(Disclaimer same as Part I)

Summary:  Mulder becomes addicted to heroin and Scully must try to
save his life and his career.

Rating:  R for language, sex and violence

Classification:  T, A, MSR


KICKING THE HABIT  (4/4)
by Gerry Hill (GHill52695@aol.com)

SCULLY:

At 12:30am, it began.  I learned later what happened, since I was
only present for the last part.

A hooker named Angel sauntered up the sidewalk to Mulder's
apartment entrance.  Jakes had sent her ahead to see if Mulder had
any protection in place.  Once inside the foyer, she stood with a
hand on her hip looking over the tenant's names and apartment
numbers which were posted behind a glass case on the wall.

She hadn't seen Baxter, who had kept out of sight behind a pillar
near the door, and he startled her when he emerged from its
shadows.

He had noticed the tiny top she wore; her breasts peeked out from
underneath its scanty bottom.  Her skirt barely covered the
essentials, and her red spiked high heels made her taller than
Baxter's 5'11.

"Could I help you find someone?" Baxter asked.

"You scared the hell out of me.  Where did you come from, anyway? 
I'm trying to find Chuck Bishop's place on the fourth floor.  We
had a "date."  She gave a little twitch of her hips.  "Anyway, I
saw his name up there; he's in 44."

She swayed over to the elevator, pushed the "up" button, and tapped
her foot impatiently.  Baxter sighed and went back to his post.

When Angel got off the elevator, she took her time walking down the
corridor, looking at apartment numbers and eyeing the woman down at
the end of the hallway.  When she reached #44, she started banging
on the door.  No one answered for several minutes, so she swore
loudly and pounded on the door a little harder.

Finally giving up, she spun around and angrily walked back to the
elevator, muttering to herself.  As she left the building, Baxter
got an eyeful when she stopped, bent over, and adjusted her shoe
strap.

Five minutes later, two men entered the building, one of them
shooting Baxter with a silenced pistol as the agent was trying to
pull his own gun from the holster.  He fell with a fatal gunshot
wound to his head; they had known enough to realize that he would
have been wearing a bullet-proof vest.  He was dead before his body
was pulled out of sight behind the pillar.

The men traveled up to the fourth floor via the elevator.  As soon
as the door opened they quickly strode down the corridor toward
Farris.  She had gotten as far as unholstering her weapon, when
both men shot her with their silenced pistols.  Not bothering to
hide her body, they discarded the pistols on the floor and drew
automatic weapons.   They turned to the entrance to apartment #42,
unceremoniously kicked the door in, and entered with weapons
trained on the interior.

-----------------

Earlier that evening, once Agents Farris and Baxter were in place,
I had returned to the bedroom to see if Mulder were still asleep. 
I approached the bed and saw that his eyes were open, staring up at
the ceiling.  They moved to my face as I drew close, seeming to
devour me with their intensity.

"Scully," he huskily said.  "I know that you don't understand
what's going on in my mind.  I need to explain it; I want you to
understand."

"Mulder, you can tell me all this later.  You need to rest right
now."

He closed his eyes for a moment, appearing to be gathering strength
to say what he felt he had to tell me.

"You have to know how I've changed so you can make the choice to
stay with me or not."  My knees felt wobbly at that statement, but
I forced myself to gain control over my emotions, and waited to see
what was to come.

"The profiles that I do; I could put myself into the heads of the
worst kind of murderers and rapists, but I always knew in the back
of my mind that *I* was OK...*I* could return to my sane, normal
world.  Everything would be all right again."

He had to stop talking for a moment, as he struggled to calm his
emotions.  I put a hand on his arm, but he pulled away abruptly.

"I'm not trying to be melodramatic or garner sympathy.  I'm just
trying to explain how *everything* has changed.  I don't think of
myself as one of the 'good guys' anymore.  And I don't think I can
ever find my way back."

I decided to keep quiet and let him get it all out, then I would
try to knock holes in this notion he had gotten entrenched in his
brain that he was capable of the worst of crimes.  At least, I
hoped to God I could dispute it, or it would destroy him.  It
almost had already.

He pulled himself up to lean against the headboard with a pillow at
his back.  The sheet slid unnoticed to his waist and I saw that the
sweat on his face covered his chest, too.

"I've found that I have an addictive personality.  Not everyone
becomes addicted to heroin in the time I was exposed to it,
Scully."  His eyes bored into mine, demanding understanding.  "The
narcotics I've had to take when hospitalized in the past were
seductive, so I've tried to avoid medication of any kind over the
years."  He paused, taking a shaky breath.

"I tried to kick the habit twice while they were holding me
captive.  I was begging for it before very long.  I think I would
have done anything they asked, in order to get a fix.  Anything. 
And you know that Ginni and I had sex as ordered.  What you didn't
know was that Ginni tried to resist at first, but I ignored her..."
His voice cracked.  "Then she finally went along with it when she
knew I wasn't going to listen to her objections."

He closed his eyes.  "I want a fix right now.  I want it so much,"
he whispered.  "If you weren't here to keep me straight, I would
have gotten my hands on more somehow."

He opened his eyes again and commented, "Not a very pretty picture
of your partner, is it, Scully?  A pitiful addict, suicidal, and
morally corrupt."

Finally, I couldn't stand it any more and burst out with, "That's
the most ridiculous load of crap you've ever tried to hand me,
Mulder."  His mouth opened to say something, but I went forward,
full speed ahead.

"Those men knew what they were doing.  They gave you enough of that
junk to make sure of addiction, then amused themselves with
tormenting you.  You had no control over what happened with Ginni,
and you must know that.  There is no one who could have come out of
that whole, and you are no exception.  And you *can* get back to
where you were.  You can!  The drug is still causing depression and
half a dozen other debilitating symptoms, but you'll get through it
eventually."  My pep talk obviously wasn't working.  I didn't like
the defeated look I saw in those eyes now, and he had stopped
listening to me.

The sound of the brass whale sculpture smashing against the wall
jerked him back to attention.  I had grabbed the first thing at
hand, hurling it with all my strength and anger and fear.  His eyes
were riveted on mine.

"It doesn't *matter* what you thought or felt under the influence
of the drug, Mulder.  It wasn't you.  In your right mind and normal
condition, you would never hurt anyone, and your sister is still
the focus of your search for the truth."

He was breathing faster, and I noticed now that the sweat had dried
and he was shivering.  The methadone hadn't lasted as long as I
thought it would; I should have given him a larger dose.

He turned his head away from me then and I could see his fists
clutching the sheet until the knuckles whitened.  As I turned and
walked through the bedroom door to get more of the drug for him, I
heard a tremendous noise from the entry.  It sounded as though
someone had kicked the door open.  I pulled my gun out and
flattened myself against the wall in the hallway next to the living
area and peered around the doorway.

Two large men in suits carrying automatic weapons barged in,
sweeping the room with their guns, looking for someone.  I didn't
have to wonder who that someone was.

I ran back into the bedroom, pulling Mulder's gun from its hiding
place behind the bureau.  I threw it onto the bed next to his hand. 
He fumbled with it for a second, and his eyes were huge.  "We've
got trouble," I whispered.  "Two bad guys with guns."

"We don't want a gun battle in here," he said in a low voice. "The
bullets will go right through these walls into other apartments."

I nodded, but from the looks of things, didn't know how we were
going to stop these guys without gunfire.

I heard one of them approaching in the hallway.  As he came through
the door, he saw Mulder sitting on the bed.  While his attention
was directed that way, I stepped out from the wall behind him and
swung my gun as hard as I could against his head.  It hit him a
solid blow, but didn't put him out.  He was turning toward me, gun
coming around to bear, when Mulder's body crashed into him like a
freight train.  They hit the floor so hard that the furniture
shook.

The other guy was coming toward us fast from the sounds of his
footsteps.  He caught a glimpse of me and my gun when I looked
around the door frame, and he dropped back out of sight.

Mulder had his hands full, meanwhile.  The guy was half-loopy from
the blow to his head, but was bigger and meaner than my partner. 
Mulder was hanging on for dear life to the guy's gun hand, trying
to keep him from using the weapon.  Only wearing his boxers, he had
the look of a Greek warrior, with sweat-defined muscles straining
as he did battle.  But I knew that his strength was a momentary
surge of adrenalin, and he was far too weak to continue this for
much longer.  I stepped up to the combatants and once again whacked
the guy with all my strength on his head.  This time he went limp
and Mulder gratefully got to his feet and dove over the bed to the other side, taking his gun with him.  He was motioning for me to
follow, when the gunman in the front room decided to begin firing.

The first shot came through the wall so close to me that I felt the
tug on my shirt sleeve as it passed.  His next round hit me in the
side and spun me so that my back was to the wall and I faced Mulder
across the expanse of the bed.

I could see the fine spray of my blood misting the air in front of
me and falling onto the bed covers, making a pattern of red
spatters.  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.  Seeing Mulder's
face then, it seemed as though *he* had been the one who had been
shot; there was so much agony in his expression.

I watched as his gaze shifted to the doorway and his expression
hardened.  He took aim, and then carefully and deliberately pulled
the trigger as my attacker entered the room in a crouch.  Mulder
shot him four times, making sure he was thoroughly dead.  When my
partner walked around the bed toward the two fallen men, it looked
as though he were going to put a few bullets into the head of the
unconscious man, too.  Still using the wall for support, I managed
to choke out, "Help me."

His attention snapped back to me and he put his strong arms around
my body, lifting me to the bed.  The pain in my side suddenly
kicked in with a vengeance and he could read the agony in my
expression and the way my muscles tensed, I realized.  His face was
anguished with worry for me.

He grabbed a clean tee shirt from a drawer and pressed it into my
wound.  A fresh stab of pain rippled through me, but I knew we had
to slow the blood loss.  He was reaching for the telephone by the
bedside when he suddenly froze.  I saw her at the same time Mulder
felt the muzzle of the gun against his neck.

I didn't know who she was at the time, but Angel, the hooker who
had reconnoitered the building for Jakes earlier, held a 9mm
Baretta on Mulder.  My weapon was on the floor, about ten feet
away, and Mulder had put his onto the nightstand, since he was
still only in his boxers, with nowhere to tuck the gun.

Angel smiled and said, "It's a shame to mar this nice body, but..."
she snarled and brutally shoved the gun hard against the muscles in
his neck, "you seem to have killed my boyfriend here."  I could see
that she was a second away from killing Mulder, and he fastened his
eyes on mine.  His lips formed the words, "I love you," as a
deafening blast filled the room.  And I fainted for the first time
in my life.

--------------------

Not a hospital again.  I recognized these white walls only too
well, along with the electronic monitors, the IV line, the
medicinal odor......Suddenly I was fully awake and horrified when
I remembered what had happened before I blacked out.  Mulder!  That
woman had shot him!  Had...killed him?

But before the fear and grief that built up in my chest could fully
become formed, the touch of a hand on mine drew me sharply back to
the world.  I focused on Mulder's dear face hovering just above
mine.  Somehow, he wasn't dead.

And it all became too much for me.  I had lost him when I had
discovered his body in the motel, but Farris and I managed to bring
him back.  Then his abortive suicide attempt nearly took him away
from me in a particularly horrific manner.  Then, finally, the
gunshot I heard when that woman held a gun on him in his apartment. 
I had come so close to losing him too many times in just a few
days.  It all hit me at once, and it was too much for me to stand.

I began to shake uncontrollably, and I knew that some kind of sound
was coming from my throat, but I had no control over any of it.

I could dimly hear Mulder's voice saying, "Scully?  My God, what's
wrong?!"  He was shouting for the nurse, and then I mercifully sank
into unconsciousness once more.

-----------------
MULDER:

Everything in existence has come down to Scully's being safe and
getting well again.  All that crap about me and my damned problems
was so pointless and trite - I didn't believe that I had burdened
her with all that sniveling and whining.

As I sat there at her bedside, my eyes roamed over her delicate
features as she slept.  It was so clear to me what is important: 
Her life; her sanity; her safety; her feelings.

She has said that I blamed myself for everything; even for when it
had rained during our investigation of an outdoor crime scene.  OK,
maybe she was right, but, dammit, I *have* been at fault for so
much that has hurt her and her family.

The doctor was just in to see her, and he told me that he was
pretty sure she would be physically all right, thank God.  The
bullet had passed through her side, hitting nothing too major,
although she had lost quite a bit of blood.  But that terrifyingly
unexplainable seizure-thing...the doctor still hadn't figured out
what that had been about.  He hadn't said as much, but I know that
he was considering mental as well as physical causes.  A brain scan
had not shown anything unusual.

I tried to be patient and hoped that she would be back to normal
when she woke up.  Mrs. Scully had been here all morning, worried
sick about her daughter.  I finally convinced her to get some rest
so she can relieve me for a few hours later this evening.

It was strange, but my withdrawal symptoms had taken second place
to the recent events.  Oh, they still made themselves known, like
when it felt as though something was clawing my guts out, but I had
been able to ride the pain through until it eased enough for me to
be able to ignore it.  My personal favorite symptom was the itching
skin and the weepy eyes and nose.  But I'm close enough to kicking
the drug out of my system that I feel that I might make it back to
a semblance of the old Mulder.  With a few more demons on my back,
of course.  And not that the old Mulder persona was all that great
and enviable, but it was certainly a damn sight better than what I
had become recently.  But I didn't want to think about that right
now.

I took a few minutes away from Scully to go down the hall and visit
Agent Farris.  After Farris had staggered into my bedroom, covered
in blood, barely able to remain upright, she had shot Angel a
fraction of a second before Angel had been able to pull the trigger
on me.  Farris' bullet had hit Angel right between the eyes,
finally ending the immediate threat to our little group.

The first thing I had done once I could control my shaking was to
summon the paramedics.  Then I had tried to make Agent Farris
comfortable on the bed next to Scully, but both seemed to be in bad
shape.  Agent Farris had been hit in her left upper arm and another
bullet had gone through her right thigh.  She also had a head
wound, which was bleeding profusely.  I had tried to stem the flow
of blood from all the various wounds, with partial success.

As I neared Agent Farris' hospital room, I could hear voices coming
from that direction.  Peering around the doorframe, I saw a tall
young man who resembled Agent Farris; he was standing next to her
bed.  I rapped gently on the door to warn them of my approach, and
then walked in.

Her brother was a mess, with uncombed hair and wrinkled clothes. 
And it was evident that he was still in shock to find his sister in
this condition.  When he looked at me accusingly, it was obvious
that he knew who I was.

From under the bandages, Agent Farris gently asked him to leave us
alone for a minute.  After the reluctant brother left the room, she
stared at me and then said, "How are the both of you doing?"

After thanking her for saving both Scully's and my lives, I told
her with a smile that we would be fine.  I asked her to tell me
what the doctor had said about her own situation.  She responded
that she would be all right, but Baxter...

I knew, of course, that Baxter hadn't made it, and I held her hand
reassuringly in mine, trying to pass my sorrow and understanding
through this physical connection.  It seemed to help a little, as
her distress gradually faded into a doze, probably from the
painkillers in her system.  I left her to rest, and returned to
Scully.
---------------------

SCULLY:

When I opened my eyes, I was in a mental haze, not registering any
external stimuli.  I floated there on the remnants of my dreams for
what seemed like hours.  I suddenly noticed that something was
missing.  Mulder.  Then I remembered that he had been there when I
had awakened earlier - or had that been a dream?  I closed my eyes,
drifting in and out of consciousness.

The next thing I remember was Mulder's voice, and it seemed to be
very close to my ear.  I kept my eyes shut, concentrating on the
low tones, trying to understand what he was saying.

"...Sitting here, I've been focusing on what's important.  Your
possible death shocked me out of my self-pity.  When I remembered
the endless depth of the despair that brought me so awfully close
to ending my life, I was so ashamed.  That despair came from the
drug, and now I can't believe how close I came to killing myself
while you were in the other room."

He paused, and I felt the soft caress of his hand on my cheek.  I
sighed, but I don't think he noticed.  Then his husky voice
continued.

"I'm sitting here, pouring out my soul to you, Scully, and even
though you can't hear me, I need to say this.  Because I have a
feeling that, were you awake, you would be running as fast as you
could to get away from me, the person who has become the albatross
around your neck.  You've spent the past four years sailing through
stormy seas, always weighted down with my enemies, my nightmares,
my impossible goals, and even my paranoia.  But I love you.  And
that love can't be returned by you, or there would never be any
hope of your escaping the endless frustration and torture caused by
my presence."

A shaky intake of breath, and the impossible words, "You have to
leave the X Files and...my life."

My eyelids opened in shock to see him seated by my side, his head
lowered into the palms of his hands.  He must have sensed my gaze,
because his head came up and I saw his cheeks wet with tears and
the defeat and tiredness written on his face.

"Scully," he whispered.

I reached toward him with my arm outstretched, and he willingly
stood and bent over me, bringing his head closer.  My arm reached
around his neck and pulled him gently to me so that my mouth met
his in a kiss.  It was tender and soft and loving; all that I had
hoped it would be.  If he hadn't finally pulled back, I would have
kept on kissing him until we dropped from exhaustion.

His eyes were shining with love, just as I thought that mine
probably were, too.

I whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder.  We do this
together."

He sat back in the chair, a sadness mingling with the love in his
expression.

"You heard all of that?"

"Yes.  And while I understand what you're feeling, I'm not going to
leave you.  As a matter of fact, I want...a closer...partnership." 
I blushed, not knowing quite how to say this.

Mulder came to my rescue.  "OK; this time I *know* you're coming on
to me."  His grin was the first sign of any kind of happiness I had
seen from him in way too long.

"Ahem," came from the doorway.  We looked up to see AD Skinner
standing just outside the room, looking slightly uncomfortable. 
Oh, Lord, how long had he been there?

"I'm glad to see that you two are doing better than you were in the
wee hours of the morning.  And I see that Agent Farris will pull
through, although Baxter didn't make it."  His jaw clenched, and I
knew he had a hard time with losing agents; he took it personally.

Mulder nodded and spoke up.  "Sir, what about Jakes?"

Skinner found another chair, dragged it closer, and sat down with
a sigh.  "We just had a gun battle over on the east side with him
and some of his gang.  We lost another agent - DiCosta - and took
down four of them.  We have three in custody, but no Jakes.  The
word is, he successfully got out of town."

He eyed us both.  "Now, he'll probably leave you two alone for
awhile; he'll be too busy running and trying to save his own neck. 
But that won't last forever, so you need to keep an eye out for him
or his henchmen.  I'm keeping a guard on you and Farris here at the
hospital, just to be safe, and we'll re-evaluate that once you
leave here."

Mulder suddenly gasped and doubled over clutching his stomach.  The
withdrawal symptoms hadn't finished with him yet.

When he was able to straighten up again, he saw two pairs of
concerned eyes gazing at him.

"I'll be OK.  This hardly happens any more."  The sweat stood out
on his brow and he was paler than before.

Skinner stood and placed his hand on Mulder's shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Mulder.  I'll be looking forward to getting
you back on the job and back to your old contentious self."  He
gave a small smile and the two of us nearly had a heart attack. 
Skinner, smiling, and telling us he looked forward to the grief
Mulder caused him on the job?

"And take care of each other," he added, as he walked out the door.

Mulder and I could only stare at each other, realizing that Skinner
was probably giving us his blessing.  And we both broke out into
grins.

EPILOGUE

It has been four months since we left the hospital.  So far,
Mulder's HIV tests are coming up negative, thank God, but he has to
return in a couple of months for more testing.  As far as the
addiction, he's being overly cautious and taking nothing more than
the occasional aspirin.

Agent Farris has fully recovered and works occasionally with Mulder
and myself on cases when the work gets too overwhelming.  She's a
smart woman, and I find that I like her more every day.  Mulder
bitches and moans about how she does things, but secretly, I know
he likes her, too.

As for Mulder and myself, the night we reached my apartment after
leaving the hospital, we both headed for the bed and let our love
express itself at last.  We didn't come up for air (or food, mail,
ringing phones, etc.) for days.  We took it very slowly, given our
conditions, but it's amazing what two determined people can manage
to accomplish.  We're both going to be all right, I know it now.

THE END