Blood Ties Chapter 5
(Blood Ties Series)
by Dawn





Alexandria
Monday
2:00 p.m.


Scully emerged from the kitchen, a mug of tea doctored with honey and
lemon in hand, to find him asleep. She walked slowly over to the couch,
parking the cup on the coffee table. She hovered over him like an
impotent guardian angel, knuckles pressed to her lips and eyes soft with
affection. He'd been lying down, head propped up with a pillow to ease
the coughing and legs bent to provide a makeshift easel for his notepad.
If not for the gravity of the situation, she'd be charmed by the picture
he now presented -- glasses askew, lips slightly parted as if he were
ready to argue even in sleep, and the pencil still clutched in one slack
hand. Instead, anxiety clawed and shifted in her stomach like a cornered
beast.

Scully lowered herself to sit on the table, one hand seeking Mulder's
cheek with a gossamer touch designed to assess but not awaken. Eyes
sunken, cheek too pale and too warm. Scully gently stroked a lock of
hair back from his sweaty brow, then pressed her palm to his chest,
feeling the faint, telltale rattle that accompanied each rise and fall.

As she gingerly removed his glasses, Mulder stirred and muttered a
string of half-intelligible words that included "Grey" and "stop." All
too experienced in soothing this man back from the edge of a nightmare,
Scully wove her fingers rhythmically through his soft hair.

"Shhh. It's all right, love," she murmured, keeping her voice low in
both volume and inflection. "Sleep now."

Mulder quieted immediately and after a few minutes his lips curved.
"Scully," he breathed.

"I'm right here," she said, unsure whether he was asleep or awake but
continuing her gentle petting.

He mumbled something she couldn't hear, fingers flexing so that the
pencil slid unnoticed to the floor with a soft click. Scully leaned
closer.

"What?" she prompted, sotto voice.

"Hips 'fore hans, babe," he mumbled, then turned to snuggled his face
into the pillow.

Scully fought the constriction in her throat, blinking hard to clear
blurred vision. She brushed her lips across his brow and collected the
notepad, about to join the pencil. Retreating to the armchair, she
studied the makeshift timeline Mulder had constructed to account for
Krycek's whereabouts.

Tunisia. New Mexico. Just what exactly was Ratboy up to these days?
Diana Fowley had traveled to Tunisia, contacting MUFON groups. And
Albert Hosteen lived in New Mexico. Coincidences? If so, the number was
growing at an alarming rate.

A brisk knock on her door startled Scully from her musings. Casting a
fleeting glance at the still sleeping Mulder, she stood, smoothing her
skirt and tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear. She guessed who
the visitor must be and found herself unconsciously taking deep,
cleansing breaths to steady her nerves.

Skinner examined her face as he entered, continuing to watch her closely
as she shut and locked the door.

"I got your message," he said. "Kim told me you needed to see me, and
that it had to be here. I took a late lunch."

Scully stared into the face of a man that, until two hours previously,
she'd have sworn she could trust with her life. The features remained
unchanged -- warm brown eyes magnified behind metal frames, firm jaw,
lips thinned with unspoken questions. The man who had helped them clean
out Teena Mulder's basement after her sudden death. Who had risked his
own job to help her locate Mulder during his misadventure in the Bermuda
Triangle and put Mulder's health above the need to catch a killer. She
knew this man -- didn't she?

"We appreciate you coming, sir," she said coolly. "We had to be certain
that our conversation won't be overheard, and Mulder's friends recently
swept this place for bugs."

Skinner nodded sharply, then noticed Mulder for the first time. His jaw
tightened and a line appeared between his eyes.

"Is he all right?"

Fury hit hard and fast, like being tackled while her back was turned.
How dare Skinner profess concern over Mulder while  shielding the man's
sworn enemy! Rather than betray those feelings to Skinner, she simply
walked over to the couch and laid a gentle hand on Mulder's leg.

"Mulder, wake up. Skinner is here."

Instead of the hair-trigger response she'd come to expect, Mulder merely
moaned softly and attempted to dislodge the offending hand without
waking. Scully caught her lip between her teeth, then repeated the
motion with more force.

"Mulder. Wake up."

This time his eyes fluttered open and fixed dazedly on her face.
Positioning herself to block Skinner's view, she concealed her worry
with a smile and a caress to his cheek.

"Skinner is here," she repeated quietly. "You okay?"

His tongue snaked out to moisten dry lips. "Water?" he croaked
hopefully, levering himself upright. The hacking began immediately,
until he was doubled over and breathless.

"Hold on a minute." Scully scooped up the now cold mug of tea and
disappeared into the kitchen.

A series of beeps, and then the whir of the microwave wafted into the
living room. Mulder rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then
ran his fingers over his hair in a hopeless attempt to smooth it. He
eyed Skinner, now seated in the armchair, warily.

"What have you been doing to yourself, Mulder? You look terrible," his
boss asked gruffly in a tone Mulder had come to recognize as
Skinnerconcern.

"So I've heard. You people are beginning to bruise my fragile ego,"
Mulder retorted, erupting in another series of coughs.

Scully returned with the tea, which he sipped gratefully. Taking a seat
at Mulder's side, they faced Skinner in the classic position of
adversaries. Scully breathed an internal sigh of relief when she saw
that Mulder had shaken off his lethargy.

"What is it that you two wanted to see me about?" Skinner asked, eyes
moving back and forth between them. "Is this about Grey?"

Mulder glanced at Scully, then took a deep breath. "I have five words
for you, sir. January. Krycek. South Street Gym."

It must have been the last thing Skinner expected. He couldn't hide his
grimace, though he averted his face quickly in an effort to do so. When
he turned back to face them, his A.D. persona was securely in place.

"You've lost me, Mulder. You'll have to be more specific than that."

Mulder was off the couch and in Skinner's face with startling speed, one
hand at the man's throat.

"My brother, the only blood relation I have left on this earth, is
currently God knows where enduring God knows what at the hands of that
rat bastard -- the same scum-sucking bottom dweller that has been placed
at both the gym where you work out and the hospital where you nearly
checked out! Now you have one chance to provide a satisfactory
explanation before whatever trust and respect I still have for you goes
the way of the dinosaur. Is that specific enough for you?"

Skinner's expression was inscrutable. "Let go of me, Mulder," he ground
out through clenched teeth.

Scully's calming hand at his elbow and a new round of breath-stealing
coughs convinced Mulder to return to the couch. Skinner looked on
silently while he struggled to control the spasms, the tic beneath his
left eye the only external indication of his disquiet. When Mulder
tapered off to an occasional cough, Skinner leaned forward, elbows on
knees. He gazed down at his clasped hands, jaw working nervously back
and forth. Finally his bowed shoulders straightened and he met Mulder's
eyes.

"Mulder, there *is* no satisfactory explanation. My hands are tied..."

"BULLSHIT." The single word burst from Mulder's lips with such venom it
triggered another series of hacking. He shoved himself up from the couch
and stalked into the bathroom, where the medicine cabinet opened and
then slammed shut with a bang.

"He's got no business working this case," Skinner ground out.  "He's too
emotionally invested and he looks like he can barely stay on his feet."

"Are you saying you're removing him from the investigation?" Scully
asked stiffly, eyes twin chips of blue ice.

"I wasn't speaking as his boss, Scully, but as his friend."

"Do us both a favor, sir, and spare us your brand of friendship.
You've seen this before, you know how Mulder operates. He won't stop
until he's found Grey or killed himself in the attempt."

Skinner winced, his eyes losing focus as his attention momentarily
turned inward. Scully knew he was recalling Mulder's behavior during the
three months of her abduction. Driven, her mother had once described
him, during the time she was convalescing in her old home. Reckless in
his single-minded desperation to find her, heedless of the physical and
emotional cost. Self-destructive.

Mulder wandered back into the room, wiping his lips with the back of his
hand, a sour expression on his face that could be contributed to cold
medicine, Skinner, or the unpleasant combination of both.

"Still here, sir?" he sneered, dropping back down to the cushions with a
creak of leather. "Don't let us keep you. I'm sure someone with
your...*connections* has places to go, people to see."

Skinner removed his glasses and drew one hand slowly down his face from
forehead to chin, eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. He finally replaced
the frames and looked up.

"Krycek infected me with the nanomachines. He's got a...a device that
can turn them on and off with the push of a button. That 'rat bastard'
as you so eloquently call him holds my life in the palm of his hand."

Mulder's face registered no expression. "Has he approached you for any
favors?"

Skinner smiled -- a bitter twist of his lips. "I met with him once. He
promised he'd keep in touch."

Mulder nodded slowly. The blaze within him banked to coals, only
weariness remained. Scully slipped her hand over his and raised her
chin.

"Sir, is there anything, anything at all, that you can..."

"I followed him," Skinner said grimly with the air of a man led before a
firing squad. "I'm almost certain he didn't know. I stayed with him as
far as the gates of a place called 'Nature's Best.'" He snorted. "They
produce various food items, including corn oil. Sound familiar?"

Mulder leaned forward, giving his notepad a small push that sent it
gliding to Skinner's end of the coffee table. "Directions."

Skinner waffled briefly before pulling a pen from his pocket and jotting
on the pad with harsh, jerky strokes.

"Hope you're right about the bugs," he said ruefully to Scully, tossing
the pad to the table and standing. "I have to get back to the office."

Mulder picked up the pad and trailed silently behind Scully as she
uttered soft words of thanks and escorted their boss to the door. His
eyebrows lowered, a line marring the pale skin of his forehead.

"How far?" he asked, his eyes charting Skinner's face like new territory
to be explored. "How far would you have gone?"

Skinner's mouth dropped open, his chin jutting forward. "Far enough to
preserve my life without selling my soul. Keep me posted, Mulder."

A short nod to Scully, and he strode purposefully out the door and down
the hall. Mulder frowned at the writing on the pad.

"I'm calling the guys, Scully. We're getting Grey out of there, and
we're doing it tonight."


Nature's Best, Inc.
Monday
11:53 p.m.


"This is crazy, Mulder. Sheer, unadulterated insanity."

Scully glared at her partner, her entire body thrumming with fury.
Somehow Mulder had maneuvered her into the role she was playing, a role
that went against some pretty fundamental beliefs. First do no harm. It
was a basic creed among doctors, and one she took very seriously. What
she'd done to get Mulder to this point, huddled in the back of the
Gunmen's van and preparing to infiltrate Nature's Best, could be
described negligent at best, criminal at worst.

"Scully, relax. I'm doing just fine. I haven't even coughed in nearly an
hour," Mulder insisted, eyes overly bright and temperament what she
commonly referred to as "twitchy."

"You are *not* all right, Mulder -- far from it! The only reason you
aren't coughing is the truckload of codeine in that elixir I gave you,
and you're wired out of your mind on that shot of caffeine. You may feel
good now, but when you come down you're going to crash hard."

"Then I'll deal with it when the time comes. What's important now is
that I'm able to go in there and get Grey without barking like a dog and
giving us away." Mulder paused in his restless fidgeting, finally taking
in the guilt on Scully's face. "You did the right thing to help me,
Scully. Never doubt it."

He curved one hand around the nape of her neck and pressed a kiss to her
forehead. The heat she could feel from his skin, however, undermined the
reassurance in his words.

"I don't like being backed into a corner, Mulder," she persisted,
pulling away from the embrace.

Irritation crept into his own voice. "I never forced you, Scully. You
had a choice."

"The hell I did! What would you have done if I refused? Stayed home and
let us handle this?"

Mulder's eyes skittered away from her unyielding stare. "No."

"So my options were to refuse your request and watch you endanger your
life, or do whatever I could -- however unethical -- to get you through
the next few hours. Some choice, Mulder."

Mulder could be incredibly thickheaded, but occasionally she managed to
squeeze through a chink in his armor of self-absorption. His annoyance
crumbled, leaving him suitably contrite.

"You know I admire your beliefs, Scully," he said quietly, suddenly
aware of the Gunmen's lame attempts to appear too occupied to notice
their fight. "Even the ones I don't share. But this is MY brother, the
man who has been there for me time and again over the last six months. I
need to do this for him." His voice plunged until barely more than a
whisper. "I need to do this for me."

Scully closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together, amazed and
a little pissed off by the way the man could defuse her anger with a few
well chosen words and a pair of soulful eyes. She loved him beyond
reason, beyond common sense -- a feeling that was terrifying in its
unfamiliarity, frustrating in its irrationality, and exhilarating in its
intensity.

"Let's go," she growled at Frohike, who was ostensibly checking the
microphones on their headsets. Before Mulder could congratulate himself
she turned back on him, one eyebrow raised. "You owe me for this,
Mulder. Big time."

One side of Mulder's mouth turned up in a gentle smirk and he pressed a
hand to his chest. "Just name your price, oh mistress," he said with an
exaggerated wink. "I am yours to command."

"Can it, Frohike," Scully warned, slipping past the little man and
hopping out the sliding door. "In your dreams."

Frohike didn't attempt to hide his leer. "You peeked!"


Continued in part 9

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (9 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Nature's Best, Inc.
Tuesday
12:12 a.m.


Getting inside the gate proved to be easy. Validating their "kung fu"
claims, the Gunmen had spent the previous afternoon and evening hacking
into the Nature's Best computer system. Blueprints and schematics of the
buildings and outlying areas revealed a section of fence vulnerable to
wire cutters. Mulder pried open the jagged edges while Scully and
Frohike squirmed through, following as Frohike returned the favor.

"We're in," he announced quietly, adjusting a headset knocked askew by
grasping, sharp pointed wire.

"Things look good on this end," Byers answered from his position in the
van with Langly. They'd managed to patch into the buried phone cable
that serviced the plant, Langly manning the keyboard and Byers only too
happy to relay communications. He'd never quite recovered from his foray
into the Lombard Research Facility with Mulder.

"Langly says you need to skirt the trees to the north. You'll see two
buildings. The large two-story one is the factory. The smaller is
research and development. Report when you're in position."

"Got it," Mulder said crisply.

Scully took the lead as they cautiously circled northward, keeping to
the shadows of a thick copse of oak and birch trees, their leaves
glittering silver in the moonlight. Clad from head to toe in dark
clothing with her fiery hair tucked up in a baseball cap, Scully
reminded Mulder of a sleek black cat as she picked her way through the
underbrush. Dispelling the oddly whimsical notion with a shake of his
head, Mulder moved quickly to her side when she pulled up short.

With a tilt of her head and a lifted eyebrow, Scully silently indicated
the problem. Across an open, rolling meadow squatted two buildings,
surrounding floodlights blazing bright as noon. Mulder contained a
groan, eyes methodically cataloguing the area while one finger tapped at
his puckered lips.

"We're in position," he finally murmured into his microphone. "There's
no cover for at least three hundred yards leading up to the building.
Are there any other options?"

A faint buzz of muted voices as Byers conferred with Langly before
replying. "No other choice. He can disable the security lock and cameras
on the west door for about forty-five seconds but you're on your own to
get there."

Mulder cursed softly under his breath. Scully leaned over to lay a
calming hand on his arm.

"We'll just have to make a run for it," she said practically, as if she
were suggesting mild inconvenience instead of life-threatening risk. "We
go all together, and we don't stop until we're through the door. With
any luck the security guard will be off somewhere taking a nap."

Mulder studied her face a moment, then nodded. "You up for this,
Frohike?"

"Get real, Mulder. You should know by now that I'd follow the lovely
Agent Scully to the ends of the earth," Frohike smirked.

Mulder rolled his eyes while Scully wore an expression somewhere between
pained and pleased. "On the count of three, Byers. And that door damn
well better be open when we get there."

Crossing the open field, heart pounding and legs pumping, Mulder
experienced the disjointed flash of an image courtesy of his eidetic
memory. He'd been 10 and Sam 6 when his mother had taken them to see the
movie Bambi at the dollar theatre. Dragged along against his will, he'd
protested bitterly at being subjected to such kiddie fare. But within
minutes the story had sucked him in, weaving him in its spell. He'd
literally crept to the edge of his seat during the scene in the meadow
when Bambi's mother sensed the hunter's presence and told him to run,
run and not look back...

The recollection of the shock that had jolted his body at that
fictitious gunshot jerked his head to the left, his eyes searching for
Scully without slowing his momentum. She was only a few steps behind,
flanked by Frohike, her face a grim mask of concentration as her shorter
legs worked double time to match his own. The tightness in Mulder's
chest loosened almost imperceptibly. He put on an extra burst of speed,
right hand flung out before him as the door loomed into view. In the
slow motion special effects of his own mind, he saw his fingers curve
around the brass knob and twist hard just before his shoulder slammed
into the metal.

And bounced off.

Before he could begin to process his lack of success, a distinct click
pierced the huffing of his own distressed pants for air and Scully's
small hand displaced his own to open the door. They slipped inside,
pulling the door shut and ducking around a corner to avoid the
temporarily blind video camera. Mulder folded over at the waist, an iron
grip on his knees as he struggled to pull air into lungs that felt
compressed by his ribs. He stared with dazed fascination as perspiration
fell from his brow to patter on the dusty floor like rain.

The faint stirrings of a tickle in his throat brought panic. He raised
his arm, turning his face into his shoulder in a desperate attempt to
muffle the sound. Scully's fingers abruptly locked onto his chin,
bringing his head up and around to face her. His protest silenced when
she slipped the plastic mouthpiece of an inhaler between his lips and
hissed, "Take a deep breath!"

If the past six years had taught them anything, it had been to trust
each other unreservedly in dire situations. Though a deep inhalation
would normally exacerbate his cough, Mulder ceded to Scully's
instruction. A puff of something moist and faintly vile tasting was
sucked into his lungs along with the oxygen, instantly aborting the
compulsion to cough and easing the pressure on his lungs to a manageable
level.

"Bronchodilator," Scully murmured, watching his face closely as she
slipped the little miracle device into her pocket. "Don't talk for a
minute, just breathe."

Mulder was only too happy to comply. When his hammering heart slowed, he
was finally able to observe his locale and Frohike's absence. His eyes
must have registered alarm, because Scully gave his hand a pacifying
press with hers.

"Relax. He just went to scout out the hallway. Langly's guiding him."

As if summoned, the inner door cracked open to emit Frohike's head. He
squinted at Mulder, a small line appearing between his eyes. "You all
right? Ready to join the party?"

Mulder nodded, placing his hand in the small of Scully's back to guide
her through the doorway. He leaned over to press his lips to hear ear,
provoking an involuntary shiver. "Thanks, babe. Even if that stuff does
taste like piss."

They slipped down a long corridor, the dimmed fluorescent bulbs and
absence of activity exuding an aura of dormancy overlaid with
watchfulness. Staggered doors on each side bore electronic locks and
identifying nameplates -- microbiology, toxicology, electron microscopy.
Mulder peered in through windows that divulged nothing more sinister
than lab benches and equipment, Scully's home turf.

"Where are we going, Byers?" he growled, ducking around a corner with
Scully and Frohike to avoid a security camera swinging their way. "We
need some direction here."

"Langly says there's a wing in the back that's not identified on the
blueprints. Go to the end of the hallway and turn left, then a quick
right. You'll see a double door. He's trying to crack the lock now."
Byers' words sped up with his increasing nervousness. "Lots of cameras
in that area, Mulder. Langly can't get them all. Be careful."

They jogged quietly down the designated path, ducking into a doorway
once to allow a lone technician absorbed in a file folder to shuffle
past. Peering cautiously around the final corner, Scully gave Mulder a
thumbs up before stepping toward the security doors that Byers had
described. Mulder barely lifted a foot to proceed when her body slammed
hard against his own, driving him backward into Frohike as they stumbled
back into the shadows. At their questioning looks she scowled and mimed
smoking a cigarette.

Mulder's eyes darkened and his body quivered with repressed rage.
Ripping the headset from his ears he flattened against the pebbled
texture of the wall as the rising drone of voices drifted closer.
 
"...drip runs out in about an hour, you'll have the desired results."
The voice was a high tenor with a nasal twang, eager to please.

"Excellent." Cancerman's gravelly voice broke off and then continued,
and Mulder could visualize the missing drag on his Morley. "Will there
be any side effects?"

"Nothing worse than you've seen before. Disorientation, headache,
vomiting -- perhaps a low grade fever. You can still transport."

"That's good to hear. I have other, more pressing matters that require
my attention."

Measured footsteps passed within inches as the men continued down the
corridor without turning, and the irrational desire to reach out and
catch Cancerman by the throat possessed Mulder until his hands
unconsciously flexed at his sides. To wrap his fingers around that
sallow throat, pinning him against the wall and squeezing to drive that
smug expression from his face.

Swept up in the images, he didn't realize Frohike had moved toward the
doors until Scully's hand stilled his clenching fists and brought him
back on task. As vulnerable as bugs on a wall, Mulder could feel the
cold electric eyes of the video cameras impassively recording their
invasion. The small light above the complicated keypad on the lock
winked a baleful red.

"Byers, now would be a very good time," he hissed, slipping the
earphones back into place and tugging at the unyielding knob.

"Hang on, hang on, he's almost got it," Byers chanted.

More footsteps, impossible to determine origin when sound bounced and
echoed off tile. Mulder slipped out his gun and clicked off the safety,
sensing Scully do the same as his eyes tracked apprehensively around
them. Steady tapping, purposeful, and drawing inexorably closer.

"We are running out of time," he grated through his teeth. "Someone's
coming."

Frohike jiggled the knob again. "Damn it, Ringo! This is no way to get
my video collection!" he muttered into his own microphone.

A soft click, the light flashed green, and they were tumbling through
the first door, then the second, and sliding around the nearest corner.
Once it became clear that the owner of the footfalls had passed, Mulder
straightened and turned the handle of the first door, pushing it open on
silent hinges.

The room was dark and completely empty of furniture or equipment with
the exception of two cots that crouched beneath a barred window in a
spill of moonlight. Mulder walked slowly over to the nearest, slipping
his gun back into its position at the small of his back. Each cot
contained a body, both young males in their late teens or early
twenties. Only the slight rise and fall of their chests distinguished
them from corpses -- that and the fact that restraints secured their
arms and legs to the bedframe.

Frohicke peered around Mulder's shoulder, while Scully moved around to
the other side. She hesitantly touched an arm, then turned it to curl
her fingers around the wrist when the owner didn't move or awaken.

"Pulse is strong and steady," she said.

Mulder reached over, rotating the arm to expose the underside. "Look at
this."

Track marks traced an ugly pattern from wrist to elbow, marring the
smooth flesh. Mulder repeated his examination of the other arm with the
same results. Scully leaned over, using thumb and forefinger to spread
apart slack eyelids, then gasped sharply and pulled back.

"You okay?" Mulder asked, frowning at her uncharacteristic reaction.

"Yes. But he isn't."

Motioning for him to come closer, she pulled back the lid. The fixed
blue orb beneath swam in a pool of black viscous liquid. Mulder
recoiled, then cursed softly as Scully turned to examine the other young
man. He'd nearly forgotten Frohike's presence until his elbow was seized
in a vice-like grip.

"What the heck is that?" the little man demanded, eyes wide.

Mulder grimaced, turning for the door. "The ultimate betrayal."

Across the hall to the next door, and this time Scully turned the knob.
This room was just as stark, but bathed in subdued lighting. A single
figure lay motionless and restrained on the cot, an I.V. fastened to the
back of one hand and dripping amber fluid. Mulder's breath caught at the
sight of familiar dark wavy locks and he pushed past Scully in a blind
rush to the man's side.

"Grey," he whispered, blinking rapidly to resist the hot prickling
sensation in the back of his eyes.

Oblivious to Frohike and Scully's worried looks, he touched his brother
with one trembling hand, laying the backs of his fingers against the
warm cheek. Grey didn't twitch, his slow, deep breathing never altering.
Biting down hard on his lip, Mulder raised his fingers to Grey's left
eye and gently pried open the lid. Hazel irises, the pupils dilated to
huge black circles, but no oily film.

Mulder quickly withdrew his hand and clutched at the edge of the cot,
lightheaded with relief. Scully ran a comforting hand down the length of
his arm, then turned to Grey, her blue eyes hard. Quickly and
efficiently she disconnected and removed the I.V., using a corner of the
sheet to apply pressure and halt bleeding.

"Is it safe to move him?" Mulder asked, voice thick with emotion.

"Anything that gets him out of here would be safe," Scully replied
grimly. "His pulse is good. Let's go."

Frohike had retreated to a corner of the room, where he'd been speaking
quietly to Byers. Seeing Scully shove the I.V. pole out of the way, he
helped Mulder haul Grey partially upright. Grey's head lolled drunkenly
on his neck as Mulder propped his upper body against his chest.

"We've got to go back out the way we came in," Frohike said
apologetically, aiding Mulder's struggle to swing Grey's legs off the
side of the cot. "There's no exit back here."

"How are you going to carry him?" Scully asked, a lump forming in her
throat as she watch Mulder tenderly cradle his brother against his body.
"He's a dead weight."

"Same way he got me back to camp during our nice little trip to the
forest," Mulder replied. "Fireman's carry. You two will have to watch my
back, I won't be able to defend myself." He slipped the gun from his
waistband and handed it to a horrified Frohike.

"Mulder...man, I've never used one of these," Frohike protested, holding
the weapon as if it were a poisonous snake.

"Come on, Melvin," Mulder coaxed with a grin as he hefted his brother's
passive form over his shoulder. "I've never believed that saying about
old dogs and new tricks."

Flashing him a disgusted scowl, Frohike awkwardly tucked the gun into
his own waistband then lead the way back into the hall.

Within two minutes Mulder was unpleasantly reminded that Grey had been
in prime physical condition while carrying him through the woods, not
suffering from an unknown respiratory ailment. Sweat poured down his
face and an annoying ringing filled his ears, blotting out Frohike's
whispered instructions. He slid into automatic pilot mode, the world
narrowing to the back of Scully's head and the mechanics of placing one
foot before the other.

A small hand gripping his wrist and yanking him into a doorway ripped
him from his daze. He leaned weakly against the wall, bracing himself
with the shoulder not occupied by Grey, eyes closed and panting. Running
footfall and loud voices receded down the corridor and cool fingers
pressed his cheek.

"They're onto us, Mulder," Scully murmured urgently. "Can you make it?"

Gritting his teeth, Mulder conserved energy by merely straightening with
a nod. A few more twists and turns and they burst out into the crisp
night air, crossing the meadow at a dead run. A popping sound, then a
bullet whined past his left ear. Mulder ducked instinctively, stumbling
and nearly losing his hold on Grey in the process. He could hear Frohike
screaming, ordering Langly and Byers to pull up the van. Scully flashed
by to his right, sprinting ahead to pull apart the gap in the fence. She
squeezed quickly through, wincing when a barb raked her cheek and
swiping impatiently at the line of blood as she maintained the opening.

Mulder threw himself to his knees, allowing Grey to slump to the frigid
ground with a thud. He crawled quickly through, then turned to grasp
Grey under the armpits and drag him to freedom, Frohike shoving from the
other side. Two more sharp reports as Frohike dove through, rolling
quickly to his feet. Mulder, his bones feeling like jelly, fought to
pick Grey up as three figures approached the fence, guns in hand.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" one barked, calmly swinging the weapon in Mulder's
direction and squeezing the trigger.

Mulder let go of Grey, covering his brother's prone form with his own
body. Scully popped up from her spot in a small ditch and fired several
shots at the pursuers until they scrambled for cover. Grey chose this
inopportune moment to moan and begin struggling weakly as Mulder
attempted to gather him up.

"Here!"

Frohike scooped up Grey's legs and Mulder reasserted his hold under the
man's arms, staggering toward the road and an oncoming set of
headlights. The next few minutes passed in a blur of pure sensation -
the crunch of tires on gravel, a blast of warm air from the van, strong
hands pulling Grey from his arms, the vibration of the engine as he
slumped onto the floor. At last he regained the ability to process the
activity around him in a more sophisticated manner.

"That was too close," Byers said from the front seat and Langly grunted
agreement from his position hunched over the wheel.

Grey was stretched out on a seat, Scully in doctor mode beside him.
"Mulder, he's coming around," she said quietly.

Mulder shifted, began to cough, and gave himself over to the spasms for
several minutes before he could move to his brother's side. Grey's eyes
fluttered and he groaned, his head tossing restlessly back and forth.
Mulder lay a calming hand over his brother's heart.

"Easy, Grey. You're safe," he murmured soothingly.

His brother's eyes slowly opened and he stared into Mulder's face,
blinking. "I... How did I get here? Where am I?"

"You're in a van, we just got you out of that place Krychek took you.
You're safe," Mulder repeated.

Grey's face screwed up in pain. "Hurts," he muttered, lifting a shaky
hand to his head.

"We're going to take you to a hospital, get you checked out," Mulder
assured him. "Just try to relax."

Grey absorbed his words for a moment, then bit his lip. "I just have one
more question," he whispered, voice thin and shaking.

Mulder mustered a grin. "Fire away."

"Who are you?"


Continued in part 10

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (10 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


GUMC
Tuesday
6:00 a.m.


Skinner stepped off the elevator and walked down the long quiet hallway,
the brisk tap of his loafers out of place amidst the quiet whisper of
crepe soles. When he neared the lounge, he spotted a lonely figure
hunched over in one of the molded plastic chairs, head cradled in hands,
and he unconsciously slowed his pace. Gritting his teeth, he wished once
again that he were better at this, words of comfort flowing off his
tongue rather than clogging in his throat. Inadequacy was a feeling he
rarely experienced and barely tolerated, having discovered that simple
avoidance usually took care of the problem. Like turning a corner into a
brick wall at 90 miles an hour, this time it couldn't be avoided.

Scully's call snatched him from the edge of a restless sleep, the
fatigue and worry in her voice bringing him instantly awake. In her
clipped, business-like style, used to maintain composure in emotionally
charged situations, she'd briefly summarized their rescue of Grey and
his current condition. Only when she finally worked up to making a
request did her detachment slip.

"Sir, I'll be staying with Grey while the doctors run some tests. Mulder
could use...that is, he's very..."

Imagining Mulder's state of mind all too clearly, Skinner had spoken
without hesitation. "I'll be right there."

Only now, as he approached the man, did he curse himself for seven kinds
of a fool. If he'd spent more time trying to nail Krycek and less
worrying about his own skin, perhaps they wouldn't be here now -- Mulder
looking like the walking dead and Grey...

He rested a hand on Mulder's shoulder as he sank into an adjoining
chair, disturbed by the lack of response. When Mulder did raise his
head, Skinner bit back an exclamation of concern. His cheeks were
flushed with fever, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

"Mulder, why don't you lie down on the couch," he suggested gently,
bracing himself for a typical Mulder scowl at the insinuation of
weakness.

The lethargic shrug of shoulders increased his anxiety. "Don't want to
fall asleep. I need to be awake when Scully comes back."

"You haven't heard anything yet?"

"He was unconscious again by the time we got here. They were going to do
a tox screen, CAT scan, and some other tests to rule out brain damage."
He spoke the last two words in a wispy thin voice lacking substance but
not emotion.

Skinner licked dry lips. "You can't just believe the worst, Mulder," he
said, inwardly wincing at the lame sound of his own words.

Mulder's laugh had the quality of a sob. "Why not, sir? Don't you think
past experience grants me that right?"

Skinner was still fumbling helplessly for a response when Mulder
returned his head to his hands. "I'm so tired."

Misunderstanding completely, Skinner saw a way out and jumped. "Lie
down, Mulder. I'll keep watch for Scully."

Mulder's jagged laugh turned into hacking, tapering off just as Skinner
was ready to hunt down a nurse. "Sleeping won't fix this, sir. It won't
give me back what they've taken -- what they continue to take. My
sister. My father. Now Grey. They've taken Scully from me twice -- it's
only a matter of time before they do it again, and this time I won't get
her back. I'm not one of those damn punching toys, I can't keep popping
back up." He turned his head to reveal haunted eyes. "I'm running out of
reasons why I should."

"Then let me give you a few," Skinner replied in a voice fiercely
gentle. "Millions of people going about their average, unremarkable
lives in complete ignorance of the impending threat of slavery and
death. A brother down that hallway who needs you to be there for him,
the way he's been there for you. And if that's not enough, there's a
certain, redheaded partner who will personally kick your ass if you even
think about giving up now."

As if summoned, Scully rounded a corner and headed down the hallway
toward them. Skinner watched in fascination as Mulder's head snapped up
and rotated, some internal Scullyradar alerting him. He stood, swayed
slightly, then moved quickly down the corridor to meet her, Skinner in
tow.

Scully frowned, cupping his cheek with her hand to feel the heat.
"Mulder, I want you to let someone take a look at you," she said firmly.

Mulder fretfully pulled away from her touch. "Not NOW, Scully. How is
he?"

She tensed as if ready to argue, then gave in. "We're still waiting on
the tox screen and other bloodwork but the CAT scan looks good. He
surfaced once or twice, but just long enough to be sick and he was
pretty incoherent. They settled him in a room down the hall and are
hoping he'll sleep off the worst of the effects. Mulder, I could kick
myself for not taking a sample of that drug."

At the sound of her self-recrimination, Mulder sought out her hand. "We
were a little preoccupied, Scully. Can I see him?"

"He's still sleeping. I'd rather a doctor took a look at you first
and..."

"Damn it, Scully, my brother is lying in a hospital bed after they
seriously messed with his head! No one is examining me until I see him,
make sure he's going to be all right!" Mulder snapped.

"You're no good to him if you wind up here yourself, Mulder!" Scully
retorted, beyond mere frustration with his intractability. "Or is your
plan to be roommates?"

The acidic humor pulled him up short and he attempted to forcibly calm
his impatience and his labored breathing. "Okay, okay. Just let me see
him and then I'll let the doctor of your choice poke and prod me to your
heart's content. Deal?"

Her lips curved a little but her eyes remained troubled. "Ten minutes,
Mulder."

Skinner's voice broke through, reminding them of his presence. "I'll
wait in the lounge," he said dryly. "Just in case you need back-up,
Scully."

Mulder's look was scathing, but Scully openly grinned. "That's good to
know, sir."

Tugging on his arm, Scully led Mulder down the hall and around a corner,
steadying him when he began weaving a bit from side to side. She stepped
through the open door of the first room on their left, moving over to
allow Mulder to approach the bed. Another I.V., this one delivering
saline, was inserted in Grey's hand, and a bandage at the crook of his
arm marked where the nurse had drawn blood.

Scully pulled a chair up to the bed and motioned for Mulder to sit, a
suggestion he was more than willing to accept. He tenderly clasped his
brother's hand, taking comfort from the peaceful expression on Grey's
face.

"They gave him some Compazine for the nausea," Scully explained softly,
massaging the knotted muscles in Mulder's neck and shoulders. "It
knocked him out but he should be coming around soon."

Mulder's thumb stroked Grey's knuckles. "There were no signs of trauma?"

"Some deep bruising on his abdomen and lower back but nothing to worry
about. He'll most likely just be stiff and sore for a few days. He was a
little dehydrated, but the saline will take care of that."

Mulder slowly shook his head, lips parted but unable to form words at
first. "Just a little bit sooner, Scully. An hour or so earlier and
maybe I could have prevented them from giving him whatever was in that
I.V. I let him down."

"You did *not* let him down! You risked your own life to get him out of
there, Mulder," Scully said vehemently. "He's here now, alive and
getting treatment because of you."

"Did you call Kristen?" Mulder asked, clearly unwilling to accept
Scully's appraisal of the situation.

She recognized the evasion, but let it slide. "Right before I called
Skinner. She wanted to come over immediately, but I convinced her to
wait until later this morning."

Grey's fingers twitched and his head rolled to the right, a string of
indecipherable words conveyed with a moan. Mulder leaned in closer, eyes
glued to his brother's face. Grey's tranquil expression contracted into
a grimace and his eyelids twitched.

"Kate?" he mumbled, his voice like chalk on concrete.

Mulder shot Scully an agonized look, his thumb quickening its motion on
Grey's knuckles. Grey's eyes blinked open and he stared fixedly at the
ceiling for several moments.

"Thirsty," he rasped, licking his lips and slowly turning his head to
focus on Scully, who was already moving toward the water pitcher.

She guided the straw carefully to his mouth and Grey drank greedily,
rapidly draining the contents of the small plastic cup. His eyes tracked
around the room as he swallowed, a small frown darkening his features.

"Where am I?"

"Georgetown University Medical Center," Scully said, setting the empty
cup on the nightstand.

"What's wrong with me?"

"What do you remember?" Mulder spoke up, his own face drawn with
anxiety.

Grey started and his eyes darted to his brother as if noticing him for
the first time. He started to speak but then snapped his mouth shut and
studied Mulder, his frown deepening. One shaky hand crept to his
forehead, and he rubbed at the spot just over his eyes.

"I...I don't..." He trailed off, eyes wide with fear and respiration
coming in short pants.

"Easy, Grey," Scully said calmly. "Take deep breaths, you're going to
hyperventilate."

"Everything is all tangled up," he moaned, heedless of her warning,
drawing inward. "Like pieces from different puzzles all spilled
together. Nothing fits to make a complete picture!"

"It's okay," Mulder said, gripping Grey's hand hard until his brother
winced a little and seemed to regain focus, tugging to free himself from
Mulder's grasp. "You're safe now, that's what matters. No one can hurt
you. You're safe."

Grey abruptly ceased struggling and went still, his jaw dropping open
and his gaze fastening on Mulder's face like a drowning man to a life
preserver.

"I remember... you...you were hurt and lying in a hospital bed. You had
a...a bad dream and I...I held your hand and told you that you were
safe." He shuddered, the vibration passing through his whole body, and
his eyes blurred behind a sheen of tears. "Fox."

Mulder grinned, but his lips quivered suspiciously. "Scully always tells
me I'm unforgettable."

Grey rolled his eyes, a flash of his usual humor surfacing. "I was
there, little brother. I believe the word she used was 'impossible.'"

Mulder chuckled roughly, turning his head and swiping at his eyes with
the sleeve of his shirt. Scully bit her lip, distressed by the way his
fingers trembled.

"So why am I here?" Grey repeated, all traces of laughter gone. "My last
clear memory is of playing basketball with you. Is that right?"

"That was Friday," Mulder said grimly. "It's Tuesday. You were kidnapped
on your way to see Kristen on Saturday night. We finally figured out
where they were holding you and got you out early this morning."

"Why can't I remember any of that? Why does my brain feel like scrambled
eggs -- not to mention this headache! Did someone hit me over the head,
give me a concussion?" Grey struggled against the panic that wanted to
devour him.

Mulder ran fingers through his hair and down to cup the back of his
neck, sensing the muscles that had loosened under Scully's ministrations
grow taut. "We're pretty certain they gave you some kind of drug to
tamper with your memory. You were hooked up to an I.V. when we found
you."

Grey blanched, gaze flitting back and forth between their faces as if to
assure himself that he wasn't the subject of an elaborate practical
joke. What he saw must have convinced him, for his fingers clenched
tightly onto the sheets.

"You keep saying THEY. THEY kidnapped me. THEY drugged me. Who did this?
And what could they possibly want with me?"

Mulder reacted as if slapped, flinching and drawing back from the bed.
Scully saw him fumbling for a response, and stepped closer to his side.

"We think they were after Mulder, Grey. Taking you was a mistake."

Grey processed this, then reached out his hand. "Fox. Don't."

It was enough. Mulder stretched out his still trembling hand to briefly
clasp his brother's. Even separated by several inches, Scully could feel
the heat radiating from his body. She glanced at Grey to see if he
noticed, but his eyes were already beginning to droop with weariness.
Seeing her opportunity, she lay one hand on Mulder's shoulder.

"Ten minutes are up, Mulder," she said quietly. "We had a deal."

Mulder's lips thinned. "Five more minutes, Scully, we just..."

"Mulder. Look at him."

As she'd hoped, concern for his brother achieved what her own threats
could not. Mulder registered that Grey's eyes were mere slits and his
annoyance faded.

"Get some sleep," he told Grey mildly. "We'll talk more later."

Grey nodded amiably, not bothering to open his eyes. "'Kay."

Mulder stood with all the agility of a ninety-year-old man. Evidently
his blood didn't get the message that his head was moving up, since the
world went uniformly gray and without Scully's death grip on his arm he
would have gone down in a heap.  She steered him out the door and down
the hall, to the lounge and the incongruous image of Skinner with a copy
of "Better Homes and Gardens" in his hands. When he saw Scully's face
looked nearly as pale as Mulder's, he jumped up to help her settle her
partner in a chair.

"I'm okay!" Mulder snapped, then disintegrated into harsh, wet coughs,
bending forward and clutching his ribs.

Skinner pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into
Mulder's right hand. He brought it to his lips and attempted to muffle
the raw, uncontrollable spasms. When they finally diminished, Mulder
clutched the bit of cloth in a fist pressed tightly to his lips.

"That's it, Mulder. We're going downstairs to the emergency room right
now," Scully said, trying for her command voice but only managing to
sound desperately worried.

"I don't want Grey left alone," Mulder replied stubbornly, his voice
fading in and out like a man with laryngitis.

Skinner shook his head. "Mulder, we've already determined that they
probably never wanted Grey in the first place. I'm sure he's not in
any..."

"They never finished wiping his memory!" Mulder cut in. "He might have
seen something, heard something that they didn't intend for him to
remember." He struggled to stand, still forcing words from his abused
throat. "I won't take a chance, Skinner! You have to promise me..."

Mulder froze, only halfway to standing, his eyes becoming impossibly
wide and losing focus before rolling back in his head. Skinner caught
him before he could pitch forward onto the tile,  terrified when he felt
Mulder jerking spasmodically in his arms.

"Oh God, oh God, he's seizing! Lay him down on the floor!" Scully
moaned. "We need help down here!" she bellowed in the direction of the
nurses' station.

Skinner complied, fighting not to lose his grip on Mulder's twisting
body. By the time a nurse arrived with an orderly and a gurney, Mulder
had gone limp and very still. Scully hovered, barking orders like a
drill sergeant as he was expertly lifted and strapped down. She followed
them down the hallway and into the elevator without sparing Skinner a
backward glance, one of Mulder's hands cradled in her own and a
continuous flow of background information directed at the nurse.

Skinner stood in the middle of the vacant lounge, shock smothering his
emotions like a heavy wool blanket. Forcing himself from his stupor, he
clenched his teeth. The best way he could help Mulder now was to ensure
that he concentrate on getting well. If the man wanted Grey under
protection, he'd see to it himself.

Skinner took three steps before his foot landed on something soft and
lumpy. Looking down, he saw his crumpled handkerchief and bent to
retrieve it before continuing toward Grey's room. He was about to tuck
it absently into his pocket, but a flash of color caught his eye and he
halted. His stomach knotted as he unfolded the pristine white square to
reveal ugly splatters of bright crimson.


Continued in part 11

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (11 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


GUMC
Tuesday
11:45 a.m.


"I know you weren't thrilled about going to that concert, but don't you
think this was an extreme way to avoid it?"

Grey brought Kristen's hand to his lips and placed an apologetic kiss on
the palm. "I believe that's called 'extenuating circumstances,'" he said
ruefully. "I promise to make it up to you when I get out of here."

Kristen shifted a little more firmly onto the edge of the mattress. "And
that will be...?"

Grey curled his lip. "Not soon enough. Actually, it's possible they'll
release me tonight, if I can keep down my dinner." He rolled his eyes.
"No small feat when you consider the slop they served for lunch."

"I'd be glad to play chauffeur," Kristen offered, her shy smile
revealing matching dimples. "In the interest of your complete recovery,
of course."

Grey grinned back. "Of course. But I'll have to get back to you. Fox
will most likely be planning to take me home, since I'm staying at his
place."

Kristen shook her head, frowning in confusion. "Fox? But he can't do it,
he's..." She stopped abruptly, chewing on her lower lip and turning her
face to gaze out the window.

"What? He's what?" Grey demanded, alarmed by her discomfiture. "Kristen,
what's going on?"

"I thought you knew. You didn't seem surprised that he hadn't been back
to see you," she said quietly, hands twisting in her lap.

Grey sat up and stilled them in his own. "Tell me."

"He's very sick, Grey. The A.D. told me he's been admitted and they're
running tests. They think it's pneumonia."

Grey's expression shifted quickly from anguish to anger. "Why didn't
anyone tell me? Did they think I wouldn't want to know?"

"I guess they didn't want to upset you, when you were sick yourself. The
A.D. said ... Grey!"

Grey ignored Kristen's cry of alarm as he grimly rid himself of the I.V.
and tossed off the blanket. He swung his legs over the side of the
mattress and rested for a moment, feet dangling, before offering her a
tight smile.

"I suggest you turn around, darlin' or we're going to get to know each
other a lot better. This gown isn't made for taking a stroll."

Blushing furiously, Kristen turned her back and folded her arms across
her chest. She heard the slap of bare feet on tile, the click of a light
switch, and then running water.

"Kristen?"

She turned cautiously to see Grey's head poking from the bathroom door.

"Would you find Walt and send him in here? And have him bring a pair of
scrubs? My clothes seem to be missing."

"You shouldn't be doing this, Grey," she said, cursing herself for
revealing information that Dana and Assistant Director Skinner evidently
felt Grey was in no condition to hear. "You've been through a terrible
ordeal, you need to rest."

Grey's intense focus softened. "Come here."

She complied, but unenthusiastically, brows contracted with worry and
guilt. Grey ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, then cupped it
tenderly.

"I'm doing much better. He's my brother, and I need to be with him.
There have been too many times in his life when he's been left alone.

Kristen placed her hand over his and nodded. "I understand. Just try to
pace yourself, okay?"

Grey pressed a swift kiss to her lips and smiled. "Deal. Now please have
Walt find me some pants. I promise I'll call you later."

Grey climbed into the shower, sighing in pleasure as the hot water
washed away the sweat and grime accrued from three days of... What? His
mind was a collage of disjointed images interspersed with patches of
complete darkness. Dana had said that they believed Fox to be the
intended target of the kidnapping. Why did that thought fill him with
such a prickling uneasiness?

He emerged from the shower to see a pair of sweats and a tee shirt
hanging from the hook on the back of the door. He toweled off quickly,
resting briefly on the seat of the toilet when he became light-headed.
Skinner sat rigidly on the edge of his vacated bed, a disapproving scowl
darkening his face.

"Thanks," Grey said diffidently, gesturing to his clothing. "How'd you
get these?"

"I still have Mulder's gym bag in my trunk. They removed it when his car
was impounded as evidence and I kept forgetting to return it. Those
disreputable running shoes of his are here too, and some socks. I wasn't
sure if they'd fit you."

"Close enough," Grey said, sinking into the chair and pulling the soft
white cotton over his left foot.

"You're not ready for this," Skinner growled, watching him lace up the
shoes.

The anger, which had continued to simmer as he showered and dressed,
sprang to a full boil.

"I think *I* am the one qualified to decide that," he snapped. "You had
no right to keep this from me, Walt. It doesn't matter how pure your
motivations were."

"Grey, twelve hours ago you didn't even recognize your brother. From
what Scully tells me you spent the better part of the morning vomiting
and disoriented as hell," Skinner kept his tone reasonable, but the
thrust of his jaw testified that it was difficult. "We weren't going to
keep this from you indefinitely, just until we had a better handle as to
what's going on."

"He's my brother, damn it! He just put his life on the line for me. I
need to be there for him." Grey stood up slowly and deliberately,
rubbing the stubble along his jawline.

"He's not going to know the difference right now, Grey," Skinner replied
soberly. "He's very sick."

Skinner's words rebounded in Grey's head, triggering an image both stark
and frightening in its clarity. As if suddenly removed from himself, he
saw the scene unfold.

*Piercing dark eyes scrutinizing his face. "How sick is he?"*

*Feelings of fear, rage, helplessness intermingled. The stench of
cigarette smoke and the ache of abused muscles and bones. "Go to hell!"*

*The craggy face displaying concern as well as anger. "Don't play games
with me, this concerns your brother's life! HOW SICK IS HE?"*

Skinner darted forward to grasp Grey's elbow as the man swayed and
clutched his head. He guided Grey back down into the chair with no
resistance, then turned to pour a glass of water.

"Yeah, you're a terrific judge of what you're ready to do," he said
sarcastically, placing the cup in Grey's jittery hand.

Grey took a gulp of the cool liquid and a deep breath before responding.
"It's not what you think. I just...I think I just remembered something."

"Something from the last three days? What?" Skinner realized he was
towering over Grey and consciously backed off, sitting back down on the
bed.

Grey turned the cup slowly and stared into its depths as if would reveal
the answers he sought. "It doesn't make sense, really. I remembered a
man asking me questions about Fox, about his illness. He
seemed...concerned, and he told me that Fox's life depended on me telling
him what he wanted to know."

"Anything else?"

Grey was silent a moment, then nodded bleakly. "Yeah. I smelled
cigarette smoke."

Every muscle in Skinner's body went taut, and he muttered several
colorful words under his breath. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said
darkly. "Whenever Krycek turns up, that SOB isn't far behind."

"Krycek? You mean the guy Fox calls 'that one-armed rat bastard?'"

Skinner chuckled. "He does have a way with words. That's the one, all
right. We found his thumbprint on Mulder's car. He must be the one who
kidnapped you."

Grey stared into empty space, hands clenched on the arms of the chair.
After a minute his shoulders slumped and he massaged his temples.
"Nothing. That part is still a blank."

"Give it time," Skinner replied mildly. "You're not going to force it to
come." He sighed in resignation. "If you're ready, I'll take you up to
Mulder's room. I already explained your insanity to the nurse in charge,
but you'll have to stop by and sign yourself out AMA."

He stood and extended a hand to Grey. "You know, you and your brother
may just be the two most stubborn men I've ever met," he said ruefully.

Grey allowed himself to be pulled up and grinned. "Why thanks, Walt. I
always do enjoy coming out on top."


Intensive Care
Tuesday 
1:00 p.m.


Scully squeezed excess water from the soft terry cloth and gently bathed
Mulder's burning cheeks before laying it on his brow. In spite of the
cooling blanket his temperature remained dangerously high, though he'd
been seizure free for the last several hours. Scully reached her right
hand through the side rail to grasp his limp one, the skin hot and dry,
while her other soothingly stroked through his hair.

"What's happening here, Mulder?" she whispered. "You're scaring me."

When they'd gotten Mulder to the emergency room, Scully had been
horrified to learn that his temperature had spiked to over 104 degrees,
provoking the seizure in the lounge and a second, longer one in the
trauma room. Both lungs were congested with fluid and he'd ruptured some
blood vessels along his trachea through the violence of his coughing --
a fact she'd explained to her white faced boss when he'd turned up a few
minutes later with the bloody handkerchief.

Despite bitter complaints, the ER personnel had resolutely ejected
Scully and sent her to the waiting area, Mulder becoming the queen bee
in a flurry of workers. Blood drawn, sputum cultured, and a CAT scan run
to rule out brain damage from the seizures. An arterial line, I.V.,
Foley catheter, pulse oxymeter, heart monitor, and oxygen mask put in
place. Finally they'd packed him off to ICU, where she was allowed to
rejoin him as she waited for the test results.

She'd just removed the already warm cloth and was dipping it in the
basin of water when Skinner and Grey stepped into the cubicle. Scully's
eyes widened, then narrowed in annoyance.

"You're supposed to be downstairs, resting," she told him. "Do they even
know you're here?"

"I'm no longer their problem. I checked myself out," Grey answered
distractedly, moving around her to get closer to his brother. He
stretched out a hand and tentatively brushed his fingers across Mulder's
forehead, wincing at the heat. "What's wrong with him, Dana?"

All at once the tension of Grey's disappearance, fatigue from too many
sleepless nights, and worry over Mulder's illness congealed into a
crushing weight in her chest, and Scully struggled for composure.
"Bacterial pneumonia," she said, blinking hard. "We just won't know what
strain until the results of the culture come back -- tomorrow at the
earliest. Until then they've got him on a broad spectrum antibiotic and
they'll perform respiratory therapy to clear his lungs."

"He's so hot," Grey murmured. "His skin feels as if it's on fire."

"Actually, his temperature has dropped about a half degree since they
brought in the cooling blanket," Scully said. "It's not much, but at
least the seizures have stopped."

"How did he get this sick this fast? I know he was a little under the
weather, but..."

Scully shrugged, absently stroking the tender skin around the I.V. with
her thumb. "Worry, exhaustion, poor diet... I guess it all combined to
accelerate the process. Hard to fight off a disease when you've been
abusing your body."

"Because he was looking for me," Grey said guiltily. "You don't have to
say it," he added quickly when Scully looked uncomfortable. "I know him
well enough to picture what he must have been like."

"Dr. Scully?"

The ICU nurse in charge of Mulder's care walked into the cubicle bearing
a cart of medical paraphernalia. A young woman, Elena Alvarado wore her
jet-black hair twisted into a thick cable that fell halfway down her
back and rose-colored scrubs.

"Dr. Brewer is waiting to speak with you down the hall in the lounge.
I'll take care of Mulder's therapy while you're gone," she said, nodding
to acknowledge Grey and Skinner.

Scully smiled warmly, pleased that Elena had remembered her advice not
to call Mulder by his first name. "Thanks, Elena. Can you handle him
alone? I'll be glad to help after I speak to the doctor."

"I'll be fine, thanks. Joey is coming in to give me a hand so we should
be able to get it done quickly. With any luck, all the unpleasantness
will be over by the time you get back." Seeing Scully flinch she reached
over to pat her arm. "Try not to fret. We'll get him through this and
he'll be back to hunting down the bad guys in no time."

Scully leaned over to place a kiss on Mulder's cheek, murmuring
something that was obviously meant for his ears alone. With a weak smile
for Elena and a final parting glance at his still face, she allowed
Skinner to take her by the elbow and gently steer her from the cubicle.

Grey hung back, watching the nurse set up a small machine and begin to
unpack sterile tubing. When she gently removed the oxygen mask from his
brother's face, he turned and trotted quickly to catch up to Scully and
Skinner.

"Dana. Just what does this therapy entail?" he asked, ducking a little
to peer into her face.

Scully's reply was subdued and she avoided his eyes. "It's vital to
clear the bad stuff out of his lungs, Grey. And Mulder is too weak -- he
can't do it himself right now."

Grey pictured the coil of tubing and swallowed hard. "Will it... Will it
hurt him?"

She licked her lips. "It's not pleasant. But then, Mulder isn't exactly
cognizant right now." She blinked at the film in her eyes that turned
the sharp lines and planes of the hallway into an indistinct blur. "Last
time he never really woke up enough to realize what was happening."

Dr. Nicholas Brewer looked like a cross between young urban professional
and California surfer dude. As he stood in the center of the lounge,
studying a chart, he gave the appearance of the consummate professional
-- crisp white coat, serious blue eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses,
and a stethoscope slung around his neck. But here and there about his
person lurked the signs of subtle rebellion against the status quo.
Blond hair just a little bit too long and unruly, feet clad in Doc
Martens rather than shiny dress shoes, and the tie... Distracted and
nearly out of her mind with worry as Mulder succumbed to a second
seizure, Scully had taken one look at the obnoxious riot of color
knotted about the doctor's neck and felt an instant sense of peace.
Mulder would love that tie -- the man was obviously a kindred spirit.

Brewer looked up at their approach and offered a welcoming smile, but
Scully's stomach dropped at the sight. She'd pasted on too many similar
smiles herself, when breaking devastating news to a victim's loved ones,
not to recognize it when on the receiving end. Whatever was on that
chart was not good news.

"Dr. Scully," he said, casting a questioning glance at Skinner and Grey.
"The results of the CAT scan and some of the bloodwork have come back.
I'd like to go over them with you."

"This is Assistant Director Skinner, our boss at the bureau," Scully
said with a slight tilt of her head. "And Grey McKenzie, Mulder's
brother. I'd like for them to hear the results as well."

Brewer shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries with Skinner and
Grey, then focused sober eyes on Scully.

"You obviously don't play cards, Dr. Brewer," Scully said with a levity
she did not feel. "Your face tells me that those results aren't going to
ease my mind."
 
Brewer's lips quirked. "So that's why they always include me on poker
night," he said dryly. He tucked the folder under his arm and clasped
his hands together. "We made a disturbing discovery on Mr. Mulder's CAT
scan. I know you're going to want to see it for yourself, and I have no
objections. I've already alerted them you'll be stopping by."

Hard to force words through a parched throat. "What kind of discovery?"

Brewer ran one hand along his lightly stubbled jaw, eyes clearly
communicating puzzlement. "I don't know what to call it. I've certainly
never seen anything like it, and neither has the consulting oncologist."

Scully actually staggered a little, and only Grey's strong grip on her
elbow kept her upright. "Oncologist?"

Brewer's blue eyes were kind, the wrinkles around his mouth a testament
to his regret. "There's really no way to ease into this, Dr. Scully, so
I'm just going to say it. Mr. Mulder has some kind of mass located on
his pineal gland, but unlike any tumor I've ever seen. I know it sounds
crazy but it looks like...like..."

"Worms," Scully whispered, feeling as if something vital had been sucked
from her body. "Black worms."

She barely registered Brewer's stunned confirmation over the ringing in
her ears. "Yes. That's it exactly! But, how did you know?"


Continued in part 12

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (12 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


ICU
Tuesday
7:38 p.m.


Grey used his knuckles to scrub at eyes grown bloodshot and gritty with
fatigue. Between the jam-packed events of a very long day and the black
hole in his memory, he found himself fighting the surreal feeling that
his life outside the hospital was just a dream -- or perhaps worse, had
ceased to exist. Barely twelve hours ago, he'd played the role of
patient, Fox the worried brother. Grey had learned during Kate's cancer
that life often possessed a cruel sense of humor. Looking at Fox now,
their positions swiftly and brutally switched, he could swear he heard
the ghostly echo of cosmic laughter.

"Always got to hog the spotlight, don't you, little brother?" he said,
the soft words coated with pain, not aggravation. "You've got our
complete attention, I promise. Why don't you wake up so you can enjoy
it?"

Fox's harsh puffs of breath, muffled by the oxygen mask, remained
steady, his face slack and one hand curled limply over his stomach.
Thanks to some heavy-duty antibiotics and an anti-pyretic, his fever had
crept down another degree -- still high but not dangerously so. The
truth of the matter was that he should be awake by now, or at least in
and out. Dr. Brewer was not particularly concerned, but the thinly
disguised panic in Dana's eyes left Grey with a chunk of ice in his gut
that still hadn't melted.

Grey closed his eyes and curled over to rest his head in his hands,
replaying the earlier conversation with Brewer through his increasingly
foggy brain. A mass of...something attached to Fox's pineal body, the
small gland located near the geometric center of the brain. Dana's white
face and haunted, knowing eyes. She'd been shocked by the diagnosis, but
not the disease. She and Walt had exchanged looks that hinted at a dark
and terrible history.

Dana and Brewer had then launched into a technical exchange that, thanks
to his own dark history, actually held some meaning. A white cell count
of only 500, with a T4 count of only 150. Translation? A decimated
immune system incapable of fighting off disease. Cause? The answer to
that remained unknown, and accounted for Dana and Walt's absence.

He must have slid into a doze, because the gentle hand on his shoulder
jolted through his body like an electric shock. His head snapped up and
his gaze latched on to Elena's warm brown eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't realize you were sleeping," she said apologetically.

Grey rubbed both hands over his face. "I wasn't." He caught the amused
twitch of her lips and grinned. "Well, I didn't *intend* to, anyway."

"My shift ended about a half an hour ago, but I hung around so that I
could take care of Mulder's treatment," she explained as his eyes lit on
the cart.

"That was nice of you," Grey replied, touched by her thoughtfulness.
"Especially considering the fact that he won't exactly notice."

Elena shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Patients in that condition take in
a lot more than we give them credit for. I figured it might help to have
someone familiar administering the torture."

She caught Grey's stricken expression as she turned to her equipment,
and lay a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm sorry again. That joke was in
poor taste. Believe me, this isn't that hard on him."

Grey accepted her words but moved toward the door. "I'll wait out in the
hall."

He squeezed past another nurse, obviously on her way to help Elena, and
propped himself up against the smooth cool wall with his eyes shut
against the stark glare of fluorescent lights.

*Think about Kristen* he told himself sternly. *Or the ball game last
week. Anything but what's going on in that room right now.*

It almost worked, until his brother's distressed cries penetrated the
muted overtones of hospital activity and pulled him upright. He shuffled
restless feet and chewed his lip as he listened to the quiet voices of
the two nurses as they tried to comfort and calm. When he heard Fox call
pitifully for Dana, something inside him broke, and he pushed his way
back into the room.

Elena and the other nurse wrestled with a thrashing Fox, his eyes blank
with fever and pain. Elena must have sensed Grey enter -- she called
over her shoulder without releasing her death grip on Fox's writhing
body.

"Give us a hand, will you please, Mr. McKenzie? Your brother could use a
familiar face right about now."

In three quick strides Grey reached the bed and insinuated himself into
Fox's direct line of sight. Grasping his chin in gentle fingers, he
turned his brother's face until their eyes linked.

"Fox, relax. It's all right. You're very sick and you're in the
hospital. Stop struggling or you're going to hurt yourself."

He pitched his voice low and soothing, watching as wide, glassy eyes
regained focus and bunched muscles relaxed.

"That's it, little brother," Grey murmured. "Just try to relax. Come on,
let's get you settled."

Elena, who had hung back and allowed Grey to command Fox's full
attention, moved carefully over to adjust the pillows as Grey helped his
brother lie down. Grey saw Fox's eyes dart anxiously toward the nurse
and then back to his own, searching for an explanation to ground his
panic.

"That's Elena, she's been taking good care of you," Grey said, giving
her a small smile though his own heart was still beating double-time.

"Trying to suck my guts out through my nose," his brother croaked
feebly. "Call that good?"

Grey could almost feel his blood pressure lowering. If Fox could wield
that wry sense of humor, he must be doing better. Elena gave the pillow
one final tug and flashed a smile.

"You know the black market price for a liver in good condition? Can't
blame a girl for trying," she said irreverently.

Fox stared at her, started to chuckle in surprised delight, then broke
off into harsh, wet coughs. Elena immediately helped him sit up, grabbed
an emesis bowl from the bedside table, and held it under his chin while
thumping him firmly on the back.

"Come on, Mulder. I need to you get rid of all that poison and put me
out of a job. Just try to let your body do the work."

Grey took one look and quickly turned his back, swallowing hard. When
Fox's barks tapered off he turned around in time to see Elena wiping his
brother's pale, sweaty face with a cloth and murmuring a string of soft
encouragements. Fox lay bonelessly against the pillows, his brief surge
of energy zapped by the ordeal.

"Did that on purpose," he said reproachfully, but one corner of his
mouth turned up.

"You've found me out," she said, winking. "I'll resort to any and all
means to achieve my objective." She traded the oxygen mask for a nasal
cannula, slipping it gently around his head.

Mulder's smile widened just a bit. "First nurse I ever met with a sense
of humor," he said. "Must be tough."

Elena rolled her eyes. "You have no idea, Mulder." She grasped the
handle of her cart and rolled it toward the door, but paused in the
doorway. " Just out of curiosity, exactly how many nurses have you met?"

Grey snorted and spoke up before his brother could answer. "You have no
idea, Elena."

The bright tinkle of her laughter echoed down the hallway even after she
shut the door.

Fox coughed lightly, then grimaced. "Horrible taste in my mouth," he
said. "Water?"

Mentally chastising himself for not offering, Grey poured a cup and
tried to hold it so that his brother could sip from the straw. After Fox
downed half the contents, he held up his hand and Grey set the cup
aside. Though his eyelids were already drooping, Fox squinted at Grey.

"No offense, but isn't there something wrong with this picture? I mean,
last I remember *you* were the one on this side of the bedrail. What's
wrong with me? And how did I get here?"

Grey carefully repressed the urge to evade his brother's eyes and
shuffle his feet. Fox was a profiler, and he'd catch on immediately if
shown the slightest sign of falsehood. But there was no way he intended
to explain the full scope of the illness -- as if he could. He'd just
have to answer with the part he understood.

"You've got bacterial pneumonia," he said. "From what Dana tells me you
collapsed in the lounge after leaving my room early this morning. Your
fever was really high, but they've managed to knock it down a bit."

"Where's Scully?"

*Hmm. How to field that one without drawing suspicions?*

"She said she was going to follow up on some of your lab work," Grey
answered, sinking down into the chair. "I expect she'll be back soon."

He caught himself nibbling on his thumbnail -- an action Kate would have
immediately recognized as a red flag that he was hiding something.
Fortunately Fox's eyes were defying his attempts at gathering
information, slipping shut and staying that way for increasing lengths
of time.

"Get some sleep, little brother," Grey urged softly. "Dana will be here
when you wake up."

"So tired," Fox mumbled, the words running together and blurring like
watercolors on a child's painting. "Headhurts."

Grey opened his mouth to ask if he should hunt down the nurse when Fox's
head slumped a little more to the right and his breathing evened. He
watched his brother sleep until his own eyes began to mutiny and he
could no longer stifle the jaw-cracking yawns. Scooting his chair closer
to the bed, he folded his arms atop the soft mattress and used them to
pillow his head. Within moments, his steady breathing joined his
brother's.


Quantico
Tuesday
7:00 p.m.


Skinner paused in the doorway to the lab, taking the opportunity for a
little surveillance. Scully sat on one of the tall stools, one foot
propped on a rung and the other dangling several inches off the floor. A
microscope occupied the space directly at her left elbow and several
pages of data papered the countertop in front of her. Her auburn head,
propped on her right fist, commenced a gradual slide downward, only to
jerk sharply up again. Skinner observed the cycle repeat itself several
times before loudly clearing his throat and stepping inside.

Scully's slumped posture abruptly snapped to attention and she pushed up
the glasses that had worked their way to the tip of her nose.

"Sir," she said, as he took a seat beside her. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear
you come in."

"Thought maybe you'd like a lift back to the hospital to check on
Mulder," Skinner replied, taking in the bluish cast to the skin beneath
her eyes. "Then I can drive you and Grey home to get some sleep."

Of course she protested immediately.

"I'd appreciate the ride to the hospital, sir, but I don't plan on
leaving Mulder tonight. You should take Grey back to Mulder's place,
though, he's still not fully recovered and he must be exhausted."

Skinner's eyebrows tilted downward and he clenched his jaw. "Please,
Scully, don't pull a Mulder on me. I'd hate to have to make it an
order."

He half expected an explosion. Scully in Mulderprotection mode had
terrorized more than one hospital ER and he knew he had just bared his
jugular -- so to speak. But she only raised one sculptured eyebrow and
regarded him with a bemused expression.

"Pull a Mulder on you?"

"Yeah. You of all people should know what I'm talking about. I saw you
trying to rein him in the last few days -- won't eat, won't sleep. All
his resources focused on finding Grey at the expense of his own health.
Is this starting to ring a bell, Agent Scully?" He deliberately accented
his use of her title, pinning her eyes with his own.

Scully flushed. "Sir, he's so sick. If something were to happen and..."

Skinner held up a quelling hand. "Scully, he's stable. So far he hasn't
even been aware enough to notice if you're there or not. But if it makes
you feel any better, I'd be happy to sit with him while you grab a
little nap."

Her eyes filled before she could stop it. Scully ducked her head and
began scooping up the paperwork, blinking furiously. "I... I don't know
what to say," she replied unsteadily. "I appreciate the gesture, but I
know it's been a long day for you too, and..."

"You're forgetting that I actually slept last night," Skinner reminded
her gently. "Do we have a deal?"

Scully's lips curved. "I didn't think I had a choice."

"I like to preserve the illusion," Skinner said dryly.

Scully actually chuckled at that. She finished stacking the reports in a
neat pile and returned a small rack of test tubes to the refrigerator.
Skinner handed her the papers, hesitating a moment before speaking.

"Any insights?"

She sighed heavily as she followed him out the door and they walked
slowly down the deserted hallway. "Nothing of any consequence. I've been
comparing Mulder's data with that of Dr. Sacks."

"Sacks -- the NASA scientist infected by the rock?"

"That's the one. Unfortunately most of the data on his illness
disappeared at the time of his death. What I do have is sketchy at
best." Scully reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her
ear. "From what I can tell, the mass on the Mulder's pineal body is
virtually the same as Sacks's. I just can't account for its presence."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we know when Dr. Sacks was infected, and how. But
Mulder..." She removed her glasses and slipped them into her pocket,
then rubbed the indentations on the bridge of her nose. "I keep wracking
my brain, trying to come up with a time when Mulder could have
unwittingly come in contact with the oil. Nothing fits. It just doesn't
make any sense."

"You said in your report that Sacks appeared to have immediately lapsed
into a coma upon exposure," Skinner pointed out, frowning. "But we know
that's not true of Mulder. Hell, we were standing right there when he
collapsed! And what, if anything does this have to do with the
pneumonia?"

Scully bit her lip. "The pneumonia is just a side effect of his
depressed immune system. And it's my guess that the growth is somehow
responsible. If that's true..."

Skinner looked at her sharply, then gazed quickly away when he realized
she was struggling for composure.

"If that's true," she continued quietly, "then Mulder isn't going to get
any better until we can remove the growth. And as of right now, I only
know one way to achieve that."

When she didn't go on, Skinner pulled her up short with a hand on her
arm. He gazed searchingly into her face, alarmed by what it revealed.

"Scully? What?"

Scully opened her mouth, then turned sharply and continued walking. She
spoke a single word, tossed hurriedly behind her like an object that was
too repulsive to retain possession.

"Death."


Continued in part 13

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (13 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


GUMC
Wednesday
7:52 a.m.


Skinner stripped off gloves, mask, and gown, wadding them up in a ball
before shoving them into the trash can. As he left the anteroom,
Scully's voice cut through the cotton in his sleep-deprived brain. Not
yelling -- Scully rarely raised her voice -- but ferocious in intensity.

"I'm telling you that you don't understand what you're dealing with! You
can't."

Dr. Brewer's voice, tight with control. "And you do? Because if you have
some information that you haven't shared with me, Dr. Scully, I need to
hear it right now. I don't have to tell you how precarious your
partner's situation is at the moment."

Skinner turned the corner and nearly ran over Grey, leaning against the
wall and glancing uneasily between Brewer and Scully. He showed his
teeth in an expression intended to pass for a smile.

"Hey, Walt. Join the party."

Skinner raised both eyebrows, while Scully and Brewer visibly took a
step back from their anger.

Scully pursed her lips and glanced down at her navy pumps. "I know
you're doing the best you can with what you know," she said grudgingly.
"I'll admit I don't have any answers myself. The only man I'm aware of
that presented with a similar growth never regained consciousness."

Brewer's eyes narrowed. "He died?"

"Under...questionable circumstances," Scully replied. "We were unable to
determine the cause of death."

Brewer threw up his hands and glanced beseechingly at the ceiling. "God
save me from FBI agents -- as patients *or* next of kin," he added
ruefully. Before Scully could take offense, he shook his head. "Look,
I'm just a doctor. The mystery and intrigue in my life exist on a much
more physical and mundane level. The fact of the matter remains that
Mulder's white count has gradually declined over the last twenty-four
hours. I may not know what that growth is, but it's obviously destroying
his immune system one little piece at a time, and if we wait much longer
he'll be too weak to withstand treatment. I've consulted with our head
of oncology, and I don't make this recommendation lightly. I honestly
see no alternative."

Skinner frowned. "Recommendation?"

Scully closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples.
"Chemotherapy." She looked at Brewer, her earlier fire quenched. "We've
placed him in isolation and pinpointed the exact strain of pneumonia,"
she said pleadingly. "Can't we give him some time, a few days for the
new antibiotic to kick in? If he can throw off the infection..."

"Dr. Scully... Dana," Brewer said, his tone that of a man calming a
skittish colt. "You and I both know he's incapable of fighting off this
infection. His immune system is practically non-functional. The growth
is inoperable, and even if it weren't, surgery would be out of the
question in his condition. The chemo is his only chance."

Skinner watched as Scully's entire body communicated her acquiescence,
from the curve of her shoulders to a single bob of her head. His breath
caught in his throat and from the corner of his eye he observed Grey
turn to press his forehead and both hands against the wall.

Brewer sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it in a very
undoctorly sigh. "I'll speak to Ramona Simons, our oncologist. She'll
stop by to see Mulder later this morning. Would you like me to discuss
this with him?"

Scully's reply was very soft. "No. I'll take care of it."

Brewer gave her arm a brief squeeze and nodded to Skinner and Grey
before heading toward the elevators.

They remained like a collection of oddly placed statues -- Grey still
pressed against the wall, Scully, head bowed and arms folded, and
Skinner, both hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Grey turned his head
to regard Skinner.

"How is he?"

Scully's head shot up and he could feel her hanging on his response.
Skinner sifted through images of the long, sleepless night, not wishing
to hide the truth but unwilling to further wound her fragile spirit.

"He's in and out," he said gravely. "His temperature spiked a couple of
hours after you left, but they knocked it back down and since they hung
the new antibiotic it's remained steady. He was delirious during that
time, but he's been lucid otherwise. He just..." Skinner broke off,
wishing he'd stopped while ahead.

"Just what?"

He grit his teeth. "He sleeps a lot. He's had a pretty bad headache and
they're giving him a painkiller. But I don't think it really makes much
difference. He's very weak, and even a few minutes of conversation wears
him out."

Scully accepted his assessment stoically, though he couldn't help
feeling he'd just multiplied her pain. She straightened her slumped
posture and smoothed her jacket, assuming a more serene expression.

"I appreciate you staying with him, sir. I'm sure you're more than ready
to catch up on your sleep. Grey and I can take over now."

Skinner lips formed a denial, but when a yawn nearly escaped in its
place he was forced to concede the truth of her words. "I'll be back
later this afternoon, after you've seen the oncologist," he promised.

Scully nodded listlessly. "Thank you."

Skinner watched her turn the corner, Grey's hand cupping her elbow. The
resignation in her step alarmed him, as uncharacteristic as Mulder's
complete lack of energy. Events were spiraling rapidly out of control,
gaining momentum as they were pulled farther and farther from the
center. He had the uneasy feeling he could glimpse the inevitable
destination, and it was a very dark place.


Room 326
Wednesday
8:47 a.m.


Awakening occurred piecemeal, scattered and seemingly disjointed parts
integrating and fusing to form the whole. Sound -- the soft rumbling of
voices, the steady blip of machinery, and the rough susurration of his
own respiration. Smell -- alcohol, disinfectants, and pure oxygen. Touch
-- the slightly scratchy texture of chemically laundered sheets, the
annoying pinch of the nasal cannula, and the relentless ache that
reverberated through his skull. Taste -- the arid, sour sensation in his
mouth that signaled fever and painkillers. The last puzzle piece, sight,
came in the guise of two blue eyes rimmed with smile lines and
weariness, peering at him from above a paper mask. Mulder blinked, his
eyelids still heavy and sticky with sleep.

"Good morning, sunshine," Scully said, pleasure communicated in the lilt
of her voice. 

Mulder licked his lips, tongue attempting to soothe the parched flesh.
"Hate that mask," he grumbled. "Suppose a good morning kiss is out of
the question."

The laugh lines around her eyes deepened. "Always the crackerjack
investigator, Mulder. Nothing gets past you." She saw him eyeing the cup
of water and brought the straw to his lips.

Mulder tilted his head to capture the plastic tube, wincing when the
motion doubled his vision and the pressure in his skull. Scully didn't
comment, merely stroked the sweaty hair back from his forehead while he
drank and removed the cup when empty. Only when he was once again
reclining more comfortably against the stack of pillows did she venture
to comment. 

"I noticed on your chart that it's been four hours since your last shot.
Do you want me to get the nurse?"

If he hadn't been feeling so lousy, Mulder might have grinned. They'd
learned, he and Scully, how to phrase questions in order to glean
productive answers. Queries that could be answered by the phrase "I'm
fine" were strictly avoided.

"Not yet," he replied, studying what little he could see of her face.
"We obviously need to talk, and it leaves me too fuzzy." 

For the first time he noticed Grey standing near the foot of the bed,
fidgeting with the paper gown and latex gloves. "Nice look," he said,
the corners of his mouth turning up. "Not everyone can pull off tyvek
and latex, but somehow you've managed."

Grey scratched his nose with his middle finger, provoking a chuckle, and
then an extended bout of coughing. When Mulder finally leaned back,
breath whistling noisily in his chest, he captured Scully's eyes with a
demanding glare.

"I want you to be straight with me, Scully. This is more than just a bad
case of pneumonia -- isn't it? I can feel it in my body, and I can see
it in your eyes."

Scully sat down on the edge of the mattress and laced her fingers with
his, wishing she could feel the silk of his skin. "You're right, Mulder,
and you're wrong. You are suffering from pneumonia, but not any of the
strains we might have expected. You have pneumocystosis, which is caused
by an organism that occurs naturally in the lungs and isn't a pathogen
in a healthy person. In the case of a severely depressed, immune system
-- such as premature infants and cancer or AIDS patients -- it becomes
opportunistic and causes infection." She paused, hating the clinical
tone her voice took on as a defense mechanism.

Mulder frowned, nibbling on his lip as he processed her words, then his
eyes widened. "Scully, I couldn't... I mean, you're not saying that
I...I have AIDS?" The question, almost belligerent at its inception,
ended in barely a whisper.

Scully squeezed his hand tightly and hastened to reassure him. "Mulder,
no! No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you that impression. They ran a
routine test when you were admitted and it came up negative."

He visibly wilted, the relief palpable. "But... Then what *are* you
saying, Scully? If my immune system is so out of whack, what's causing
it?"

Scully forced herself to meet his gaze, to keep her voice steady, to
hold back her tears -- in short, to avoid every instinctual response to
his question. "Mulder, we found something during your CAT scan. A...a
growth in your brain. But not just any growth, this is located on your
pineal body. We've seen this before, Mulder."

Mulder's confusion melted into understanding, and then fear. "The NASA
scientist? The rock?"

Scully nodded. "It's a...a nest of those black worms, Mulder, just like
Dr. Sacks. But it doesn't make any sense! Dr. Sacks drilled into the
rock, unwittingly exposing himself to the black oil. But you... Mulder,
I've wracked my brain and I just can't come up with a plausible
explanation for how those things could have gotten into your body!
You've never..."

Mulder shuddered, pulling back from her as if burned. His breathing
quickened to short, harsh puffs for air and his eyes turned so dark they
appeared black.

"Mulder? Mulder, calm down. What is it?"

A nurse burst into the room, mask askew and eyes flitting from Mulder to
Scully and Grey. "Is everything okay in here? Mr. Mulder's monitor just
went a little crazy."

Mulder held up a pacifying hand, slowing his breathing with what
appeared to be superhuman effort. "I'm all right, I'm all right. I
just...  Something startled me. I'm fine now."

She pinned him with a suspicious gaze, but the undeniable drop in bleeps
from the heart monitor must have reassured her. "Take it easy then, Mr.
Mulder, or I'll have to ask your visitors to leave. You can't afford
stress right now."

Scully looked ready to spit nails at the nurse's insinuation, but Mulder
hastily cut her off. "I promise. It won't happen again."

The door hadn't even swung shut before Grey beat Scully to the punch,
planting a hand on either side of Mulder's feet and leaning over him
like a cat ready to pounce. "You know, don't you? You *did* come in
contact with this black oil that Dana told me about."

Mulder stared at him blankly for a moment, then turned stricken eyes to
Scully. "I told you about my time in Tunguska, Scully. About the gulag,
the beatings, and the roaches. About Krycek's betrayal and my escape. I
even told you about the prisoners used as test subjects, injected with
the experimental vaccine and then deliberately exposed to the oil. I
just left out one detail." He sucked in a small gulp of air and fumbled
to regain her hand. "I was one of those test subjects."

Scully flinched, evading his searching fingers and slipping off the bed.
She walked woodenly over to the window and stared into the bright
sunshine, keeping her back carefully turned toward Mulder and Grey.
Mulder gazed miserably at the rebuffed extremity, then her stiff,
distant posture.

"Scully? Say something."

Her words were ice-cold, smooth, and colorless. "What do you want me to
say, Mulder? That I'm okay with this? That I'm not hurt by your little
secret? By the fact that you've lied to me for the past three years?"

Mulder's soft plea sharpened. "I didn't lie."

Scully whirled to face him, her fury clearly evident. "You *did* lie,
Mulder! A lie of omission that you perpetuated every time we discussed
the black oil. All your talk about trust is really just lip service,
isn't it? When it gets personal, you don't trust anyone. Never have, and
never will."

"How can *you* presume to lecture *me*, Scully?" Mulder growled, pushing
himself upright and shrugging off Grey's restraining arm. "How many
nosebleeds did you hide with a quick trip to the bathroom? How many
sleepless nights with another cup of coffee and a little more makeup? I
kept this from you for all the same reasons you hid your cancer from me.
I couldn't bear to see my pain reflected in your face. And I couldn't
bring myself to admit it was real."

He folded back into the bed, absently rubbing his left arm and
struggling to adjust the pillows. Scully remained frozen until Grey made
a move to help, waving him off and gently guiding Mulder to a more
comfortable position.

"Things are different between us now, Scully," Mulder sighed, voice thin
with fatigue and thick with regret. "I knew I should tell you, but..."

Scully lay her finger across his lips, frustrated again by the latex
barrier. "I know. You don't need my anger now, and I'm sorry for that.
I... I didn't expect this, Mulder. But it makes a terrible sort of
sense. That vaccine was still experimental. It imparted a resistance to
the black oil, but perhaps that resistance is temporary. No doubt the
experiment appeared to be a success, until now."

 A harsh gasp and a thud wrenched their focus from each other to Grey.
He stood pressed against the wall, eyes shut and brow contracted.

"Grey?" Mulder asked, alarmed. "What's the matter?"

Scully stood, her plan to go to him sidetracked when Grey's eyes flew
open and he motioned frantically for silence.

"Quiet! Let me think, let me think!"

Scully and Mulder exchanged baffled looks, unnerved by his odd behavior.
Grey continued to ignore them completely, focusing inward and muttering
to himself.

"The experiment appeared to be successful. The experiment appeared to be
successful. Who said that? Somebody said that. Think, Grey, think!" He
wove his fingers into his hair, tugging on it. 

"And they call me Spooky," Mulder mumbled, shaking his head. "Looks like
it's genetic."

At his words Grey went very still, his frenetic movements ceasing
abruptly. He slowly turned his eyes on Mulder, mouth dropping open in
shock. 

"Oh, my God," he whispered raggedly. "I remember. I remember
everything."


Continued in part 14

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (14 of 20) 
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Room 326 
Wednesday 
9:43 a.m.


"That's about it," Grey concluded quietly. "The things they did to me,
the tests they ran, remain a blur. I know they drugged me with something
each time, and I can remember pain..." He shuddered, an involuntary
twitch of muscles. "But the conversation with Krycek is crystal clear.
It didn't make sense at the time, but now..."

Scully searched Mulder's face, his eyes flat, mouth compressed to a thin
line. He let his eyelids slip closed to shutter himself from her
compassionate gaze.

"Yet another piece of my father's legacy," he said bitterly. "It's the
gift that keeps on giving."

"He did try to shield your family from this," Scully pointed out,
looking at Grey. "We just have no way of knowing if he succeeded."

"If they... If I do have this genetic factor like Fox, could it save
him?" Grey asked, hope sparking in his eyes.

"We don't know what this alleged genetic factor looks like, or its
location," she said. "Add to that the very real possibility that you
don't possess it, and the chances of success are very slim." She sucked
in her bottom lip, fingers smoothing the wrinkles from Mulder's sheet.
"I actually sent a sample of my own blood for analysis, hoping the lab
could isolate antibodies from when I was infected with the virus. So far
they've come up empty."

Mulder's expression softened. "I appreciate the effort. But how do we
even know this is the same? Sacks became comatose, my immune system is
being destroyed, and you were apparently designated to serve as a human
incubator. Those are three very different reactions. How does it all fit
together?"

"I'm not certain, but I have some ideas. Sacks could very well have been
on his way to gestating one of the creatures you saw, we never had the
time to determine the complete effects of the growth." She wrinkled her
nose. "If you remember, I dropped into a comatose state myself."

"Remember? I still have nightmares about it," Mulder muttered. "But *I*
am not in a coma."

"Perhaps due to this resistance that Krycek spoke of," Scully countered.
"It could be weakened, but still partially functional."

"Why would the growth destroy my immune system?"

"Think about it, Mulder. What's the body's natural response to an
invader?"

Mulder grimaced. "You mean the virus knocks out the host's immune system
so that the organism can gestate."

"Exactly. But in your case the organism stalled -- from vestiges of the
Russian vaccine, genetic resistance, or some combination of the two."
Scully shook her head. "I just wish I understood what triggered the
relapse. Why now?"

"Krycek said they were 'monitoring their investment,'" Grey said. "That
would imply that even the creators don't completely understand what
they've created."

Mulder seemed to sink more deeply into the pillows, face pale and drawn.
Seeing his brother's pained expression, Grey immediately regretted his
choice of words.

"Fox, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Don't apologize for the truth," Mulder replied wearily. "Isn't that
what I am? They've manipulated me my entire life, and now I find they
engineered my conception. I can almost appreciate the humor in some
unknown factor screwing up their little genetics experiment. Ole Smokey
must be royally pissed."

He coughed, then winced, pressing his knuckles hard against his
forehead. "So what's next, Scully?" he asked, the words beginning to
slur and his eyes drooping. "I can feel that I'm not getting better.
Brewer must have some plan of attack. Is it time for that lobotomy
you're always threatening?"

Scully couldn't muster a smile. "The growth is inoperable, Mulder.
Brewer wants to try chemotherapy."

Mulder's face betrayed nothing. "When?"

"As soon as possible. The oncologist will stop by today to talk with
us."

Mulder swallowed thickly. "Do you trust him?"

"Brewer?" At Mulder's nod Scully continued. "Yes. I like him, Mulder,
but I must admit your overdeveloped sense of paranoia has rubbed off on
me. I called the Gunmen yesterday and had them check him out. He came up
clean."

"Wanted to know what you were feeling, Scully. Guess now I'll find out
first hand," Mulder mumbled, shifting restlessly in search of a
comfortable position.

Scully's heart twisted at the mention of her cancer. "I never wanted you
to know, love," she replied, running the pads of her gloved fingers
gently up and down the soft skin on the underside of his arm.

"Headache," Mulder sighed fretfully, but his eyelids fluttered.

"Do you want me to get you something?" Scully asked, but she kept her
voice low and her fingers continued their movement.

"Mmm. 'S aspirin in the bathroom, behind the..."

The words fell off into an unintelligible murmur, then ceased. Scully's
lips turned up even as she blinked back tears. She slipped off the bed
and tucked Mulder's arm beneath the sheet, stroking the spot on his
cheek she could not kiss. When she turned to look for Grey, she was
surprised to find he had left.

Once outside Mulder's room she efficiently stripped off gown and gloves
and stepped into the hallway. Her eyes swept the length of the corridor
without locating him, increasing her bewilderment. A tap on her shoulder
caused her to release the breath she'd unconsciously been holding, a wry
smile on her face.

"I wondered where you... Oh, Elena! Sorry, I thought you were someone
else."

"How's our patient? I just came on shift and I haven't been in to see
him yet." Elena's intent expression attested to genuine concern.

"He's hanging in there. The new antibiotic has kept the fever down, but
his white count keeps dropping." Scully chewed her lip. "Dr. Brewer is
recommending chemotherapy for the tumor."

Elena tugged on the ends of her stethoscope. "How did Mulder take the
news?"

Scully shrugged. "He took it. Mulder has been through a lot in his life.
He's mastered the art of rolling with the punches."

"And how about you? Are you rolling too?"

Scully released a short puff of air. "I'm trying. I nearly died of
cancer a couple of years ago. This brings it all back as if it were
yesterday."

Elena lay a sympathetic hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, this must be very
difficult for you. I guess that also explains why Mr. McKenzie looked so
upset."

"Grey? You saw him?"

Elena raised her eyebrows. "Well, yes. He came out of Mulder's room
about two minutes before you did, looking pretty raw. He wanted to know
if there was someplace he could get some fresh air, so I sent him to the
terrace on the fourth floor."

Scully nodded, giving Elena's hand a quick squeeze before pulling away.
"Thanks. I'd better go check on him. Mulder's out like a light right
now, but he's overdue for pain meds and might not last."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Elena assured her.

Weaving down corridors now bustling with nurses, patients, and
equipment, Scully's body functioned on autopilot while her mind seethed
with conflicting thoughts and emotions. She felt stretched to the
breaking point, caught between the purely emotional desire to remain at
Mulder's side, the intellectual drive to be part of the efforts to find
a cure, and her craving for revenge against the cigarette smoking devil
at the center of this nightmare. At the center of every nightmare.

Scully slowed as she stepped out onto the terrace, belatedly realizing
that her coat still hung on the hooks outside Mulder's room. She
burrowed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, hunching her
shoulders a bit against the chill wind. The solitary figure leaning over
the brick wall reminded her so strongly of Mulder she felt a physical
ache somewhere between her head and her heart.

"Hey," she said quietly, propping her elbows on the concrete and
mirroring his posture.

"Tracked me down, huh, Agent Scully?" Grey said with forced levity.

"I'm sure Mulder's told you that he never ditches me for long," Scully
replied.

Grey feigned a grimace. "Ouch. The infamous ditch. Never thought I'd be
guilty of that."

Scully eyed him appraisingly. "It's your first offense. I suppose I can
let it slide if you come clean with what's bothering you. Aside from the
obvious, of course."

Grey scrubbed his face with his hands. "Dana..."

"It's Kate, isn't it?"

He abruptly dropped his hands and pinned her with a sharp stare. "What?"

"Look, ever since Brewer showed me that CAT scan I've been plagued with
flashbacks of my own cancer, and hearing the word chemotherapy this
morning only made things worse. It's only natural all of this would
remind you of Kate's illness."

Grey flinched and spun so that she was left with a view of his rigid
back, one hand clamped on the wall in a white knuckled grip and the
other fisted at his side. Scully reached out tentatively to lay her hand
on his back, feeling the muscles spasm under her palm. Moving cautiously
around him, her fingers trailing across his shoulders, she was startled
to see his face screwed up in anguish, tears flowing freely down his
cheeks.

Her reaction instinctual, she reached up to cup her hand behind his neck
and tugged. After token resistance, Grey allowed her to draw his head
down to her shoulder, mutely accepting the comfort. Scully rubbed
soothing circles at the nape of his neck, the surreal feeling of holding
Mulder's brother in her arms eclipsed by the shock of his broken sobs.
She abruptly recognized that in all the time she'd known Grey, though
she'd witnessed him on the brink of tears, she'd never actually seen him
cry. That epiphany made his current breakdown all the more significant
-and heart rending.

He recovered swiftly, pulling back from Scully's embrace and swiping the
moisture from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Scully let him go,
allowing him the space to reapply a veneer of calm. They were both
shivering by this point, so she steered Grey back inside and around the
corner to a small waiting area. He watched her settle into one of the
chairs, but chose to pace instead.

"I'm sorry, Dana," he said gruffly. "You've got enough of your own
burdens right now without me going to pieces on you."

"Don't apologize," she replied softly. "I'd hope you would do the same
for me. I don't doubt I'll be losing a few pieces myself over the next
few days."

One corner of Grey's mouth struggled to curve, then gave up. When Scully
silently continued to watch his frenetic movements, he threw himself
into a chair and clasped his hands tightly between his knees.

"I don't think I can do this again."

Scully said nothing, merely gazed at his stricken face with compassion.
The fact that she didn't respond, either by berating or persuading,
seemed to frustrate Grey.

"Did you hear what I said? I don't think I can go through this again,
that I can face what's coming! I love him. God, Dana, you can't imagine
how much I love him, but I don't think I can be there for him this time.
Not the way I want to be. Not the way he needs me to be."

"Because of Kate."

"YES! Don't you see? I look at him in that hospital bed, how weak and
pale and sick he is, and I know it's going to get so much worse. They'll
give him the chemo to make him better, but it will eat him alive until
there's nothing left -- no trace of Fox." Grey's voice cracked. "Instead
of the brother who whips my sorry butt at basketball, writes maudlin
poetry when he's had too many beers, and reverts to a 10-year-old every
time he steps into an arcade, there'll be this...this shell that pukes
its guts out, loses its hair, and can't remember her own name let alone
what happened an hour ago."

Grey slammed his eyes shut against a fresh deluge of tears, jerking when
Scully placed her hand atop his. His use of the feminine pronoun had not
been lost on her, and she fumbled for a response.

"You can do this, Grey, if you do it for the right person."

He yanked his hands from her touch. "What do you mean?"

"You may be looking at Mulder, but you're seeing Kate. Unless you can
accept that it's your brother in that bed and not some reincarnation of
your dead wife, you're better off walking out of this hospital right
now." Scully tempered her tone, removing the edge that had crept into
her voice. "Mulder needs your hope. If you can't give it, I'll
understand, but I sure as hell won't let you give him your defeat."

Grey searched her face, then nodded. "I'm sorry."

Scully stood up, rolling her shoulders to loosen the coiled muscles.
"I'm going back. I want to be there when the oncologist shows up. Are
you coming?"

He ducked his head. "Yeah. You go ahead, I just need a minute."

Scully took two steps, then paused. "Make no mistake about it, Grey. I
don't intend to lose him, not now. He's pulled off more than one miracle
to save me, and I figure I owe him that much. And just for the record? I
don't have to imagine how much. I know."

Grey was still mentally backtracking their conversation, attempting to
pinpoint the trigger for her last statement, when she stepped into the
elevator. Scully slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the floor
indicator, wondering if Mulder was still sleeping, and wishing
desperately for a decent cup of coffee. Her mind thus occupied, she
exited the elevator and rounded the corner, progressing several feet
before the acrid odor of cigarette smoke pulled her up short.

Lifting her head with exaggerated care, Scully looked over her shoulder
to see her version of the devil incarnate standing on the other side of
the hallway. When she made eye contact he inclined his head, pulling out
a pack of Morleys and tapping it to extract one.

"Agent Scully."

If she had been a cartoon character, Scully's face would have turned
fire engine red while twin jets of steam erupted from her ears. Instead,
every muscle in her body tightened like a bow string and she grit her
teeth so hard her jaw ached. Dodging an orderly pushing an empty gurney,
she stalked across the open space and boldly removed the cigarette from
his nicotine stained fingers.

"Smoking is prohibited in this area," she hissed, breaking the stick in
half and stuffing it into his pocket.  "Why don't you find someplace
else to indulge in your nasty little habit?"

Ever unflappable, he smiled serenely. "Really, Agent Scully, I should
think you'd be happy to see me. After all, I just may have the answers
you're seeking."

"You don't have anything I want or need, you bastard! Grey remembered!"

She felt a sliver of satisfaction when the reptilian eyes betrayed their
owner for an instant, revealing surprise and chagrin. Hooded once more,
they regarded Scully with cool appreciation as CSM calmly removed
another cigarette from the pack.

"Then you must realize the gravity of Agent Mulder's situation and
appreciate the assistance I can provide."

"He's had more than enough assistance from you," Scully growled. "You've
misled and betrayed him at every opportunity. Do you honestly think I
could ever trust you for a cure? There is no truth in you!"

Cancerman deliberately paused to light the cigarette and suck in a long
draught. He expelled the smoke and pursed his lips.

"You misunderstand me. I only claim to have the answers, not the cure.
Don't underestimate your own importance in the grand scheme of things.
The truth, Agent Scully, lies within *you*."


Continued in part 15