Title:  Domination of Lies (part 10)
Author and E-mail:  C Slatton at cslatton@pdq.net
Rating: PG  for language. (Put that bar of soap down!)
Classification:  X (X-File), S, H (I hope), A (if Mulder's
anywhere around, ya gotta have it).
Keywords:  M/S friendship/UST
Summary:  Mulder, disillusioned with his beliefs, hauls
Scully in on a case for Violent Crimes. And they stumble
into a mystery that hits a little too close for home.
Spoiler: As many as possible, apparently, through Detour.
Archive:  Yeah, sure. Whatever.

Disclaimer: Part 1

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     There was a bright light suddenly.  Not flooding
everywhere like light does but focused, like a laser beam.
He  jerked, struggling to get away.
     They were back! Coming for him like they'd come for
his sister--
     The shadows pressing around him, shouting dully,
distantly, unfocused as the light approached. He  stopped
struggling. This was brighter than the light that had come
for Samantha. He'd heard of this light. Descriptions from
hundreds of case files of near death experiences floated
briefly through his head, floated gently away.  There was
no tunnel here, no figure in this light.
     The figure was the light.
     Suddenly there was no fear. Just a great sense of peace.
A sense of having arrived at someplace he'd struggled to
reach all his life.
     The light spoke to him. Assured him that someday he
would remember the words.
     That they would come to make sense to him.
     He turned his head to another presence beside him.
Through the press of shouting, probing shadows, Melissa
Scully reached out to touch him gently, smiled.
     "Hello, Fox."


     The surgeon made several more notes before closing the
chart and handing it to her.
     "We lost him twice in the ambulance and again in the
OR Considering the nature of his injuries, his recovery is
remarkable."
     Scully nodded, looking over at Mulder's sleeping form.
The steady blip of instruments were a sweet song. They had
removed the trach tube four hours ago and still the rhythm
of his breathing had remained steady, his oxymeter good.
They'd moved him to a private room after only eighteen
hours in the ICU. World record for Mulder. She still didn't
know where his parents had come up with a name like Fox
but after this little side trip, he needed to consider changing
it to Lazarus.
     There was a rustling at the door and she turned to see
Skinner peering in hesitantly, the security detail he'd posted
at Mulder's door looking over his shoulder curiously. The
surgeon excused himself to finish rounds and the Assistant
Director  entered.
     They stood in silence a moment watching Mulder
breathe.
     "I understand I'm witnessing a miracle," Skinner kept his
voice low.
     "The bullet penetrated one lung, narrowly missing the
aorta, exited his back a little too close to his spinal column
for comfort, but... He should make a full recovery. Of
course, he hasn't regained consciousness yet. We can't be
certain that there aren't further complications from the
blood loss..."
     Skinner nodded, sparing her the necessity of
elaborating. "You were right about those diplomatic
plates,"  he said. "The car was found in Chinatown this
morning. Torched. The body in the park was Wallace
Elliott, an orderly at the--"
     "Maryland Institute for the Criminally Insane. Yes, I
know."
     Skinner gave her a hard look. "He told you about
Bruner?"
     She sighed, crossed her arms. "I know Bruner was some
kind of doctor. That he was a patient at the Institute and
that Mulder was convinced that he had some knowledge of
the disposal of these bodies. Have there been any more
recovered?"
     "No. As far as the Bureau is concerned the case is
closed."
     Her jaw dropped. Skinner kept his masked face on
Mulder.
     "Sir--"
     "These killings took place some twenty years ago--"
     "Sir, may I remind you there is no statute of limitations
on murder--"
     "Leichman closed the case this morning, Agent Scully."
     "And as his superior you have every right to demand it
be reopened."
     "You have not been apprised of all the facts, Agent
Scully. I will not allow you to pursue this case any further.
Not alone."
     "Had Agent Mulder been apprised of all the facts?"
     Skinner didn't answer.
     "How did Mulder come in contact with this Bruner
character."
     Skinner ground his teeth momentarily. "Bruner called
me requesting contact with Agent Mulder on a personal
matter."
     "Personal to Mulder?"
     "I was told that is was important for Mulder to pursue
the matter. That I should also refer Leichman's case."
     "Did you tell Mulder there were outside influences
prompting your decision?" Skinner was silent. "You sent
him into this with no prior understanding of the situation."
It was not a question.
     Skinner squirmed briefly under her steady gaze. "That's
about the size of it, Agent Scully. I took a chance."
     "And almost cost Mulder his life."
     "Your partner knows the risks inherent in continuing his
work." He looked at her coldly. "And so do you. If the risks
are unacceptable, walk away."
     "I can't walk away."
     "No, Agent Scully, you just won't walk away."
     "Not until they let Mulder walk," she closed her eyes
briefly. "And we both know they won't let him do that."
     Skinner watched the single tear track down her face,
disappear around her jaw. His first meeting with her, a
fresh idealistic instructor from Quantico, was a lifetime
away somehow. He should have sent her back to her
classes, told Blevins to go to hell.
     Her eyes were granite as she stared right back. Her voice
was barely a whisper but tough and cold. "Mulder was once
offered the chance to avenge me. To become  a player in
this game instead of a damned pawn. He refused to sell out.
What was it they bought you with?"
     Skinner allowed her gaze to sear him a moment more
then turned to the door. Before pulling it open he turned
back briefly. "Agent Mulder would be interested to know.
Pitnam died last night. Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the
head. He was holding his daughter's picture."
     Scully waited for the door to close before she allowed a
second tear to fall.  She sat heavily in the chair next to
Mulder's bed, struggling to pull herself together. She
studied his hand, so still there on the bed. Her mind's eye
remembered it moving, fidgeting, playing with the pen in
the car. Remembered his questions.
     "Why does God allow all this suffering?" she whispered.
     Mulder's own voice answered, a gravelly whisper.
"Maybe he's in pain. Maybe he just wants to share his
heart."
     Scully stood, searched his face. Coming from anyone
else, that would have sounded like so much sentimental
dribble. But from Mulder.... From Mulder, she could
believe it, accept it.
     "Welcome back, Mulder."
     He tried to smile, managed a weak grimace. "So, is this
your way of getting me caught up on my sleep?"
     She sighed, laid her forehead on his shoulder. Neither
spoke for a long while. Finally she felt his hand on her arm.
     "Go home and rest, Scully. I'm not going anywhere for a
while."
     "I am home, Mulder." She didn't raise her head, felt him
tense suddenly, then just as suddenly relax.
     "You're a sick woman, Scully." His voice was warm
against her hair.
     "Must be the company I'm keeping," she said.

     When he woke again, he was alone and the phone was
ringing. In the process of reaching for it he realized they
had removed more tubes while he was out. Especially the
more painful one they always insisted on shoving in his
groin. That being discovered, he answered the phone
delightedly, ignoring the low roar of pain the movements
caused.
     "DC Morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em."
     "And good evening to yourself, Agent Mulder."
     Every hair on Mulder's arms rose to attention. He laid
back as much to absorb the shock as to relieve his pain.
     "I see the reports of your death have been grossly
overstated," he said. "Damn my bad luck."
     An appreciative chuckle filtered through the receiver. "I
understand your reticence to believe this, Agent Mulder,
but you're going to be glad we had this little chat. Very
glad. Maybe even grateful."
     "Grateful enough for what?" Mulder snorted, "To hunt
you down and finish your execution? Sure. I can do that."
     "Same rules still apply as last time, Mr. Mulder. I die,
the truth you need dies with me. Nothing's changed."
     "Oh, but things have changed, you black-lunged
bastard--" The venom he threw into the receiver made him
wince with pain and he had to lay back a minute to recover
before continuing. The man on the other end of the line
waited patiently.
    "I'm not playing this game anymore," Mulder gasped. "I
want out."
     "Do you?" The voice was condescendingly patient.
"Where's your partner, Agent Mulder?"
     Alarms went off in Mulder's head that had nothing to do
with his EKG. He glanced round the room. A blanket lay
rumpled across the recliner, Scully's shoes tucked under it.
Her overnight case was open on the cabinet. The silence
was deafening.
     "Are you there, Mulder?" The voice was light. Carefree.
But then it always was. Suddenly it dawned on Mulder why
he hated that tone so much. Because if he had nothing left
to lose that's how he would speak. Like it didn't matter.
Like nothing would ever matter again. The voice spoke
again. "Has it never been a source of speculation to you,
Mr. Mulder, that all the other women you and Agent Scully
have encountered from the project were taken more than
once? Some of them many times. All of them at least
several times. All but Agent Scully."
     Mulder didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't really
think he could at the moment.
     "You always believed her disappearance was intended
to keep you in line. Perhaps you're right. Or perhaps it was
intended to keep you moving; not to drive you away but
forward." There was a lengthy pause. "Or has that fact
never occurred to you."
     Mulder found his voice as the receiver went dead. He
lay quite still a moment longer, gathering his wits,
breathing hard. Once in another hospital room he'd told
Scully he had found the faith to keep looking.  Now he'd
been handed a reason to do so.
     Ignoring the near blackout level of pain, he sat up on the
edge of the bed, dialed Scully's cell number. The blanket
rang. Mulder's heart sank as he caught sight of her coat
hanging from the back of the chair. The phone was in her
pocket. She wouldn't have left it here if she'd gone home.
Hell, she wouldn't have left her shoes. Not even to step out
for coffee...
     Mulder hit the power buttons on the monitor and the IV
pump and disconnected himself viciously. He found his
bloodstained jeans in the closet; his leather jacket wasn't
much better and there was a new hole in the back. No shirt.
What the hell, maybe people would mistake him for a rock
star.
     He found his gun in the false bottom of Scully's
overnight case. He searched her overcoat and found hers in
the pocket. He unholstered it and slipped it into his
waistband.
     It was the night shift, thank God; the corridor was fairly
deserted. Mulder noticed a folding chair with a table
presenting a cup of coffee just across from his door. Where
were Skinner's guard dogs? Mulder touched the Styrofoam.
Coffee was still warm. The realization sent his chest into
an entirely new level of pain and he had to concentrate to
remind his body how to walk to an elevator.

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     Mulder was certain Scully couldn't have been gone long
when he found the body on the elevator. Nightshift or not,
bodies don't generally travel up and down too many floors
before being discovered. Mulder recognized the man from
his days in the bullpen. Rick Barclay. General Assignment.
Wife and three little girls, last Mulder had hear. His neck
had been snapped. His gun was still in it's holster.
     Mulder punched the garage level button. Looked like
Barclay was going to have to take another trip and wait for
someone with just a little more time....
     By the time he stumbled out into the garage, Mulder
was sweating profusely.  God, but his chest hurt... He
tracked his gun slowly, efficiently, scanning the cavernous
floor.  An echo of a car door being shut very softly.  He
turned, ducked low to run, cringed with pain, slipping
slightly on his own blood dripping silently on the concrete.
<Shit.>
     He ran anyway, grateful for the quiet rubber soled boots,
bloodstained as they were. He rounded a column, brought
his gunsite to bear on the man just stepping into the car.
     "Federal Agent, freeze!"
     The man paused, one hand on the car door, the other on
the roof, his back to Mulder.  The car's interior lights shone
through the darkly tinted glass revealing a familiar head
resting in the backseat. She wasn't moving.
     "Step away from the car and keep your hands where I
can see them. I assure you I am armed."
     "You're making a mistake, Agent Mulder."
     The voice was familiar and his gut rolled over.  But he'd
run across one too many formerly dead acquaintances today
to be too excited. "If she's dead or hurt in any way, your
biggest mistake will have been not remaining dead."
     X turned and regarded him, keeping his hands on the
roof of the car. The young man was too easily agitated....
     "She's alive. Merely drugged."
     "Too bad we can't say the same for the guy in the
elevator." He interrupted X's reply, "Yeah, I know, I'm just
a naive schoolboy who still insists on calling murder
'murder' instead of 'business as usual.' Just part of my
charm, I guess." He nodded at Scully. "What do they want
her for this time? They forget a few tests? Want to do a
follow-up? See if she has anything left they can destroy?"
     X did not answer.
     Mulder's voice was quiet, flat and hard. "You know
you're not taking her out of here. I'll kill you were you
stand."
     X stepped away from the car, hands to his sides but still
in plain sight. "Now," he said. "Or later. It's all the same to
me. And if not me, they'll send someone else for her."
     "Why? What do they want from her?" Mulder's voice
cracked. He was trying hard not to choke on the blood
bubbling in the back of his throat.
     X tilted his graying head, watching him. "They don't
want anything from her, Mr. Mulder. HER life is not
important to them."
     The words brought Mulder's rage up several levels and
he felt his finger tighten the trigger, felt the trigger
responding. Then suddenly he hit that plateau where his
thoughts suddenly cooled and condensed, the excess
blowing away like steam when lava hits the sea.
Cancerman's words echoed in his head, light and laughing.
He experienced a epiphany.
     X stood motionless, watching the younger  man's finger
relax, watching those intense eyes turn a sleepy, deep
green. Mulder took a step back, his gun level, his face
visible only as a half-silvered image in a view finder.
Mulder was smiling. Not the sweet smile of delight, but a
genuine smile nonetheless that made X shiver
involuntarily.
     "It's not her life that is important," Mulder repeated the
phrase. X waited. "But you seem to have a vested interest
in mine, don't you?"
     "Mr. Mulder--"
     "I'm your tool, right? That's what you always said."
     X nodded warily.
     "Well, tonight we put that glove on the other hand, sir."
     X stiffened. "You go to hell, Agent Mulder--"
     "That's exactly where I plan on going." Mulder moved
his weapon: the barrel under his own chin, his finger still
on  the trigger.
     X took an instinctive step forward, stopped. "What the
HELL do you think you're doing--"
     "Dealing. We both know there are some lines I won't
cross. I won't take human life at random even to find the
truth.  But MY life is quite another matter. That's a field on
which I think I can handle being a player."
     "No!"
     "Why?" Mulder hissed, cold rage the only thing keeping
him on his feet. "Why is my life so important?"
     X shook his head, shaking his fists in frustration. "You
are the key!  Damnit, you die and the truth dies with you!"
     "What do you care? What is the truth? Why is it
important to you?"
     The older man was sweating. He held his hands out to
Mulder, palms down. "You said you would deal.  Just put
the gun down and we'll talk."
     "I'll leave the gun where it is and we'll still talk."
     "Agent Mulder, you're bleeding--"
     "And I'm about to bleed a hell of a lot more. What's it to
you?
      "Mr. Mulder," X growled, "you will NOT DO THIS."
      Mulder regarded him dispassionately, tired.  "I read
once that once a man's hit thirty, there's not a day that
passes that he doesn't think about his own death, at least at
some level.  It's what drives us forward.  That day hit me
when I was twelve.  So I've had at least as much time as
you to get used to the idea." He paused to breathe.  It was
getting harder. "This is no bluff. You know better. How
about it? What is it worth to you? What'll you give me for
not pulling the trigger?"
     X was having an epiphany now. It seemed to be
catching. He turned his gray head to the motionless figure
in the car.
     Mulder nodded. "Now your catching on."
     X looked back at him. "She lives," he said.
     Mulder pushed. "She lives and she remains here with
me. Untouched."
     X regarded him. Mulder could almost see the gears
turning behind those dark, intelligent eyes. "You forget,
Agent Mulder, I'm not the only player in this game.
Should--"
     "Should someone else have any problem with the terms
of our agreement, you'll just have to convince them."
Mulder's body was weakening, but his eyes had not so
much as blinked. "Anyone," he hissed, "Anyone touches
her and it's over."
     X smiled. "But, think, man. If you blow yourself away,
who would she have left to rescue her?"
     Mulder returned the smile. "I'll make those
arrangements. Don't worry." He paused to breathe again.
"That's the deal. Take it or leave it. Now."
     X straightened to his full height and regarded the pale
shaking man with eyes of cold steel. He nodded. "Her life
is yours. She lives." His voice was hard. "YOU live. And
you KEEP MOVING."
     Mulder lowered the gun, slumped against the column.
He raised the site again as X reached into his pocket. The
black man showed him the cell phone, punched in a
number. Mulder slid to the floor and lost consciousness as
X called for emergency personnel to the garage level.

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     "But the seed on good soil stands for those with a noble
and good heart, who hear the word, retain it, and by
preserving produce fruit with patience."
     The minister closed his book and looked up. "Let us join
in a moment of reverence for our dear brother, Walter
Pitnam."
     Mulder looked over at Scully; her head bowed, eyes
closed, red hair glowing in the sunlight. He bowed his own
head to stare at the coffin being lowered slowly into it's
plot. He inhaled deeply, slowing the intake as a whisper of
pain shot through his chest. The hospital had released him
only a few hours before and he was still trying to assure
Scully he was well enough to go home alone.
     She'd even suggested his calling one of the Lone
Gunmen in to babysit. But he'd talked to the guys two days
ago, when he'd woken back in his hospital room, tubes
intact. All the tubes...
     No, the Gunmen were working on... other things.
Contingency plans.
     They weren't his only ace in the hole, although he hadn't
told them that. Should they ever need to implement one of
those plans, they would find a little more help that they
would have expected. Formidable help.
     Mulder shook his head. It was so simple. He couldn't
believe he hadn't thought of it before.
     Scully didn't know, of course.  He could never tell her.
She'd never forgive him for connecting his life so
completely with her own. Never stop worrying over herself
for his sake.
     Since the cancer had gone into remission, she had
reveled in her independence, distancing herself emotionally
>from all the people she had relied on through her illness.
Especially him. It wasn't a conscious decision on her part,
certainly, but the fact that it was an unconscious reaction
didn't make it any less human, any less true. Any less
painful.  Right now, he was simply a reminder of death.
And she wanted to live.
     And that's just what he wanted her to do. So he'd told
her the kidnapper was part of Wallace and Bruner's team.
That he'd frightened the man off. That as soon as he'd heard
Wally and Bruner were dead, he would slip away into the
network of lies and disappear.
     What was that Deep Throat had told him?  That a lie
was best hidden between two truths?
     He felt her hand reach over and settle itself into his. He
peered out at her sidelong from under dark lashes. Those
brilliant liquid eyes asking if he was okay. He closed his
eyes, squeezed her hand gently, rubbing her fingertips
easily with his thumb.
     <I'm fine, Scully. Everything's going to be okay.>
     As she took his arm and he allowed her to lead him back
to the car. She looked down at the hand she held, quiet and
strong. Alive. She wouldn't tell him, of course. Wouldn't
tell him that she was drugged motionless in the car that
night.  Motionless but not unconscious. He wouldn't worry
about her so much if he believed she didn't know. And she
knew he would never tell her for the same reasons.
     "Hey," he said, slipping into the driver's seat.  "I never
asked you how Bill was doing."
     "Oh,  he's alright.  Glad to be home, I think."
     Mulder smiled.  "I bet."
     "He did strongly suggest that we both remain with the
X-Files."
     Mulder paused before turning the key, regarding her
warily.
     She smiled. "Apparently, he doesn't think Washington's
tourism industry is quite ready for us."
      "So, which part of the weekend seems to have been the
determining factor, the Institute or St. Mary's Wilderness?"
      "Apparently the Wilson House was a little more
excitement that he's used to.
      He laughed. "Jeez, Scully, I can't take your family
anywhere."
      "That's just what Bill said."

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        It was quiet. In a forest of virgin pine the hemlock
bowed it's branches against the wind and sun.  A cloud
passed lazily above, trekking across the sky in leisurely
fashion, gazing down at the lush land below. Spring was
fast approaching.
        Grass pushed its way through the soft earth, wrapped
around roots and rock, reached up to tickle at the skeleton
lying stretched full length upon the ground. Dainty little
foot bones rested very ladylike side-by-side. The remains of
outstretched arms warmed in the sunlight bathing the tree.
        Winds whispered and branches responded in hushed
tones high above. Far below, the pale little remains lay
quiet on an expanse of green.
        And stared unblinking into the sun.

END

"To believe in one's dreams is to spend all of one's life
asleep." --Chinese proverb.