheeze didn’t; her partner was literally gasping for air.

“Okay, that’s it.” She stalked around to the driver’s side and got in,

starting the engine. “We are getting the hell out of here. Kersh can

just kiss my ass.”

“Why should… he… have all the fun?”

Shocked to hear him speaking, let alone coherently, let alone alert

enough to make a ribald comment, Scully looked at him in wonder.

His eyes were closed, his breathing was labored, but he was

smiling. “Thank you, God,” she said, and Mulder’s eyes snapped

open. She smiled at the hopeful look on his face. “Feeling better

now that you’re not running around out there?”

He nodded, then leaned his body into hers and rested his head on

her shoulder. “Do me a favor?” he asked in a whisper.

“What?” she answered, wrapping her arms around him and pulling

him closer as she felt him begin to shiver.

He encircled her with the arm that wasn’t pressed between their

bodies and his head slid off her shoulder and onto her chest.

“Scully… Mm…”

“What is it, Mulder?” she asked gently. “What do you need me to

do?” Her hand traced soothing circles on his back while she

pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

She felt him hugging her with all the strength he had. “Christ,

Scully. You’re already doing it.”

Moving back a little so that she could see his face, she allowed an

expression of amusement to come into her eyes. “And here I

thought I was doing it for me.”

His eyes slid shut, and he snuggled into her. “Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder?”

His voice was breathy when he spoke. “Just wanted to tell you that

I love you, and…” He struggled to take a breath. “I…” His arms

loosened around her, and his head grew heavy against her. “I’m

going to…” His body went totally slack in her arms, and she knew

he’d passed out.

She held him for a few minutes, then shifted him so she could

buckle him in. Gazing at him with a mixture of sympathy and

affection, Scully sighed as she engaged the engine. She positioned

the map half under her bottom and started down the mountain.

They hadn’t been on the road fifteen minutes when she came upon

the moose.

**

February 6

4:08 p.m.

It was a bull moose, and it was big. And it was standing about ten

feet away, smack in the middle of the trail. Even if Scully hadn’t

read the literature on vehicle/moose collisions and the ensuing

human fatalities, she would have chosen to avoid something twice

her height and weight–jeep and Mulder included.

She slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel sharply to the

right, in the only direction that wouldn’t get them killed outright.

The change in terrain was drastic. Whereas before they’d been

traversing the gentle slope of the trail, they now plummeted at

breakneck speed down the steep mountainside. Braking did little to

stop wheels sliding on dried pine needles and loose pebbles, and

when the collision with the birch tree seemed inevitable, Scully let

go of the wheel and grabbed onto her partner.

She almost cried when, at the last possible second, the jeep veered

off to the side and came to an abrupt stop inside an elder bush. For

about five seconds, all Scully did was hold tightly to Mulder and

breathe. Then she felt a sharp pain in her side and found that not

only was the jeep inside the bush, but the bush was inside the jeep.

Those parts of the bush that hadn’t been broken off during the

crash were poking and prodding every which way above and

around them.

Craning her neck to her left, Scully sucked in a breath when she

saw the bloodied tip of a broken branch dangling a few inches

away. Carefully, she changed position, relieved when the level of

pain in her side increased only slightly. At least it was a clean stab

wound; if a piece were still in there, she would have felt it.

Ignoring the burning in her side, Scully turned to her partner. He

looked relatively intact, at least injury-wise. She was worried,

however, that their wild ride down the side of the mountain hadn’t

produced so much as a peep out of him. She peeled off a mitten

and felt his skin, then frantically looked around for a way to get

them the hell out of there.

Mulder was burning up. His fever was higher than when they’d

started back, and she needed to get him to a medical facility ASAP.

But how, dammit? The jeep was literally embedded in the bush.

Judging by their position about a foot off the ground, Scully

guessed that they’d been airborne the last second or so. Lucky for

them the bush had been there to stop their attempt at finding a

really fast way down the mountain.

Almost afraid now to look out the front windshield, Scully gasped

when her gaze beyond the brush encountered nothing but blue. She

was suddenly grateful that the bush had taken it upon itself to hug

them so firmly to its bosom. All the same, they had to get out of

there. Even the strongest of branches–and these didn’t look

particularly strong–could snap, and send them careening to their

deaths.

She unbuckled herself and then Mulder. Reaching beneath her, she

pulled out the map and tucked it inside a pocket, then tossed any

supplies she could get her hands on out the back, onto the ground

behind the jeep. She took a breath and looked for the safest

direction in which to disembark. With the front of the jeep tilted

upward, the rear was nearly sitting on the ground behind them, so

the decision was, for once, an easy one. Once she got Mulder into

the storage area in the back, he should literally roll right out. The

hard part would be getting him there.

There was no way she could lift him out without causing some

movement to the jeep; she had to wake him.

“Mulder…” She tapped lightly on his cheek, and when she got no

reaction, she pulled his hood away from his head and put her lips

to his ear. “Mulder… Come on. I need you to wake up.”

He made a sound that was part moan/part whimper, and Scully

swore she’d get even with Kersh for this somehow.

“Hey, partner. We’re in a little bit of trouble, and I need your help,”

she told him when his eyelids fluttered.

“Whazzit, Scully? Whassmatter?” he slurred.

“We ran off the road, and we need to get out of the jeep. I’ll explain

more fully later, but for now I need you to help me, okay?” She

hated talking to him like he was a child, but in his half-awake state

it was the quickest way to get through to him.

” ‘kay, Scully.” He nodded clumsily, as his eyes kept drooping

closed.

“Good.” Scully climbed up onto her seat, then crouched down and

held onto the sides of his head with her hands. “I want you to get

up on the seat, Mulder. Like me. See?” She waited while he

blinked his eyes a few times, trying to focus.

Then his head tilted back, and he looked up at her. His mouth hung

open, and he blinked lazily. “I don’t know if I can.”

Sliding her hands to his shoulders, she leaned forward until she

was face-to-face with him. “Sure, you can,” she said in her most

reassuring voice. “I’ll help you. Okay?”

She pulled him up until he was kneeling on the seat, his feet

hanging over the edge, his chest flush with the seatback. He laid

his head on his folded arms. “I don’t feel well, Scully,” he said, his

voice shaking. “I really don’t think I can climb up there.”

“Can you try, Mulder? We need to get out of here, and I can’t lift

you.” Spotting his blankets where they’d slid to the floor, Scully

retrieved them and lobbed them out the back with the rest of their

supplies.

Suddenly, everything spun around her, and she found herself

sitting back down, Mulder’s anxious face looming above her.

“Scully! Scully! What happened? Are you all right?”

” s’okay, Mulder,” she said, as the world settled back on its axis

around her. “I have a minor injury, and got a little light-headed for

a minute.”

“You’re hurt?”

She saw the alarm in his eyes and patted his cheek. “It’s no big

deal.” She tried not to grimace as she climbed back onto the seat.

He was wide-awake now, she was pleased to see; concern for her

well-being had knocked him out of his stupor. She couldn’t resist

giving him a hug for it. Then she tugged on his arms, trying to pull

him up.

“Don’t Scully. I can do it.” The determination in his statement

might have convinced her were it not for the tremor in his voice.

She laid a hand on his arm and spoke to him gently. “Mulder, I’m

not hurt that badly. If you need my help, take it.”

He seemed to debate the issue, then nodded his head. “Thanks,” he

said, quietly.

She smiled, then gripped him under his arms. “Ready?”

Giving her a nod, he let her pull him up while he concentrated on

getting his feet under him. When he was finally upright, she

panted, “Okay. Up and over.”

She made a mental note to laugh later at the look of astonishment

that came over his face, but for now she just crawled over the seat

and gave a yank on his hands. She could only think, “Oh, shit,” as

Mulder practically soared past her to land heavily in the back of

the jeep before tumbling out onto the sloped ground. Scully

scrambled out after him as she heard the snap of a branch, and the

jeep’s front end dropped a couple of inches.

Pulling Mulder clear of the jeep, she watched in horror as the heap

of metal finally became too much for the bush, and their only

means of transportation trundled down the mountain, quickly

disappearing from sight. A loud crash signaled its demise as it

made contact with a tree or a rock or God only knew what.

Scully tightened her hold on her partner, unwilling to allow the

same fate to come to him. Looking up, she breathed a sigh of relief

when she saw the trail about thirty yards above them. Their flight

down the mountain must have only *felt* like miles. Well, at least

if they had to hike, it wouldn’t be on the treacherous mountain

itself but on the mild–in comparison–incline of the trail. Plus,

their chances of being rescued were greater on the well-marked,

well-traveled trail.

“Scully–” Mulder began, but broke off when he was overcome

with a series of coughs. Scully held him and rubbed his back until

he calmed, then examined his face. They were a little further down

the mountain, so the air wasn’t as thin, and Mulder could breathe

better, but he looked done in enough just from the flu.

“Mulder, I want us to get up onto the trail,” she told him gently.

“We need to climb up there.” She pointed to the slight clearing

behind and above him.

He didn’t even look. He just nodded and reached out a hand to her.

Slipping his arm around her neck, they made it a couple of feet

before Mulder collapsed onto his side.

“Oh, Mulder…” Scully felt so bad for him as he lay panting and

sweating in the frosty mountain air. She picked up the blankets and

covered him with them. “Maybe we can wait a few minutes.”

Again, he just nodded, but there was no mistaking the gratitude in

his eyes. Taking a corner of one of the blankets, Scully patted his

face dry, then stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

She checked the surrounding area for the items she’d salvaged, and

recovered everything that was within reach. Forsberg had provided

her with a knapsack, and she’d stocked it with water, aspirin,

packages of tissues, and an assortment of granola and candy bars

she’d bought at the motel’s snack area. The jeep had been equipped

with a length of rope, spare tire, first aid kit and a walkie-talkie.

Scully sighed. With the exception of the first aid kit, which had

been within easy reach, she hadn’t had a chance to save the other

items before they lost the jeep.

She wondered if she should try to get to the jeep; that radio would

come in mighty handy now that they were stranded. As she trudged

back up to Mulder with her cache of supplies, she decided that the

risk was too high that she’d sustain an injury. She also doubted the

radio had survived what sounded like a teeth-shattering collision.

Pausing briefly to glance at her partner, Scully carried the

knapsack, a couple opened bottles of water and the first aid kit up

to the trail. Her side was feeling uncomfortably wet and sticky, and

Scully hoped that the bleeding had stopped. Mulder’s being sick

was bad enough; she didn’t need both of them incapacitated.

She paused a moment to catch her breath, then made her way back

to Mulder, giving a startled yelp when she lost her footing and

started to slide down. She had just started to gain momentum when

she felt Mulder’s arm snag her around the waist. Grateful though

she was for his stopping her, she couldn’t hold in her cry of pain as

his arm dug into her wound.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I’m sorry,” Mulder practically sobbed, but he

didn’t let her go until they both stopped sliding.

Scully had to wait a few seconds until she could think clearly

again, and then she turned around to look at her partner. Tears

were in his eyes, and he looked frightened to death.

“Mulder, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

He nodded his head that he understood, even though the remnants

of his anguish remained in his eyes. With a shaky hand, he reached

over and gently wiped her face of tears she hadn’t realized she’d

shed. Scully grasped his hand and kissed his palm, then pressed it

to her face. For a few moments, she closed her eyes and let

sensation take her over as she let herself feel how much she

appreciated having Mulder in her life.

The heat from his hand, however, brought her back to reality

damned fast. She opened her eyes to find Mulder gazing at her

with what could only be described as loopy contentment. He

looked like he was about to pass out but was enjoying himself too

much to do so. Well, whatever worked, she thought, suddenly

feeling an overpowering need to grin at his expression.

Mulder’s eyebrows rose a couple of notches at her smile, and she

couldn’t resist–she just had to hug him. Mulder reclaimed his hand

and hugged her back loosely, mindful of her injury.

Although she truly hated to break their embrace, she needed to

capitalize on his temporary fortitude and get him up to the trail.

“Mulder, can you walk?” she asked, pulling out of his arms far too

easily for her liking. “Can you climb up there with me?”

Nodding, he clambered to his feet. The lightheartedness of a few

seconds ago had been replaced by an air of gravity. “Actually,

Scully, I think it had better be right now, because in about three

minutes I’m going to pass out.”

She gave a short nod and jumped to her feet, then doubled over

when the wound in her side reminded her that it was there.

Mulder reached out to her, and she took his hand, more to help him

than to accept any help he had offered. Still, she found herself

relying on his aid as they picked their way up the mountain. About

halfway up, they reversed position, and she took the lead as

Mulder’s strength began to flag.

“Almost there, Mulder. Come on. Just a few more feet.” His lips

were pressed tight, and she could see him trying desperately not to

cough. She felt an adrenaline burst kick in and pulled him the

remaining distance.

As soon as she let go of his hand, Mulder fell to his knees and

started coughing; he hunched forward, his head resting on his

folded arms. Scanning the area, Scully located one of the water

bottles and scooped it up. She knelt beside Mulder and gently

coaxed him upright; uncapping the bottle, she handed it to him. He

suppressed his coughing long enough to take a couple of swallows,

and that seemed to do the trick

He gave her a smile of thanks right before he fainted.

**

1989

Quantico, Virginia

10:41 p.m.

“Hey, Mulder…”

Mulder looked up quickly as the door slammed against the wall.

His vision darkened momentarily as the room faded from view,

then it wavered back in until he could focus on the source of all the

noise. Neil Valenti, his immediate supervisor, stood hands on hips,

a frown of disapproval on his face. “You got that damned profile

done yet? I promised it to the A.D. forty-five minutes ago.”

Looking down at the notepads scattered over the table, Mulder

reached for one, then checked himself. “Which one was yours?”

“For Christ’s sakes, Mulder. The Jacoby case.”

“Oh… Right.” Mulder picked up a blue file folder and held it out to

the agent. “Just finished it a few minutes ago.”

Valenti looked peeved. “Then why the hell didn’t you bring it to

me? You knew I was waiting for it.”

Mulder wanted to curl up on top of the table and cry. Or die. At

this moment, he didn’t care which. He was up to his ears in

profiles, all of them “top priority,” and he felt like death–most

definitely not warmed over. He was too damned cold for that.

“Sorry, Neil. I’ve got these others to finish, and–”

Valenti snatched the folder out of Mulder’s hand. “Yeah, yeah.

That’s what you always say.”

Mulder closed his eyes as Valenti left as brusquely as he came.

“Because that’s the way it always is,” he said to the empty office.

**

February 6

Present Time

8:51 p.m.

“Sorry…” Mulder mumbled in his sleep. “I… finish…”

He moaned, squirming in her arms as though trying to escape from

his dream. “Please… just want sleep few hours… Let me…”

When he folded in on himself, and his shoulders started shaking,

Scully couldn’t stand it any more. “Mulder,” she called gently.

“Hey, come on. It’s only a dream.” She touched his arms, and his

reaction was immediate, wrapping her in a bear hug and holding on

for dear life.

“Mm… Scully. You came. You came to save me.”

When he rolled them over, pinning her beneath his body, Scully

became mildly alarmed. “Mulder, what are you–”

“I’m so tired, Scully, but they won’t let me sleep.” His eyes were

open, and he was looking at her, but she suspected that Mulder was

still a long way away.

Reaching out, she brushed her fingers through his hair. “Who won’t

let you sleep?”

“Valenti, Rogers, Wattumbi… all of them. Can’t sleep. Need to

work.” His eyes closed. “So tired, though.” He turned his head

away to cough. “And sick. They won’t let me sleep when I’m sick.”

Her anger with Kersh flared when she heard that. When she

caressed his face, his eyes opened, and he gave her a lazy smile.

“But you let me sleep, Scully.” His eyes closed again, and he

reopened them with an effort. “Did you come to make them let me

sleep?”

Her heart went out to him at the hopeful expression in his eyes.

“That’s right, Mulder. You sleep, and I’ll kick their asses if they try

to wake you.”

Smiling dreamily, he slid off her until only his head lay pillowed in

her lap. He looked at her, and she could tell that he had snapped

out of his dream. “Is this okay?” he asked softly.

She sat up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Of course it is.”

He sighed happily and snuggled in closer, wrapping one arm

around her waist. “I wish I had you back then, Scully.” He gave her

a squeeze. “I’m so grateful I have you now.”

Scully gathered all the blankets and covered them both. She slid

down, pulling Mulder up until his head was resting just beneath her

chin. Kissing the top of his head, she hugged him to her. “As well

you should be.”

She felt him shake with silent laughter. “Ah, God, but I love you,

Scully.”

“I know you do, Mulder.” She ruffled his hair and settled her cheek

atop his head. “Sometimes that’s the only thing in this life that I

*am* sure of.”

**

1989

Quantico, Virginia

“Maybe we should lay off him for awhile. I mean, *look* at him.”

Jack Godfried’s voice reached Mulder’s ears through the crack in

the door and even though he was puking up everything he’d ever

had to eat, Mulder felt himself flushing with embarrassment. When

he could pause enough to take a breath, he stretched an arm out

and slammed the door shut.

He wanted to stay where he was forever. He might be sick, it might

smell pretty rank in there, but he was alone. He had privacy. And

there were no babies dying in there. No kids with their hands

chopped off, or their intestines removed or their tiny bodies

violated in any other number of unspeakable ways.

Here he needed only to concentrate on one thing: making sure his

aim was on target.

An impatient rapping on the door made him cringe. “You almost

done in there, Mulder? Some of us are on deadline, you know.” It

was the despised voice of the recently promoted Neil Valenti, and

it gave Mulder an incentive to keep puking.

“Mulder!” Valenti was pounding on the door now, and Mulder

wished he’d just shut up and go the hell away.

“For Christ’s sakes, Mulder. Can’t you do this on your own time?”

The voice was right next to him now, and Mulder was so pissed

that the jerk couldn’t even give him five minutes to be sick that he

momentarily rose above his bodily ills to address the man.

“I don’t have any of my own fucking time, Neil. You and your co-

workers see to that.” Mulder indicated the door. “Get the fuck out.

And try working on your own damned profile for once. I’m too

sick.” Mulder turned back to the toilet.

“No fucking way!” Mulder’s shoulder was grabbed, and he was

jerked upright to face Valenti. “You just get over yourself, Spooky,

and get your head back in the game where it belongs.”

Mulder pulled out of Valenti’s grasp and sank back down to the

floor. “I can’t. I can’t do it any more. I can’t eat, I can’t think… Hell,

I can’t even sit up any more.” He let himself slide onto the floor.

“Lemme sleep, Neil.”

“You can sleep later, Mulder. For now, I want–”

“No!” Mulder sat up with the rest of his energy. “It’s always ‘later.’

You or Bill or Frank–” He stopped, frustrated when he couldn’t

remember the names of the people he worked with every day.

“You–all of you–need me every second of every day and every

night. For God’s sake, Neil, I haven’t been to my apartment in

days.”

“That’s not my problem,” Valenti said, dismissively.

“It damned well *is* your problem, because I quit.” Mulder pushed

himself to his feet, anger giving him temporary strength. “I fucking

quit.”

He tromped out of the bathroom and stalked out the door, nearly

colliding with Patterson. Then he pulled out his cell phone, called a

cab and got himself admitted to the nearest hospital.

**

February 7

Present Time

6:16 a.m.

Scully’s eyes opened and fell on her partner, lying beside her. His

restless shifting and his mumbling had awakened her, but since he

didn’t seem to be in too much distress, she let him sleep while she

slipped outside to relieve herself. She thought she’d take care of

her wound while she had her clothes undone, but it was too cold

and windy, so she hustled back to the blankets and her warm

Mulder. Once under the covers, she peeled back the layers of

clothing to reveal the injury.

The wound wasn’t too deep, but it was oozing pus, so she cleaned

it, disinfected it, and slathered on a generous amount of antibiotic

cream from the first aid kit. A gauze pad, folded in quarters, and an

extra large bandaid were all it took to complete her ministrations.

Satisfied with her work, she lay back down by Mulder’s side when

he began whimpering.

She caught enough of his dream for her to get a better idea of what

life had been like for him back in his ‘glory’ days. Now she had no

trouble understanding why he loved their office in the basement. It

also gave her more of an insight as to why Mulder often had

difficulty working with other agents.

It saddened her to think that he’d been abused so badly by his

fellow workers. It angered her to know that he still was–and that

she was a willing participant. She wondered how far up the ladder

this blatant mistreatment of her partner went. If she had protested

Kersh’s actions, would anyone have listened?

Mulder came suddenly awake with a cry of surprise, and Scully

hastened to comfort him. “Hey, easy there, Mulder. It was just a

dream.” She rubbed a hand across his back as she spoke in a

soothing voice. “You’re here with me: Scully.”

She felt a rumble against her chest and realized he was laughing.

“You are the first person I think of, Scully, and the only one I

would care to be stranded with in the mountains in the winter, so it

wouldn’t have been too much of a stretch for me to guess that the

‘me’ was you.” He lifted his head and smiled at her.

“I take it you’re feeling better?” she asked, both amused and

annoyed by the smugness in his tone.

“Yes, I feel better. Not much, but a definite improvement over last

night.” He sighed. “Let me warn you from experience, though–it

won’t last. I’ll be feeling rotten in no time.” He pulled gently from

her arms and got to his feet. “While we’re in the ‘eye,’ so to speak,

should we try to make some headway in getting out of here? Or at

least a little further down, where it’s not as cold and windy.”

She shivered, missing the warmth Mulder had been sharing with

her. Nodding, she stood, taking his hand up when he offered it to

her. “You’re right. It’s getting light out, so we should be able to

follow the path okay. Hopefully, we’ll meet a rescue team before

we get too far.”

Mulder turned and directed his gaze back up the mountain. “How

far from the ranger station do you suppose we are?”

Scully took the map out of her pocket, located their last known

position, then found the ranger station. “We’re actually not in too

bad a position. We’re about an hours’ driving time away, but we

weren’t going much over fifteen miles per hour.”

“We’ve gone fifteen miles?” Mulder asked.

“Well, the trail twists and turns and rises and falls…” She stopped.

“The elevation for this mountain is only around 4,500 feet. Could

we really have covered fifteen miles when it’s not even one mile

high?”

Mulder nodded. “Easy. These trails are blazed for enjoyment, not

for the quickest way up and down.”

Scully sighed. “Doesn’t anyone ever need to get down in a hurry?

What do they do when someone’s hurt?” She held up a hand at the

question forming on his lips. “I took care of it while you were

asleep. It was just beginning to become infected, but I think I

headed it off.”

Mulder nodded, apparently satisfied. “Is there anything on the

map?”

She shook her head. “I already looked. If there is, it’s not on this

map.”

Mulder gave a frustrated grin. “Figures. Nothing could ever go that

easy for us.” He helped Scully gather up their supplies, hesitating

when he came to the four wool blankets.

“It’d probably be easier if you wore them,” she offered.

Mulder ducked his head, a sure indication that he’d had the same

thought, but would not have voiced it; he didn’t want to admit that

he craved the extra warmth, a sign that he was feeling better.

“Would you mind sharing them?” She was so happy that he was

well enough to put on his brave front that she tried to soften the

blow for him. She held out a hand, and he grinned as he shook out

two blankets, draping them over her back.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, spreading the remaining two

around himself.

She shook her head, once again having figured him out correctly,

yet underestimated him at the same time. “You are one of a kind,

Mulder,” she said, smiling.

He hefted the backpack beneath the blankets and gazed at her, a

sparkle in his eye. “That’s part of the reason you love me, isn’t it?”

He was thrilled by the answering twinkle in her eyes. “You know

it, partner.”

**

February 7

6:25 a.m.

Scully watched with amusement the almost jaunty gait of her

partner as he walked ahead of her. Happy that a few words from

her had rejuvenated him this much, it also saddened her that he still

grasped onto these tiny expressions of love the way a drowning

man did to a life raft.

Was she so stingy with them before? Had she so rarely shown him

how much she cared for him that any crumb she’d thrown his way

had become, to him, equivalent to a banquet?

She wasn’t a very demonstrative person. Surely he knew that that

was why she didn’t throw platitudes of love his way every time she

wanted to. Daring a look at him, she smiled when he turned to her

as though he’d felt her eyes upon him. Hell, he probably could.

Catching up with him, she placed a hand on his back. “How are

you doing?”

“I’m good,” he said, nodding. He indicated the spot she’d just

vacated. “What were you thinking about just then?”

Reluctant to reveal her shortcomings to him, she shrugged and

offered him a half-truth instead. “I was thinking how much better

you were doing.”

He frowned as if he knew she wasn’t being totally honest with him.

“Oh,” he said, turning his attention back to the path. “I’m feeling

better, thanks.”

Suddenly, the disappointment she saw on his face, and felt in

herself, became unbearable. “I was thinking about how much I

love you,” she blurted out, “and how I don’t seem to tell you

enough.”

He stopped then, and she plowed into his back. Before she could

peel herself off his backside, he did a one-eighty, holding onto her

shoulders before she could move away. Relocating one hand to

caress her cheek, he smiled gently. “Thank you,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “I thought you needed to know.”

Chuckling, he touched his forehead to hers in a gesture she’d come

to associate with his deep affection for her. He kissed her forehead,

then tilted her head so that she had to look into his eyes. And then

she understood.

He knew. He’d always known.

**

Act III

February 7

7:06 a.m.

Mulder cursed softly as he trudged along behind Scully. He’d felt

the change come over him a few minutes earlier, but hadn’t

mentioned it to his partner. The further down the mountain they

could get, the better off they’d be, so he’d kept to himself the fact

that with each step he took he was feeling poorer and poorer. He

wanted to keep going until he absolutely couldn’t go on any longer.

Scully turned her head to check his progress, and before he could

blink, she was at his side, taking the brunt of his weight as he slid

bonelessly to the ground. “Oh, Mulder,” she said, softly. “You

should have said something.”

He shook his head. “I was okay until a couple of minutes ago.”

“You should have said something then.”

Giving a tired smile, he shrugged. “Thought I could keep going

awhile longer.” He let his eyes drift shut. “Must be getting old.”

She settled him a little more comfortably against a tree trunk.

“We’re both getting old.” Kissing him lightly on his forehead, she

uttered, “But as long as we do it together, I don’t mind.”

Opening his eyes, he fought to bring her face into focus. “Do you

really mean that? Do you… would you… grow old with me?”

She smiled then, a huge grin that he’d never before seen gracing

her features. “Well, not right away, but… yeah.” Her gaze shifted

down to their clasped hands. “I think I have to,” she said, her voice

just above a whisper.

“Wow,” Mulder said, just before he fainted.

**

February 7

7:09 a.m.

Scully laid the last of the blankets over her partner, narrowed her

eyes, and squinted up at the sky. She was certain that those fluffy

grey clouds rolling in were up to no good.

Where the hell was their rescue? Didn’t *anyone* notice that they

hadn’t returned? At the very least, someone should have missed the

damned jeep thing. And just where in the bloody blue blazes on

this blamed mountain were she and Mulder anyway?

Scully brought out the trail map and opened it to their last known

position. It was dismayingly close to the summit. She cursed

herself for not paying attention to landmarks on her drive down.

Absurdly, she wondered if she’d be able to locate the site of their

“mishap” if she looked for a picture of a moose.

The loud “snap” of a branch breaking off to her right sent Scully

scrambling into a side pocket for her gun. Just as her hand closed

over the weapon, a gravelly voice ordered, “Hold it right there.”

Her finger on the trigger, her thumb about to flick the safety off,

Scully froze.

“Let go of whatever it is you’ve got a hold of in there, and bring

your hand out slowly–and empty.” Scully looked toward the voice

and found a bear of a man holding a shotgun against her partner’s

head. “Or your boyfriend here gets his pretty face messed up.”

“Okay,” she said, in what she hoped was a calm voice. “Okay, I’m

doing it.” Relinquishing her hold on the hard steel, she drew her

hand out carefully.

“Good,” the man intoned, nodding and licking his lips. He looked

almost as nervous as she did. “Now reach in two fingers–no

thumb–and pull it out.”

Scully did as directed, and as soon as her weapon was in sight, he

snatched it out of her hand. She was relieved to see that Mulder

was no longer in the gun’s sights.

“What about him?” the man asked. “He got a gun, too?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding, wondering whether or not she should

volunteer information about their professions.

“Get it.” The barrel was once again held against Mulder’s temple.

“The same way as yours.”

Scully nodded, pulling the pile of blankets off Mulder. Kneeling

beside him, she patted him down until she felt the hard lump at his

side. She reached into his pocket, pulled the gun out, and offered it

to their captor.

After the man had deposited their weapons in his jacket pocket, he

indicated the ground near Mulder. “Sit down.” He gestured to the

unmoving Mulder. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s sick,” Scully answered. “Flu,” she added, in case the man

should think Mulder had some highly contagious disease and

decide to put him out of his misery.

“Well, for godsakes, cover him back up,” the man said.

Surprised, Scully hastened to comply. Since it appeared that the

man wasn’t the ogre Scully had thought him to be, she took the

time to tuck the blankets snugly around her partner. “Thank you,”

she said, sincerely.

“What are you two doing up here? Don’t you know there’s a storm

coming?”

Scully’s gaze took in the gathering clouds. “I suspected as much.”

She sighed tiredly. “I crashed our four-wheeler trying to avoid a

moose.”

The man snorted. “Wise move.”

Scully studied the man as his thoughts seemed to drift. “Are you

going to let us go?” she asked.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.” The shotgun, which

had been pointed toward the ground, swung up to cover her and

Mulder.

“My partner and I were investigating the sites of some murders

which took place up here.”

The man’s demeanor changed from irritated to interested. “Are you

law officers?”

Scully hesitated, then nodded, deciding that it would be in their

best interests to tell the truth rather than be caught in a lie. “FBI.”

“Son of a bitch,” the man cursed, and his face seemed to… ripple.

Scully blinked, wondering if she’d just seen what she thought she

saw. “Get him up,” he said. The man jerked his weapon at Mulder,

and Scully quickly turned her investigator switch to ‘off.’ “You’re

getting out of here now.”

Wanting nothing better, Scully rousted her partner. “Mulder,” she

called, slapping his face lightly.

Mulder groaned and rolled away.

Casting a quick glance to their captor, Scully latched onto Mulder’s

shoulder and gave it a shake. “Come on, Mulder. I’m sorry, but you

have to get up now.”

Suddenly, Mulder gave a wail of anguish. “Nooo! Scully, you

promised. You said you’d kick their asses!”

“What’s he talking about? Kick whose asses?” the man asked,

growing more and more agitated by the second.

Scully thought it best to come clean on the first attempt, rather than

try to pass it off as nothing. “He was dreaming earlier.

Remembering when he was a young profiler and his colleagues

wouldn’t let him sleep. He was so good they didn’t want to let him

stop to rest.” She brushed a hand through Mulder’s hair lovingly.

“Even when he was sick.” She looked up at the man. “I told him I’d

kick their asses so he could sleep.”

The man’s features softened to an expression of understanding. He

looked at Mulder, then turned his gaze to her. “I’m sorry, but it’s

necessary. If you don’t get out of here in time, you’ll know why.”

A plethora of scenarios, culled from too many years of x-files, ran

through Scully’s mind. She didn’t know which would apply in this

situation, or if it was an entirely new one, but she certainly didn’t

want to wait around to find out. She thanked her lucky stars that

their roles weren’t reversed. It would be just like Mulder to want to

see what would transpire.

She leaned in until her lips were grazing her partner’s ear. “Mulder,

we have to go. There’s a man here, and he says we have to leave.

He has our guns, and he said we have to leave now.”

She didn’t know which part registered, but Mulder’s eyes opened,

and he made an effort to sit up. “What? What, Scully? What’s

going on?”

“We need to go,” she said. “I need to get you up, and we need to go

now.”

His confusion-filled eyes blinking, Mulder nodded his head.

“Okay. But I’m feeling pretty fuzzy. I don’t know how long I’ll

last.”

“I know, Mulder. And I’m sorry.” She knelt beside him. “But

there’s something… urgent… in his insistence that we need to get

out of here.”

“Whose?” Mulder was blinking owlishly at her, and Scully read

the confusion in his eyes.

“There’s a man here,” she repeated. “He has our guns, and he says

we have to leave.”

“How?” he asked, and she saw that the cobwebs had finally cleared

from his mind. “Didn’t you tell him that’s what we’ve been trying to

do?”

He met her eyes, and she knew what he was going to say next. She

cut him off before the thought could be fully formed in his brain.

“No,” she said. “I’m not going without you.”

Expecting a rebuttal, she was surprised when he drew in a ragged

breath. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. “I was terrified that you

might finally listen to me.”

She shook her head. “Never happen.”

He laughed, then turned serious. “I feel like shit, Scully. I don’t

know how far we’re going to get this time.”

“He says there’s a storm coming.” When she leaned down to help

him up, she whispered in his ear, “But I don’t think that’s the real

reason he wants us to get moving.” She took the arm Mulder

reached out to her. “He’s afraid for us.”

“Why?” Mulder asked, as Scully levered herself under his arm and

raised him to a standing position.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I only know that it’s

something we don’t want to be around for.” She turned so that she

and Mulder were facing their captor. “I just need to pick up our

supplies, and we’ll leave.”

The man held up a hand. “Let me.” He handed Scully the knapsack

and the blankets.

Accepting them, she nodded to the items in the man’s pocket.

“What about our weapons?”

Their captor hesitated a second, then reached into his jacket and

pulled out the guns. “Here,” he said, handling them as if they

would burn him. “Now, go.” He pointed his arm down the trail.

“And don’t stop until you’re off this mountain.”

Scully looked down the trail, then back at the man. “Do you know

how far we are from the bottom? How long will it take?”

“We’re a little more than halfway to the summit. Should take you a

couple of hours.”

Scully sighed in frustration. “My partner is sick. We’re not able to

travel very fast.” She gave her partner an apologetic smile. “He’s

already passed out twice. I doubt very much if we’ll make it down

that fast.”

The man shook his head slowly. “I sincerely hope you’re wrong

about that.”

“Why?” Scully’s patience was beginning to wear thin. “Why do we

have to leave so quickly?” Not that she didn’t want to; it’s just that

they couldn’t. Not with Mulder in the condition he was in.

The man seemed to be considering his words carefully before he

finally spoke. “Because you’re in danger from this killer you’re

tracking.”

Scully was alarmed. “He’s here? He’s close?”

The man nodded solemnly. He indicated the path. “Go now. And

put in as much distance as you can to the bottom.”

Scully held the man’s gaze for another second before she latched

onto her partner and led him back to the path. After they were out

of sight of their captor, she wrapped all the blankets around the

two of them, huddling closer to Mulder for warmth. “How’s that?”

she asked, adjusting the hood of his snowsuit so that it was more

snug around his head.

“Fine,” he croaked, and she could tell he wanted to be anything but

upright.

“I know,” she said softly. “I promise… you can sleep for a week

once we get out of here.”

Hell, he could sleep for a month, a year, he could have his way

with her whenever he wanted. Just as long as he made it out.

**

February 7

8:36 a.m.

Surely, Mulder thought, death could not be any worse than what he

was going through right now. If it wasn’t for the fact that it would

endanger Scully’s life, Mulder would have succumbed to death’s

allure long ago. He felt like he’d been walking for days.

It was snowing now. Just putting one foot in front of the other was

almost more than he could handle. He’d already fallen a few times,

and stumbled even more; he wanted to cry every time Scully

forced him back to his feet.

His foot caught on a jutting rock, and he went down–again–

landing hard on his knees.

“Oh, Mulder…” Scully mourned, dropping to her knees beside him.

Knowing what was coming next, Mulder felt his eyes fill and his

nose become stuffed. He sniffed and tried to blink back the tears,

but found that he just hadn’t the strength any longer. He bowed his

head, braced his hands on his thighs, and gave in to the despair and

self-pity that he’d been fighting off for the last hour and a half.

“Mulder, I’m so sorry,” Scully said, enfolding him in her arms.

“I can’t… go on, Scully,” he said, his voice hitching. “I don’t want

to give up, but I just can’t… do it.”

“Mulder…”

He braced himself for the pep talk, even as his tears continued to

drop onto the snow.

“I’ll try to find us some shelter.”

Surprised, he looked up. She was regarding him with so much

tenderness that it almost overwhelmed him. He sniffled, reigning

in his tears. “Is it safe?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know.” She hugged him tighter. “I

only know that I can’t stand to see you suffering any longer.”

He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling ashamed; the snow

melting beneath his knees seemed like a good thing to look at. “I’m

sorry I’m not stronger,” he said, quietly.

“Stronger?” she asked, and his head snapped up at the near hysteria

he heard in her voice. She released him from her embrace and

grabbed his head so that he had no choice but to look into her eyes.

“Mulder, this whole case you have been nothing *but* strong. I

don’t know how you ever made it this far.” She shook her head,

letting her hands drop to her sides. “I know I couldn’t.”

He shook his head vehemently. “If it was you, we wouldn’t be

having this conversation. You would rather die than show me any

sign of weakness.”

He saw the flash of anger in her eyes. “I–” Then she stopped

abruptly and sighed. “You’re probably right.” She took hold of his

hand. “But that doesn’t make me stronger.” At his questioning

look, she dropped her gaze to their joined hands. “That just makes

me less open, more afraid to show you how I really feel.”

He nodded, sensing the truth in her words, feeling more like he

thought a man should feel around a woman, and especially around

the woman he loved. “Okay if I wait here?”

She nodded. “I’m not going too far. I’m just going to look for

something off the beaten path, so to speak.” Smiling, she wrapped

all the blankets around him before standing up. “I should only be

gone a few minutes.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive, both at her going off

alone, and at his being left alone, in a snowstorm, with a killer on

the loose. Yet, he returned her smile and nodded at her parting.

Her footsteps muffled by the fresh snow, it was only seconds

before he felt like he was the only person left in the world.

**

February 7

8:58 a.m.

When she saw Mulder seated upright, his back against a tree, his

eyes closed, his hands limp and unmoving in his lap, Scully’s

breath caught in her throat. “Mulder?” she asked, not caring if he

heard the quiver in her voice, not caring about anything except if

he was alive.

To her surprise and great relief, his eyes opened immediately.

She released a shaky breath. “How are you doing? I thought you

were… asleep.”

He looked just as relieved at seeing her there as she was at seeing

him still alive. “I was too scared to sleep. I thought…” Taking a

deep breath, he seemed to be regrouping his thoughts. “I thought

that if I fell asleep, I might not wake up again. I thought I might

not see you again.” The hint of a smile touched his eyes. “I thought

you might not be too happy to come back and find I’d expired.”

She laughed, now that she could, now that he *hadn’t* expired.

“You’re right. I’d have been royally pissed if you’d died before we

got to do everything I want to do once we get out of here and get

you well.”

His eyes lit up. “Such as?”

“Oh, you know… the usual. Hugging, snuggling, kissing, making

love like bunnies…”

He laughed. “I’m glad I stuck around, then. I definitely don’t want

to miss out on any of that.” Then his smile faded, and he shuddered

violently.

“Come on,” she said, reaching down to grasp his hands, helping

him to his feet. “I found someplace dry.”

Leading him off the trail and onto the sharper incline, Scully

tightened her grip on him, following her bootprints, then the

markers she’d left when her footsteps were no longer visible

because of the falling snow.

Mulder seemed a little stronger now; the rest had apparently done

him some good. When she announced that they’d reached their

destination, however, Mulder threw himself through the opening

and lay on his side, shaking. Scully clambered over him, through

the entrance, into the shallow cave. She dragged Mulder the few

feet to the back of the cave, then hauled him to an upright position

when he began coughing uncontrollably.

The episode lasted about a minute, ending with Mulder trying to

suppress the cough by breathing through his nose. Scully slung the

knapsack off her back and uncapped a water bottle, offering it to

him. It was a few minutes more before he could calm himself

enough to chance a sip.

By this time, his eyes were tearing and his nose was running, and

he could barely draw in a breath between sips.

“Dammit, Mulder, why didn’t you say something? We could have

stopped to rest.” He had given no indication that he was in any sort

of distress.

“Couldn’t stop,” he gasped. “If I stopped… I might not be able to…

move again.” He sucked in a breath. “Couldn’t chance it.”

She sighed, nodding; she would have done the same. “Here,” she

said, softly, handing him some tissues from where she knew he’d

stashed them in the pockets of his snowsuit.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, yanking off his gloves to accept the

Kleenex. After making himself more presentable, he let his eyes

wander, examining their accommodations, while his breathing

evened out.

“It’s not much,” she said, “but at least it’s dry.” She eyed the

entrance. “As long as the wind doesn’t change.”

“It’s great,” he said. “Can we do anything about blocking that

doorway?”

It was about five feet high and three feet across, but as Scully

pictured the insignificant amount of brush they’d passed that could

be useful as a screen, it appeared double that. “I’ll see what I can

find,” she said, crawling toward the exit.

“Wait!” Mulder called, stuffing his hands back into his gloves. “I’ll

help you.”

She laid a hand on his thigh. “You’re too sick.” To emphasize her

declaration, she brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead with

her thumb. “Stay here and rest.”

He looked like he was about to argue with her when he suddenly

dropped his gaze and nodded. “Don’t go too far.” She heard a host

of emotions in that utterance, and she loved him for feeling every

one of them for her.

“I’ll be careful,” she acknowledged. “I’ll button up.” She kissed him

on his lips. “I love you, too.” And please don’t be ashamed, she

added silently, hugging him tightly.

“I can’t help it,” he said into her hair. “I should go with you.”

“Not when you’re this sick, you shouldn’t.” Letting him go, she

gave him a gentle shove; he acquiesced and lay down. “I’ll be right

back,” she said, burying him under a mound of blankets. “Warm

these up for when I get back.” She smiled and threw him a wink.

“I’ll do my best,” he returned, grinning.

She took in one last glimpse of him before darting out into the

snow.

“You always do,” she said, softly.

**

Act IV

February 7

3:16 p.m.

“Well. It’s about time.”

Even through his sleep-addled brain, Mulder heard the laughter in

her voice. “What time is it?” he croaked. He took in the darkness

outside the partially-blocked entryway. “What day, for that

matter?”

“Same day, but it’s a little after three.” She followed his gaze. “It’s

still snowing. That’s why it seems so dark.”

He felt no small amount of panic that they were trapped on a

mountain with little food, a serial killer on the loose, and useless

cel phones. Not to mention that one of them felt like total and

absolute crap. His only consolation was that Scully wasn’t the sick

one. He’d much rather that their fate rested in her hands instead of

his. “Are we in any danger?”

“Not at the moment,” she answered. “We’re out of the snow. We

have plenty of ‘water,’ and I have a small supply of the best junk

food the hotel and ranger station vending machines had to offer.”

“God, Scully, if we had a TV, this would be a regular resort.” A

pebble dug into his backside as he slowly sat up. “A soft bed might

be a plus, too.” His bladder let its presence be known when he

shifted to a more comfortable position; he remembered the winter

wonderland surrounding them. “Indoor plumbing could be an

asset, as well.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I knew that a long time ago,”

she said, then indicated the doorway with a tilt of her head. “Better

get out there while there’s still enough light to find your way

back.”

He nodded, tossing off the blankets and donning his hat and

gloves. Scully moved the brush aside and crawled out ahead of

him; he was surprised to find her fully dressed for the outdoors as

well. “Are you coming with me?” he asked.

Her head bobbed a ‘yes.’ “I’ll turn my back to give you some

privacy, but we’ll be standing ass to ass, Mulder. I’m not losing you

because you couldn’t find your way back from a potty break.”

He felt exulted and insulted at the same time. “I can–”

“I know you can,” she said softly. “But you’re ill. And I’m a little

more familiar with the terrain.” She looked around at the almost

total whiteness. “What little we can see of it.”

His eyes took in the monotonous vision of trees and rocks, all

covered in snow. Ten feet out, he knew he’d be lost. “Lead on,

then, McDuff.”

Taking hold of his arm, she walked them to a tree not too far away

. She faced him toward the tree, then did an about-face. As he

pulled off one glove with his teeth and fumbled his way through

layers of clothing, he felt her at his backside. “You weren’t kidding

that we’d be ass-to-ass, were you?”

“Nope,” she answered. “Although we’re really more ass-to-back.”

He smiled as, finally, he reached his goal; he tried not to sigh in

relief while he was emptying his bladder. He also tried not to think

of how close Scully was and that she was privy to his every

movement. Finishing, he groaned in pleasure. “Oh, God. That feels

much better.” After tucking and zipping and re-gloving, he turned

around and grasped her shoulders gently. “All set.” When she

faced him, he kissed her on the forehead. “God, I love you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And that’s the best you can do?”

Always up for a challenge, Mulder leaned down to capture her lips

with his.

He didn’t know if it was because of the kiss, the altitude or the flu,

but he felt himself growing light-headed and broke off. “I’m afraid

*that’s* the best I can do for now,” he puffed, leaning heavily on

her.

“What’s wrong?” She was gazing at him with concern.

“A little dizzy,” he said.

She wound an arm around his waist, taking on part of his weight as

she started them back. “You need to eat, and we need to get some

fluids into you.”

“Okay.” It had been awhile since he’d eaten–and then lost–his

breakfast. He wasn’t feeling so much nauseous any more as he was

feeling tired, achy and light-headed. By the time they reached the

cave mouth, he was shaking and sweating.

Scully lowered him gently to the floor; when she left him to move

the brush back into place, he closed his eyes, trying to will himself

back to some semblance of normal. Feeling her settling beside him,

he opened his eyes a crack. She was holding her arms open to him.

“Come on, Mulder,” she said, gathering him in her arms.

He didn’t hesitate even a nanosecond. He wouldn’t have thought he

could fold himself into a small enough bundle to be gathered to her

bosom, yet there he was. Gradually, through all the layers of

clothing, her warmth seeped into his chilled bones; he sighed in

contentment.

Scully hugged him tighter, then pulled away a little. “Feeling

better?”

“Feeling warmer,” he told her. He still felt like crap, but at least it

was warm crap.

Scully’s arm left him, and he felt her reach for something. “What’ll

it be, partner? I have a wide assortment of candy bars, granola

bars, cookies and crackers.”

He sat up, trying to get a peek into the backpack she was

unzipping. His stomach felt a little rebellious at the thought of

putting something in it. “Um, crackers?” He met her gaze for a

second. “The blander, the better.”

Out the corner of his eye, he saw her nod in understanding. The

sound of cellophane rustling brought his eyes to her hands.

Removing a plain saltine, she offered it to him with a shy smile.

“From my soup last night.”

He smiled gratefully as he took the cracker and bit into a corner.

Bless her for anticipating what he hadn’t even considered. A little

embarrassed that she apparently knew his body—and its

weaknesses—better than he did, Mulder let his gaze drop down to

his lap as he nibbled on his second cracker.

“So why all the food?” he asked, curious as to why his health-

conscious partner was carrying around a horde of junk food.

A fleeting smile came to her lips. “I knew we were coming up here

today. And I knew that you wouldn’t be eating much in the way of

‘real’ food. So I got a few things that might tempt you to eat, even

if you weren’t hungry.”

Warmed that she’d given so much thought to his well-being,

Mulder squeezed her hand. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Thanks for

looking after me so much better than I look after myself.”

She squeezed back. “It used to be my job, Mulder, but now it’s my

pleasure.” A smile suddenly sprang to her face. “I suppose I should

make some glib remark about its being to my advantage to keep

you in top condition—and while that may be true to some extent,

it’s not the reason.” Her expression softened to one of affection.

“The fact of the matter is that I care about you. I care about how

you’re feeling, and I want to help you feel better.” Her eyes

hardened, and her lips compressed to a thin line. “I hate that Kersh

could send you out here when you’re so ill. I hate that it’s even a

consideration, that because they’ve abused you in the past, he

thinks that gives him the right to order you to work when you

should be home in bed. I’d like to see that bastard show up for desk

duty—much less field work—with a hundred and three degree

temperature.”

She was red-faced and puffing when she finished. Mulder couldn’t

help it: as shitty as he felt, he was tickled pink. “I’ve mentioned

that I love you, right?”

She looked at him then, gave a laugh and threw her arms around

his neck. “You may have told me once or twice.”

He smiled against her neck, but jerked back when he felt

something wet on his cheek. “Hey,” he said, brushing a finger

under her wet eyes. “What’s this about?”

She shook her head. “I just get so angry sometimes.” Using the

back of one hand, she wiped her eyes dry. “The way you were

treated. The way they still treat you.” She took a deep breath. “It

just pisses me off.”

He swore he could feel his heart swelling up into his throat. He had

to swallow before he could speak. “I don’t know why you love me,

Scully, but I’m glad you do.” Reaching out, he pulled her back into

his embrace. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you how grateful

I am to have you in my life.”

Scully gave him a hug and then gently disentangled herself. He

caught the tail end of the pleased smile she had been wearing.

Nodding to the cracker he still held in his hand, she told him, “You

can start by eating something.”

Shaking his head in amusement, he dutifully finished off the

cracker. She promptly handed him another one. By the time he’d

consumed all the crackers from all the packages—eight crackers in

all—his stomach felt settled enough for him to try something with

a little more flavor. The adventurous side of him told him to go for

the jalapeno Doritos, but the more practical side of him (he was

surprised by this; he didn’t think he had one) made him choose the

vanilla wafers.

After eating half the bag, Mulder no longer felt hungry. He folded

down the top of the bag and handed it to Scully. “Thanks. I’ve had

enough for now.”

She regarded him with a suspicious glint in her eye. “Is your

stomach okay?”

He was surprised to find that it was; he nodded. “Yup. It’s fine. I’m

just full.” He ran an appraising eye over her petite form swallowed

up in all her winter garb. “What about you? You have to eat, too.”

She chuckled, reaching into one of the pockets of her snowsuit,

pulling out the wrapper to a granola bar. “Already ate.” She offered

the wrapper to him.

He frowned. Is that what she called a meal? “You have—”

Another wrapper appeared under his nose. Twinkies this time.

Mulder nodded his approval. “Okay,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Before the thought that his throat was dry could even develop in

his mind, Scully produced a bottle of water. Accepting it, he raised

his eyebrows. Well. Wasn’t someone taking this Mrs. Spooky thing

right to heart?

“There’s nothing spooky about it, Mulder,” she said, and he nearly

spit out the mouthful of water he was about to swallow.

Oh, no? he thought, swallowing the liquid, his eyes widening on

the question he was unable to voice.

“No,” she replied, a smug look overtaking her features. “It’s all

about being able to read you.” Taking the bottle from him, she re-

capped it and put it aside. She let her hands play over his face. “Of

anticipating what’s going through that delicious mind of yours.”

He couldn’t prevent the enormous grin from spreading over his

face. “Delicious?”

She sidled up closer to him, her hand skimming down his face to

gently caress his neck. “You are delicious through and through,

Mulder.”

He felt a shiver run through him at her words. “I think that’s my

line, Scully.”

She shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard it from you.” She

snuggled in until she was practically in his lap. “You don’t use it,

you lose it.”

Never one to be accused of inactivity, Mulder wrapped his arms

around her and pulled her the rest of the way onto his lap. “Oh, I’ve

used it,” he purred in his best sexy voice. “Just not out loud. I think

I was afraid you’d pummel me into a ball of mush.”

Pushing herself out to arm’s length, Scully’s amused gaze captured

his eyes. “You might end up a ball of mush, but it wouldn’t be from

my pummeling you.”

Trying to wrap his mind around what that might entail, Mulder

groaned. “Scully…” he whined.

She batted her eyelashes. “What?” she asked, innocently.

How could anyone with a three-inch layer of bulky clothing be so

damned sexy? Surprised to find himself reacting to her under his

own sixteen layers of winterwear, Mulder pulled her back to his

chest, burrowing his nose under her hood and into her hair.

“Love you,” he said, touching his lips to her neck gently. The

closeness of her shoulder beneath his ear was too much to resist; he

let his head drop down, and uttered one last, “Love you, Scully,”

before he drifted off.

**

Only the slightest bit miffed that her Romeo had fallen asleep just

as things were heating up, Scully eased herself off Mulder’s lap

and gently lay him down on the “bed” of pine needles that had

accumulated in the cave over the years. With a sigh, she leaned

back against the wall, contemplating Mulder, the cave, the

mountain outside their ‘doorway,’ the killer, the FBI…

Jolted awake from a sleep she couldn’t even remember lying down

for, Scully panicked for a few seconds while she tried to remember

where she was. The feel of pine needles beneath her hand and the

agitated moan of her partner brought her up to speed fairly quickly.

Pulling off a glove, she laid her palm on her partner’s cheek,

disquieted by the heat she found there. His thrashing calmed upon

her initial touch, but started up again when she removed her hand

to reach for the water and the first aid kit. Abandoning her search

for the moment, she rested her hand on his forehead.

“Mulder,” she called softly. He moaned in response. “Can you

open your eyes for me, partner?” She massaged his face gently as

she spoke to him.

“Save me…” he muttered. “Scully, save me… They won’t let me…”

He broke off suddenly with a sob that broke her heart.

“Leave him alone, you bastards!” she yelled. She leaned over to

speak softly into Mulder’s ear. “There you go, partner.” She

pressed her lips to his ear in a kiss. “Come on now. Come back to

me now.”

“Scully,” he sighed. His head turned until his lips met hers,

whether intentional or by accident, Scully couldn’t tell. “Thanks,”

he whispered into her mouth, before his breathing evened out.

“Sure thing,” she muttered, irked that he’d fallen back to sleep so

easily while she was now wide-awake.

About to lie back down and give it the old college try, she shivered

when the sound of a howl reached her ears. She froze, trying to

determine just which mountain creature could be out there, and

hoping that her ‘door’ would be effective at hiding them.

After a few seconds, she heard stealthy footsteps as they trod over

the snow-covered ground through to the crunchy leaf cover below.

Even though it had been snowing steadily for a few hours, only a

couple of inches had managed to accumulate, and she could see,

with the brightening sky, that the snow had stopped altogether.

While one portion of her brain marveled that she’d apparently slept

twelve hours straight, another pondered just what could be stalking

them. Slipping her hand into her pocket, Scully removed her

weapon, checking the clip and releasing the safety. She debated

whether or not to wake Mulder, then decided that, hell, misery

loved company, and wouldn’t he just be all the more miserable if

she didn’t wake him.

She leaned in close to his ear, shaking his shoulder while she

whispered, “Mulder, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, Scully was distracted

by how utterly endearing he looked. “Whassrong?” he asked,

blinking those glorious eyelashes over those gorgeous eyes.

Giving herself a mental swat upside the head, Scully filled him in

on their potential visitor. “Someone or some thing is outside. I

need you to back me up in case it decides to come in.”

His grogginess dissipated in an instant. She gave him a hand a he

struggled to sit up. “Thanks,” he puffed out, breathing heavily. “Do

you…” He reached inside his pocket, drawing out his gun. “…have

any idea what it could be?”

She shook her head. “Whatever it is, it’s treading slowly and

carefully.” She gave him a grave look. “Almost as if…” She trailed

off.

“As if it knew we were in here,” he finished quietly.

“Yeah.” She watched as Mulder flicked his safety off as quietly as

he could, then they turned their attention to the entrance, both

weapons trained on the doorway.

Within a minute, loud snuffling announced the arrival of

something most definitely not human. Holding her breath as the

outline of a very large biped loomed into view behind the brush,

Scully grit her teeth to tamp down the feeling of panic that was

starting to build.

Suddenly, the bushes were swept aside, and what looked like

Godzilla in armor plating stood glaring in at them. Scully’s mouth

went dry. She lowered her gun and reached for Mulder’s hand.

There was no way bullets were going to penetrate that hide. If she

was going to die, she was going to do it connected to Mulder in

some way.

Mulder, too, lowered his weapon. Grasping Scully’s hand in his, he

went her one better by pulling her into a crushing embrace. Scully

closed her eyes and hugged him for all she was worth, love and

regret now overshadowing the all-encompassing fear she’d felt

only a few seconds ago.

“Scully…” Mulder murmured, and she heard his voice—as well as

his heart—breaking. She felt him swallow as his throat constricted

with tears.

“I know, Mulder.” She hugged him tighter. “Me, too.”

As she waited for the beast to strike, it occurred to her that the

death blow was taking an unusually long time in coming. She

cracked open an eye, hoping that by some miracle…

It was crouched down, staring at her, regarding her with curiosity.

‘Intelligent?’ she wondered. “Mulder,” she whispered.

His head shifted forward a little, and his cheek pressed into hers as

he peeked around her head. “What’s it doing?” he whispered back.

The thing was now regarding them with an expression of

amusement, irritation, and indulgence. “I *can* hear you, you

know.”

Scully’s mouth dropped open.

Mulder jerked back in surprise so fast, he cracked his head against

the wall. “Son of a…” he began, then broke off abruptly.

As much as Scully wanted to ascertain that he was okay, she

couldn’t take her eyes off the refugee from Japanimation that had

just addressed them with a British accent.

“You’ll never apprehend him with *those*.” The creature was

gazing distastefully at the weapons being held limply in their

hands.

“Uh…” Scully began. “Wh…” She cleared her throat and tried

again. “What should we use?” Then the absurdity of the situation

hit her. “Who the hell are you? And who the hell is ‘him?'”

The beast laughed in delight, and Scully was surprised that she

knew this, because the only sound that reached her ears was a

growl. “Oh, I do so adore your attitude,” it said, in that damned

accent again, and she was really hard-pressed to match that voice

to that… er… face. “I,” the beast began, his countenance losing all

trace of humor, “am…” He paused again. “Oh, bloody hell. Just call

me ‘Targ.” You’d never be able to pronounce the Kilartian

version.”

Scully blinked. She ran though her mental database of all known

languages, including popular, archaic and defunct. “‘Kilartian’ was

not among them.

“Where are you from?” Mulder asked, annoying the hell out of her

that he’d come to the conclusion a split second before her: that

their friend was not of this world. Or dimension. Or plane of

existence.

She jerked her head. When had believing in aliens, demons and

time travelers become so matter-of-fact, so second nature, to her?

Thinking all Mulder’s attention was devoted to the creature, Scully

jumped when he touched her lightly on the arm.

“You okay?”

The warmth and concern in his voice knocked her out of her

thoughts and back to the present. It also served to vanquish any

lingering vestiges of irritation and jealousy she’d harbored toward

her partner. She was not surprised to find his gaze upon her, and

not the creature. “I’m okay,” she said, trying to convey by her tone

that she really was. Breaking their eye contact, she addressed Targ.

“Who are you?”

The creature dipped its head, a movement that looked so out of

place, given its fearsome appearance, yet also quite natural. “Like

you,” he indicated her and Mulder, “I am a law officer.”

Scully nodded. She’d suspected as much. “Are you from…”

Throwing a sideways glance at her partner, she decided to fulfill

her own curiosity, and shock the hell out of him as an added bonus.

“…from another planet or another dimension?”

Mulder did not disappoint. “Wow, Scully.” She turned to find him

studying her, his expression one of awe, surprise and delight.

Blushing a little, even though she’d expected just that reaction, she

returned his smile before turning her attention back to Targ.

“Actually, from both,” he replied. “And another time.”

“The future?” she asked.

Targ shook his head. “The past. The much distant past.”

“Really?” Mulder asked, and Scully shared his wonderment. She

thought how truly gratifying it was to finally experience that sense

of belief, of acceptance of something at face value, just because

someone told her it was so.

“Yes, really,” Targ answered. He gestured to the winter

wonderland outside, a little impatiently, it appeared to Scully.

“Now since you obviously didn’t take my earlier advice about

leaving this mountain–”

“The old man,” Scully interrupted. “That was you.”

Targ nodded.

“Why didn’t you just tell us?” Scully was a little irked by that

whole ‘mystery man of the mountain’ performance now that she

knew it had been Targ all along.

“I had no intention of revealing myself to you.” He indicated their

surroundings. “Now, however, you give me no choice.” Taking a

moment to sniff the cold, crisp air, he returned his gaze to her.

“Retic has your scent.”

“Retic? Is that who you’re after?” Mulder asked.

“He is, yes. And since you are now involved, you can assist me in

capturing my prey.” He sniffed again. “Although considering the

carnage he’s wrought, ‘prey’ is not too appropriate a term.”

“Is he responsible for the deaths up here?” Scully asked.

Targ nodded. “Yes, And in my home. And in the country you call

England.”

“Is that where you…” Scully raised her eyebrows in question. She

tilted her head. “The accent?”

Targ stared in incomprehension for a moment. “The language is

the same, but the… dialect… is not?”

“The accent is distinctly British, yes,” Scully told him, something

still puzzling her. “The old man, though. You didn’t use that accent

with him.”

Targ seemed put out. “Of course not,” he reproved her. “That

would have been as out of place as your seeing me like this.”

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. ‘Probably more so,’ she

thought.

“So…” Targ rubbed his ‘hands’ together in expectation, then

indicated the area outside the cave. “Shall we?”

Assisting Mulder to his feet, Scully said, “I don’t know how much

help we’ll be. You said our weapons were useless, and if he’s built

like you, we aren’t about to overpower him.” She regarded her

partner, leaning heavily on her; he looked like he wouldn’t last

upright more than fifteen minutes. “And my partner’s sick. He

won’t be able to help us much.” Placing her lips to his ear, she

whispered, “Sorry, Mulder.”

He nodded shakily. “It’s okay,” he said softly. Then he lifted his

head to observe the alien. “I’m afraid she’s right. It’s all I can do to

stand. I’m not going to be any help to you in a fight.”

“Not to worry,” Targ tut-tutted, shooing them out of the cave.

“He’ll do fine.”

The smugness in the alien’s tone didn’t escape Scully. She stopped

in her tracks, holding onto Mulder tightly so that he stayed with

her. “No,” she said, when Targ turned around to face her.

“I’m afraid it’s the only way,” Targ replied, and the only thing

stopping Scully from giving him an earful was the fact that his tone

really did convey regret—and that he was probably right.

Mulder was to be the bait.

**

February 7

5:45 p.m.

If he’d ever been more miserable in his life, Mulder couldn’t recall

it. They’d selected a patch of flat land, cleared a small area of

snow, and started a fire. He was dry and relatively warm, but he

wanted to be anything but sitting up, pretending he wasn’t dying.

Targ had assured them that Retic was in the vicinity, if not the

immediate area, and would soon be paying him a visit. The alien

law officer had masked Scully’s scent from his adversary, and

Mulder gained no small relief from the fact that the only life being

risked in this ploy was his.

He knew that she hated the situation and that she was worried

about him; he hoped that that worry wouldn’t cause her to do

anything rash or reckless. His normally level-headed partner

tended to come a little unglued when his life was in danger.

Although she rarely displayed any evidence of this, it was a secret

she’d revealed to him when their relationship had finally, finally,

*finally* evolved to the next plane.

The snap of a twig off to his left jerked his attention away from the

fire. Mulder’s breath caught at what was now approaching him.

Although smaller than Targ, an air of viciousness clung to the alien

like a second skin. The smile it gave him was not meant to

comfort.

As the creature moved closer, and neither Scully or Targ appeared

to be coming to the rescue, Mulder thought some action in his own

defense might be advisable. Drawing his weapon out of his pocket,

he flicked the safety off and pointed it at the alien; he was relieved

to find his hand steady and his aim true—for all the good it would

do.

Unlike the inaction he’d taken with Targ, Mulder did not lay his

weapon down; even though he knew it would have no effect on the

heavily-armored creature, it made him feel like he had some

control over his fate. Aiming for the alien’s eyes, Mulder got off

two ineffective shots before the creature was upon him. Its mouth

opened wide, engulfing the first part of him it reached: his

outstretched hand—his outstretched hand with the gun.

As the teeth were closing over his arm, Mulder fired into Retic’s

mouth. The alien howled, and Mulder yanked his wounded arm

free. Enraged, the alien backhanded Mulder, sending him flying

until a tree broke his flight.

Right before he passed out, Mulder saw Targ, and then a stormy-

faced Scully appear out of thin air. He almost giggled at the

thought that if looks could kill, Scully’s could annihilate. He

almost felt sorry for the alien.

And then he grew puzzled because her glare was not directed at

Retic, their enemy, but at Targ, their ally.

**

February 8

6:50 a.m.

His eyes, when he opened them, were met with the sight of gray

and green. He groaned in disappointment; he’d hoped to be waking

up in a nice, warm bed, Scully by his side…

He turned his head, and there she was, cuddled against him,

sleeping like a baby. As awareness returned to him, so did all the

aches and pains that reminded him he still had that blasted flu.

Suddenly remembering the last few minutes before his unexpected

nap, Mulder jerked up in alarm.

“What? What?” Scully reached for him in her confusion, and

Mulder cursed himself for waking her.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m sorry I woke you.” He rubbed her back, then

looked at his arm. Wasn’t that arm recently in the mouth of a bad-

tempered alien? And didn’t that bad-tempered alien try to chow

down on said arm?

“Targ fixed it,” Scully told him, and he could feel the distaste in

her voice.

“Shouldn’t he have?” he wondered.

She nodded. “Of course. The jerk. It was the least he could do after

trying to feed you to that overgrown iguana.”

Mulder furrowed his brows in confusion; he replayed the entire

encounter with Retic until it became clear. “He had no intention of

rescuing me, did he?”

Scully shook her head angrily. “No. And since he had me in that

damned… stasis field… I couldn’t do anything, either.” She looked

away. “Except watch.”

“Scully…” he started.

“No, Mulder,” she cut him off. “No matter what you’re going to

say, there is no comparison. I was going to watch you die. I knew

it was going to happen, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop

it.”

“But it didn’t happen.” He gazed at her, puzzled. “Why didn’t it

happen?”

He was so pleased to see a smile on her face, he almost didn’t care

about the answer. “You shot him in the only place where some

damage could be done.”

Mulder blinked. “So I killed him?”

Scully hedged a moment before answering. “You incapacitated

him. While Targ was debating whether or not Retic would recover

enough to finish you off, I took Targ’s weapon and ended the

debate.” Her features turned surly. “He’s lucky I didn’t do the same

for him.”

“But why? Why didn’t Targ try to capture Retic once he was

down?”

Scully’s lip curled into a sneer. “It appears that right after Retic has

‘fed,’ he lapses into a ‘digestion’ period for about five minutes. Targ

was going to use this time to subdue him and transport him back.”

“But you didn’t let him,” Mulder said softly.

“That coward,” Scully spat. “Willing to sacrifice another living

being so that he didn’t have to break a sweat.” She drew in a shaky

breath, then captured his gaze. “I wanted to kill him. Because he

used you, and tricked me, and nearly got you killed.” She paused.

“And for what he put me through.”

He rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I can only imagine what

it must have felt like—and just thinking about it scares the hell out

of me. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

She nodded stiffly, and he could tell she was trying not to cry. “Oh,

Mulder. When I watched your arm disappear into that thing’s

mouth, I thought for sure I was watching you die.”

She threw herself into his arms, and he felt her tears on his neck.

He had no witty remark to make, and no words of comfort to offer

for a pain of this magnitude, so he just held her tight and tried not

to cry himself.

He wanted to slap himself when, after only a few minutes, what

had begun as a small tickle grew into a full-blown coughing fit.

When he could finally get a breath, he found their roles were

reversed, with Scully holding him upright, her hands offering

support as well as comfort.

“Sorry,” he wheezed.

She gave him a severe look.

“Sorry,” he said, apologizing for apologizing. Then the absurdity

of his words hit him, and he smiled goofily.

Scully laughed, and Mulder was so thrilled to see it that he forgot

about his illness and their situation and his near-death and laughed

with her.

All too soon, reality seeped back in. The grim look returned to

Scully’s face before it softened into one of concern. “We should try

to get out of here. Do you want to give it a try?”

What he wanted was to curl up in Scully’s arms until either he felt

better or spring arrived, whichever came last.

He surprised himself by telling her just that.

She smiled sadly. “I wish you could rest, too. You need to rest.”

She stood up, then helped him rise to his feet slowly. “When we

get home, and I get you into bed, I’m not letting you out again for

anyone. You’re going to stay put until you’re well, and until I’m

good and ready to let you go.”

It sounded terrific to him, but he was worried because the reason it

sounded so good was the promise of sleep–and nothing else. He

looked at her glumly. “I think I’m losing my sex drive.”

Her eyebrows set a new height record. “What?”

He let his gaze drift down to his boots. “When you mentioned you

and me and bed… the only thing I want to do is sleep.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Mulder,” she chuckled.

He looked back up, feeling silly. “It’s probably just temporary,

huh?”

She clutched his arm possessively. “I can almost guarantee it.”

Laying his hand over hers, he patted it lovingly. “In that case, let’s

get started on the road to recovery.”

**

Epilogue

February 10

Deputy Director Kersh’s Office

10:08 a.m.

“Bears?” Deputy Director Kersh stared at Scully over the top of his

wire rims. “Your suspect was eaten by bears?”

“Taken.”

“What?”

“The suspect was taken by bears. We couldn’t find any trace of

him, so it’s assumed he was eaten.”

“That’s your professional opinion?” Kersh challenged.

“That is the professional opinion of the White Mountain Parks

Department rangers.”

Kersh sighed. “You’re certain it was him?”

“Yes, sir He attacked Agent Mulder, and he admitted to the

murders.” Even if it wasn’t quite true, even if it was Targ who’d

told them about the killings, it was as close to the truth as she was

willing to put on paper.

“Very well.” Kersh’s eyes scanned the office. “Where *is* Agent

Mulder.”

“Home. Recovering from the flu.”

Kersh didn’t seem in the least affected. “Really. When do you

expect him back?”

“About one to two weeks.” She was about to offer more of an

explanation, then decided not to bother. Kersh didn’t care, anyway.

“I see. Dismissed, Agent.”

Meeting Kersh’s diffident eyes with a cold glare of her own, Scully

nodded and left.

She stopped off at Skinner’s office, arranging to take a few

vacation days with his assistant. After she thanked the woman, she

took the elevator to the basement, grabbed her coat and her

briefcase, and went home.

**

February 10

Dana Scully’s Apartment

12:21 p.m.

Clutching her bundles tightly, trying to make as little noise as

possible, Scully sneaked past the sleeping form on the couch; she

nearly dropped the three grocery bags, two lunch sacks, and one

pharmacy package when Mulder uttered a raspy, “Hi.”

She placed her parcels on the counter and returned to his side,

shucking her coat as she did so. “Hi,” she said, softly, touching the

back of her hand to his still-hot skin. “How are you feeling?”

He licked his lips. “Not too great physically, but much better

mentally.”

She smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. Sleeping in a cold,

dark cave and traveling on a snowy, unfriendly mountain were

harrowing under the best of circumstances, but when a person’s not

at his best, and is downright ill… well, it was enough to make a

grown man cry. She brushed the hair out of his eyes, her fingers

tracing his brow gently. “Are you hungry?”

He mulled it over for a moment before he answered. “I think so.”

He sniffed the air, and Scully could smell the tantalizing aroma

wafting from the kitchen. “What did you bring?”

“Roast chicken breast and a salad for me, and chicken broth–with

crackers–for you.” She indicated the bags on the counter. “I’m

willing to share if you think you can eat some chicken.”

He turned slightly green and swallowed hard before he answered.

“No, thanks. I’m going to stick with the soup and crackers.”

She rubbed her palm along his upper arm. “It’s okay. At least

you’re eating something.”

After they’d been picked up by the ranger–who had only

questioned their whereabouts because of the absence of the jeep

thingy–then choppered back to Portsmouth, she’d driven them

straight to her place. She’d put Mulder in her bed, from which he

hadn’t budged until this morning when he’d relocated to the couch,

and the comforting drone of the television.

He’d had no appetite for two days, and it had been all she could do

to get liquids into him. That he was now hungry enough for soup

and crackers was encouraging. She was glad she’d stopped at the

grocery store and stocked up on crackers, bread and a variety of

soups, from clear broth to the more hearty vegetable ones.

“Do you want me to bring it in here?” she asked.

He sat up slowly, and didn’t seem inclined to move. “If you

wouldn’t mind,” he said, eyeing her dining room as if it were a

thousand miles away.

“No, I don’t mind,” she assured him. Her eyes darted to her meal.

“I’ll get you settled, then I’ll eat in the kitchen.”

His gaze was equal parts grateful and guilty when he looked up at

her. “Thanks,” he said in a small voice.

Sitting next to him, she wrapped an arm around his middle,

holding him gently. “I know your stomach’s still queasy, and that

it’s my chicken you have an aversion to, not me.” She gave him a

light squeeze to emphasize her words.

He nodded, his expression one of misery. “I hate being sick.”

Taking her other hand in his, he brought it to his cheek. “I hate that

at this moment the only thing I want from you is for you to take

care of me. I feel like I should be ashamed for wanting that.” He

looked up at her, dropping their hands to his lap. “But I don’t, and

for that I do feel ashamed.”

She laughed lightly. “You’re such a *man*.”

That earned her a smile. He snorted. “I don’t feel like much of one

right now.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I know. You’re

thinking that I’m seeing you at your worst.” When he looked away,

she brought his face back with a gentle touch. “You’re actually

hugely appealing, all helpless and whiny and oh-so-cuddly.”

“Whiny?” he whined, then immediately grimaced. “Oh, God, I

am.” He gazed into her eyes, a little shyly, she thought. “Helpless,

I readily agree.” He let a grin grow over his face. “You think I’m

cuddly?”

Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him. “You are

incredibly cuddly.”

His expression changed to one of doubt. “Even on that mountain?

You can’t possibly find anything cuddly about a delirious man

begging for you to save him from past ghosts. My God, could I

have been any more pitiable?”

“I felt honored,” she told him, “that you had such faith in my

capability to deal with your ‘co-workers,’ that you would weave me

into your dream, into your memory.”

He hugged her as tightly as he could, then released her so he could

see her face. “It’s true. What I said.” His fingers intertwined with

hers. “I wish I had you back then. I’m so glad I have you now.” His

eyes brightened. “I wish I could have seen you in Kersh’s office

after I’d left.”

She blinked. “Mulder, I didn’t change his mind. You still had to go

up that damned mountain.”

“Yeah, but you tried. I know you tried.” He looked into her eyes.

“And that makes all the difference.”

She saw the gratitude and the acceptance and the love, and she

knew he was right. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Still…” he sighed.

“What?” She was dismayed that he’d changed his mind so quickly.

“The next time you beat up an alien and take his weapon, I’d really

like to be awake to see it.”

She didn’t care if he was sick; she let him have it—right on the

kisser.

Then she got up to freshen her lipstick, since she left most of it on

his lips.

The End

1

57