Blood Ties Chapter 5
(Blood Ties Series)
by Dawn





GUMC
Wednesday
10:28 a.m.


"What exactly are you trying to say?" Scully demanded.

Spender's reply was cut short as a hand wrapped around his lapel and
slammed him up against the wall with an audible thump.

"How about we try a little role reversal, you son of a bitch," Grey
snarled, thrusting his face into Spender's and pressing his gun under
the man's chin. "How's the view from that side of the barrel?"

"I've already played this game with your brother," Spender said calmly.
"We both know you aren't going to shoot, so you might as well take your
hands off me."

The metallic snick of Grey's finger cocking the gun removed the
complacency from CSM's face and added a wolfish grin to Grey's.

"How sure are you about that?"

"Grey. Back off." Scully's steely command pierced the red haze of anger
and Grey reluctantly relaxed his grip and retreated, his finger still
loosely curled around the trigger. Scully nodded reassuringly to several
wide-eyed nurses, then turned her cool gaze back on Spender.

"Answer the question."

"I believe you already know the answer," he replied, taking another puff
of the cigarette he'd miraculously retained during the scuffle with
Grey. "You've had your people working on a sample of your own blood,
have you not?"

Scully pressed her lips so tightly together they appeared bloodless.
"How did you know that?"

Spender flicked his hand impatiently at her as if dispelling a
particularly bothersome insect. "Must you persist in pursuing the wrong
answers? I know it the same way I know everything about you and Mulder.
I'd venture to say I knew about the evolution in your relationship
before you did." 

Scully clenched her fists, the nails leaving bloody crescents inscribed
in her palm. "Get to the point."

"The point, Agent Scully, is that *you* are the only one who can save
Mulder. Without a serum made from the antibodies found in your blood,
Mulder's health will continue to decline at an increasing rate."

Scully folder her arms. "The chemotherapy..."

"The chemotherapy will kill him. You cannot allow it!" Spender snapped.
He quickly masked his agitation with another puff of smoke. "Exposure to
a toxic chemical damaged his genetic immunity and triggered his illness.
There's no telling what harm a similar exposure might cause."

"What toxic chemicals?" Grey demanded skeptically, but Scully paled.

"The mushroom," she murmured. "The trouble began right after we came in
contact with that goo. Mulder had barely recovered from the injuries
Cole inflicted when we took that crazy case. We wound up in quarantine,
and Mulder got sick right after that. It was just the flu, but..."

"We've yet to determine just how the chemicals impaired
Mulder's resistance to the virus," Spender said. "At present, that
knowledge is subordinate to restoring his health."

"What would *you* care about Fox's health?" Grey sneered.

"I think I already answered that question," Cancerman replied calmly.
"We have 38 years invested in this project."

In the blink of an eye Grey had him slammed up against the wall again.
"That *project* is my brother."

Spender brushed off the offending hands. "Obviously," he said dryly.

Scully nudged Grey aside, glaring at Spender. "Are you saying you know
how to formulate the serum?"

"We possess the knowledge and the equipment." Spender's lip curled. "All
we lack are the raw materials."

Scully stared at him, her mind working furiously. "So if I give you a
blood sample..."

Spender shook his head, a deceptively benign smile still on his face.
"Oh no, Agent Scully. A single sample of blood would never be enough. We
could require additional blood or tissue samples at a moment's notice,
and time is of the essence."

Scully's face drained of animation. "What are you saying?"

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it into the pristine tile, leaving
an ugly streak of ash. "Once again, I think you know the answer."

Scully struggled to convey outrage, to utter her words with revulsion
and contempt. What emerged, however, was tremulous disbelief.

"You expect me to just go with you, to willingly place myself into your
hands and at your mercy? How do I know you won't seize the opportunity
to do other tests?"

Spender looked at her steadily, with pity. "The very nature of a bargain
dictates that both parties must obtain something of value. Surely you
didn't think I'd extend this offer out of some misguided affection for
Mulder?"

"NO!" Grey snapped. "Dana, you can't!" He turned to Spender. "Let me."

Spender silenced Scully's protest. "Even if I hadn't already obtained
what I needed from you, it wouldn't be an option. Evidently Bill's ploy
to shield you from the project was successful. You don't possess the
required genotype."

He capitalized on the impact of the revelation, moving past both Grey
and Scully while they scrambled to process the news. Several paces down
the hallway he paused, glancing casually over his shoulder.

"You have until this afternoon to think it over, Agent Scully. I'll be
in touch."

Scully arrested Grey's pursuit with an iron grip on his sleeve. "Where
do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to tail him, find out exactly where he's going and what he's
up to," Grey snapped impatiently.

"No."

Both eyebrows disappeared in his hair and he tilted his head forward.
"What?"

"I said, NO. You've nothing to gain at this point and everything to
lose. I can't waste energy worrying whether you've rushed headlong into
trouble." Scully released his sleeve and resumed walking toward Mulder's
room, doing an amazing impression of a woman who had not just been
offered a pact with the devil.

Grey stared after her, his mouth agape, before jogging to catch up. "You
can't possibly be considering this! Do you think I haven't been paying
attention? That man is responsible for your abduction, your cancer..."

"And quite possibly my cure," Scully said stiffly.

"He has *no* conscience, Dana! His only objective is to further his own
agenda! Do you honestly think he's just going to hand you a magic cure
for Fox? Are you actually that nave?"

"No. Just that desperate."

The quiet suffering in her tone constricted his throat, but Grey refused
to give in. Darting in front of her to block her path, he planted his
hands on his hips and groped for something, anything, to make her see
reason.

"You can't deal with the devil. That bastard represents everything
you've sworn to oppose. Do you know what this will do to Fox?"

Scully's expression transformed from resigned to ferocious before the
words left his lips. "He's to know NOTHING of this, do you hear me? If
you breathe one word of what just occurred, you'll find out first hand
how Mulder got that scar on his shoulder! Swear to me, Grey. Promise
that you won't tell him, no matter what happens."

Grey's brow contracted and he stubbornly thrust out his lower lip. "You
presume to make this decision for him," he said. "A decision that
affects him just as deeply as it affects you. You know what he'd say,
Dana. He'd never allow you to risk your life for his."

"MY life. MY choice," Scully said softly, firmly.

"And if that choice results in him living to a ripe old age -- alone?
You were raised Catholic. 'What does a man profit if he gains the whole
world, but loses his soul?' You *are* his soul, Dana. You *know* that."

Scully smiled at the tremor in his voice, laying her hand on his cheek.
"How about 'Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life
for his friend.' Her partner. His brother -- or did I misunderstand your
counteroffer to Spender?"

Tears glistened in Grey's eyes, but he didn't pull away. "No. You
didn't. You're really going to go through with this, aren't you?"

Scully dropped her hand, nodding. "I've been given the rare and
unenviable opportunity to experience this from both sides. I thought I
understood Mulder's pain during my illness, but I only scratched the
surface. For the loved ones, the true horror of the disease is the
helplessness. You've been here before, Grey. You of all people must
understand that I have to do this."

Grey wove his fingers into his hair and tugged in frustration, but
Scully could see he was weakening. "There *must* be another way."

"There isn't. Brewer said that the chemo was Mulder's only option, and
now that's out of the question."

"How do you know that Cancerman isn't lying about the chemo just to get
you to go along with this insane plan?"

"Do you really want to take the chance?" Scully slowly shook her head.
"I've had a bad feeling about the chemo ever since Brewer mentioned it.
I don't trust Spender, but what he said about the chemicals makes
sense."

Grey cocked an eyebrow. "You've had a bad feeling? If only Fox were able
to hear that!"

Scully's tension eased and she managed a slight smile. "And ruin my
reputation as upholder of strict logic?" She sobered. "I need to know
you support me, Grey. I want your word that you won't tell Mulder about
this."

Grey hesitated, then held out both hands, palms up, in a gesture of
defeat. "I promise."

Scully closed her eyes and blew out a long gust of air. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just make sure you come back in one piece, or Fox will
never forgive me."

Grey's tone was light, but Scully recognized the truth in his words. A
small line of determination appeared between her brows. "I will. I
promise."


GUMC
Wednesday
11:26 a.m.

Fortified by a cup of coffee, Scully put on her game face and prepared
to confront Mulder and the oncologist. Grey had appropriated her cell
phone and stepped outside the hospital, to call Kristen and to regain
some equilibrium. Scully buried her own churning emotions deeply beneath
several layers of her legendary reserve. Mulder, sick as he was,
possessed incredibly sensitive radar when it came to something troubling
her. In order to conceal her true reasons for him not undergoing the
chemotherapy, she couldn't allow him to detect her sorrow and fear.

She shook free of her contemplation, attention captured by the buzz of
activity around a room near the nurses' station. The realization that
the room belonged to Mulder caused her stomach to lurch and her
footsteps to quicken.

Scully snatched a gown, peering into Mulder's room through the window.
Brewer and two nurses were clustered around the bed, obliterating Mulder
from view. In her haste, her arm tangled in the sleeve, ripping the
flimsy material and provoking a string of colorful expletives. A strong
hand gripped her elbow and propelled her to the side, struggling until
she recognized Elena's warm brown eyes.

"Dana, take it easy. He's stable," she said, tugging off the mask and
depositing it into the trash can.

"What happened? What do you mean, 'he's stable?'" Scully said, craning
her neck to see into the room. "I've only been gone a little over an
hour!"

"I went to perform his respiratory therapy a little while after I saw
you, and I couldn't wake him," Elena explained.

"Couldn't wake him? Are you sure he wasn't just sleeping soundly? We'd
had a pretty emotional discussion and he was worn out."

"Dana, he was completely unresponsive," Elena said patiently. "It wasn't
hard to figure out why -- he was burning up."

Scully licked her lips, forcing down the panic that tried to rise and
burst open like bubbles from a shaken soda. "The fever is back?"

Elena nodded. "It must have spiked very suddenly, because it had already
reached 104.9 when I took it. Fortunately, Dr. Brewer was nearby and we
got Mulder under a cooling blanket before he could seize on us."

Scully swallowed, her throat emitting a dry click. "Thank God."

Dr. Brewer exited Mulder's room, followed by the two nurses. He pulled
down the mask and reached back to massage tight muscles at the base of
his neck.

"How is he?" Scully asked.

Brewer yanked off the gown and balled it up, revealing a riotous mass of
color that served as his tie. "We've knocked the fever down a degree and
its holding steady. I'm leaving him under the cooling blanket for now.
He's semi- conscious and pretty delusional, but that's no surprise." He
ran his thumb back and forth over his lower lip before speaking. "I'm
calling off the chemo. We can't initiate any kind of offensive action
until we're certain he's stabilized."

Scully's eyes left Brewer's to study the frail figure behind the glass.
"Can I go in?"

"Don't see why not. We'll be keeping a close eye on him. I'll change
antibiotics if I have to, but I'd rather wait until he's had at least
twenty-four hours on this one. I won't pretend this isn't a serious
setback, Dr. Scully, but we'll do what we can for the fever and hope for
an eventual chance with the chemo. I'll stop back in a bit to see how
he's coming along."

Scully picked up a mask and busied herself with fastening it around her
head, unwilling to meet his compassionate gaze. "Thank you. I appreciate
your honesty."

Mulder lay curled on his right side, shivering in spite of the heat that
seared through Scully's glove when her fingers brushed his cheek. Her
touch roused him enough to open glassy eyes.

"Hey," she said softly. "How are you doing?"

"'S cold," he mumbled, trying to burrow further into the mattress.
"Gotta save Scully. Haveta get to the snowcat or we'll freeze."

Scully sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment she was surrounded by a
glittering white expanse, the bite of ice beneath her legs and Mulder's
warmth cradled to her chest. Considering the cooling blanket and his
sterile surroundings, it was little wonder Mulder hallucinated that they
were back in Antarctica.

Scully smoothed a damp lock of hair from his brow. "Mulder, it's Scully.
You're in the hospital, remember?"

"Head hurts an' I'm so cold but I can't stop, can't stop," Mulder
muttered as if she'd never spoken. "Gotta save Scully 'cause it's my
fault, all my fault those bastards took her. Took my beautiful Scully
an' tried to put one of those...those things inside of her. Didn't want
to look, to see that tube down her throat an' green gooey stuff an' what
if that shot didn't work an' it's still inside of her. Whaddo I do then?
Haveta find help soon, haveta get out of here..."

Scully bit her lip, willing back tears as the litany of barely coherent
words continued. "You did get me out of there, love," she soothed,
caressing his cheek. "You saved me and brought me home. I would have
died, but for you."

No wonder Brewer had commented on Mulder's mental state. To others, his
ramblings must sound incredibly bizarre and lacking any tether to
reality. She continued to speak softly, repeating that they were safe
and in a hospital. That he was very sick, but would be better soon. That
she loved him and would take care of him. Mulder quieted at the sound of
her voice and after a little while seemed to come back to himself.

"Scully?" he asked as if seeing her for the first time.

"I'm here, love."

"Dreamed about when they took you away from me," he replied sleepily,
his fingers threading with hers as his eyelids drifted to half-mast.
"Took you away to the big ship and I almost lost you."

"Just a dream, Mulder. I'm right here," Scully replied, her voice thick
with impotent tears. "You sleep now, okay?"

Mulder sighed and allowed his eyes to close, voice barely audible as he
slid into slumber. "Can't let that ever happen again, babe. Couldn't
take it."

Scully laid down her head and wept bitterly.


Continued in part 16

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (16 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Room 326
Wednesday
4:25 p.m.


The antibiotic wasn't working. Mulder's temperature hovered at 104.2
degrees, not rising but not dropping either. He'd barely noticed when
Elena performed his afternoon therapy, only moaning weakly through the
worst discomfort, and despite her best efforts, his breathing had
deteriorated to a laborious rattling. Brewer didn't attempt to disguise
his concern, prescribing a change in antibiotic and swapping the nasal
cannula for a full oxygen mask.

Scully held his hand, soothing him with gentle words and touches when he
became restless and lapsed into delirium. She strove to maintain an
outward appearance of calm as she felt herself inwardly splintering. Her
emotions swung wildly back and forth, as one minute she dreaded the
smoker's call and the next she awaited it with impatience. As Mulder's
condition continued its downward slide, the latter took hold and she
could barely restrain herself from pacing.

Grey lingered at the edges of Mulder's room, deferring to Scully when
Mulder thrashed and cried out in his sleep, watching with haunted eyes.
His difficulty coping with Mulder's sickness both touched and irritated
her. She ached for him, for unavoidable memories of his dying wife. But
his passivity only added to her own burden, and she found herself
fretting over Grey's ability to step into her shoes when she was gone.

Elena opened Mulder's door a crack to pop her head into the room. "Dana?
You have a call.  You can take it at the nurses' station."

She knew it was him. The knowledge thrummed through her entire body and
she could feel every hair stand on end. Suddenly, her fingers fused with
Mulder's and she couldn't seem to make them let go. She stood slowly,
and after an instant's hesitation threw procedure to the wind and yanked
down her mask. The heat from his brow singed her lips, but it was the
sweetness of feeling his skin against her own that brought tears to her
eyes.

"You hang in there, love," she murmured, pressing a second kiss to his
cheek. "I'll be extremely pissed off if I put my neck on the block for
nothing."

Scully pulled away -- a simple manipulation of muscles and bones, but
deep inside she felt a bright agony, as something ripped asunder.
Pausing with one palm pressed to the door she purposefully met Grey's
bleak stare, then quickly pushed through the barrier without looking
back.

Her hands trembled as she rid herself of gown, gloves, and mask and then
walked briskly to the indicated phone.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully. Have you decided to accept my offer?"

Scully's lips twisted. "I think you already know the answer to that
question," she parroted sarcastically.

Dark amusement in puffs of air -- antithesis of a laugh. "Good. Take the
elevator all the way down to the parking garage. Someone will meet you
there."

The line clicked before she could formulate a reply. Scully replaced the
receiver in its cradle and turned, the large bulk looming behind her
wrenching a gasp from her throat before she identified Grey.

"Don't *do* that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she snapped,
eyebrows plunging in annoyance.

Grey stepped back, holding up his hands. "Sorry. Thought you heard me
follow you out. Can I assume that was him?"

Scully nodded, started to elaborate, then thought better of it. "I have
to go," she said, brushing past him to head for the elevators.

Grey caught her arm, arresting her forward motion. "Dana, wait. Just...
just hold on a minute."

Her own nervousness, combined with Grey's interference and being
physically restrained, ignited her anger and she shook off his grip a
little more forcefully than necessary.

"Why? For what purpose? We've said all that needs to be said, Grey. I've
made up my mind, and I have to go. You gave me your word."

Grey paced in a tight circle, rubbing his hands together. "That was
before I watched you kiss my brother goodbye as if you were never going
to see him again."

Scully averted her eyes, unable to refute his observation. "I will *not*
let him go without a fight. Please don't make this any harder than it
already is."

"I don't want... I just..." Grey swore softly under his breath and
grasped her again, this time enfolding her in a tight embrace.

Scully indulged herself, drawing in his warmth and security to dispel
the icy vacuum created by Spender's voice. All too soon, she
disentangled herself from his arms, blinking rapidly.

"Take care of him. He needs to know you're with him, not hiding
somewhere across the room. You have to keep him fighting until I can get
back."

"I will." Voice firm, but rich with emotion.

Scully walked to the elevators and punched the button. She could sense
Grey watching her, his solitary figure imprinted in the periphery of her
vision, but she resolutely stared straight ahead until the doors parted
and allowed her admittance. She stood stiffly in the back of the car,
avoiding eye contact with the elderly couple bickering good-naturedly
and an executive type fiddling with his pager. By the time the car
reached the basement she remained its sole occupant, her footsteps
echoing hollowly as she disembarked.

"Need a lift?"

She froze, not really surprised to recognize the voice. Turning slowly,
she spotted a leather-clad figure lounging against a cement pillar
painted in shadows due to a broken light fixture. As always, Scully was
struck by the dichotomy of the man -- the face of innocence camouflaging
the soul of a killer. She moved closer, allowing the darkness to embrace
her as well.

"I guess this answers the question of who's currently holding your
leash, huh, Krycek?"

If her barb rankled, Krycek didn't show it. "Yeah, well, you know what
they say about appearances," he replied breezily. He shoved himself
upright and stepped into her personal space. "You armed?"

"No. I knew he'd never let me hang on to it, and there's a mountain of
paperwork for a lost weapon. Besides, Mulder loses enough guns for both
of us."

Krychek smirked but his eyes were cold. "You realize I'm going to have
to verify that."

Scully grit her teeth and extended her arms, staring at a crack in the
pillar that resembled a seagull while Krychek frisked her. To his credit
and her relief, he kept the act businesslike. When satisfied, he
inclined his head toward the south end of the garage.

"That way."

Scully strode in the direction indicated, head high, back ramrod
straight, and mouth as dry as week-old bread. She felt vulnerable,
exposed, the back of her neck prickling and her senses hyper-attuned.
The acrid odor of exhaust fumes. The distant screech of rubber on
concrete. The cool, damp air clinging to her like a second skin. And
Krychek, trailing cat-like behind her on assassin's feet.

"Right here."

Scully stopped beside a charcoal panel van, waiting until Krychek
unlocked the sliding door and waved her inside. The blood pounded in her
ears as she crawled into the murky interior, scooting over as Krychek
followed. As she pressed tightly against the cool steel wall, Krychek
shut the door and flicked on the dome light. The interior transformed
into the eerie bright and dark of a haunted house, his face the mask of
a phantom. He fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and extracted a capped
syringe of clear fluid.
Scully's stomach plunged to her toes.

"What's that?" She hated the sound of her own voice, high and reedy with
panic.

"I thought you were a doctor," Krychek replied snidely. "What do you
think? You didn't really expect me to drive there with you enjoying the
scenery, did you?"

"No drugs. Tie me up, blindfold me -- I don't care."

Krycek actually seemed to take pity on her, his poker face softening.
"Scully, this is non-negotiable. He made it very clear to me that I
should take no chances, as well as the repercussions if I screw this up.
Even tied you can get a feel for how far we've driven. You have to be
knocked out, or the deal's off."

Scully worried her lip between her teeth. "Okay. Just...give me a
minute."

She closed her eyes, slowing rapid breathing and centering herself. She
conjured up images of Mulder -- flushed and sweaty after a long run,
face animated and hands gesticulating wildly over a new case, eyes dark
and heavy lidded with desire. Before the warmth in her breast could
cool, she brutally superimposed the memory of just ten minutes earlier
--ashen, thin, and burning with fever. Opening her eyes, she regarded
Krycek calmly and held out her hand.

"Here, let me do it. At least I won't leave a bruise."


Room 326 
Wednesday 
6:33 p.m.


When Grey noticed Skinner hovering at the window, he caught his eyes and
held up one finger. Fox, cycling back and forth between extreme delirium
and quiescence, currently exhibited the latter. Grey wasn't certain
which was worse -- the piteous sight of his brother reenacting traumas
in his dreams, or sleeping so deeply that only his arduous gasps for air
indicated life. He slipped his brother's hand from his and tucked it
under the sheet, then stood and reached both hands high above his head
in an attempt to loosen stiff muscles.

Skinner held the door for him as he stepped out and solemnly watched him
shed the sterile gear before pouncing.

"What's going on? Where's Scully?"

Grey finger combed hair damp and curly with sweat. "Hello to you too,
Walt." When Skinner remained unamused, he sighed. "What makes you think
something is wrong?"

"She isn't at her place, Mulder's or the bureau, and although her car is
in the lot no one here seems to be able to locate her either," he
growled.  "Now, there could be a reasonable enough explanation, except
she isn't answering her cell phone -- a fact I find highly disturbing,
considering the gravity of Mulder's condition. Have you seen her?"

Grey mentally cursed Dana Scully for leaving him hanging in the wind. "I
saw her a couple hours ago. She said she had business to take care of."

"She didn't offer any specifics?"

Grey hedged. "She said it was something she had to handle alone."

His half-truth didn't assuage Skinner's concern. "I don't like it. I
don't like it at all. Scully would never willingly cut herself off from
all communication like this, especially now." He reached for his cell
phone, plunging it back into his pocket after a disapproving glare from
a nurse.  "I've got to find a phone," he said, more to himself than to
Grey. "Maybe the three stooges know where she is."

"Walt. Wait."

Grey's quiet command pulled Skinner up short. Grey folded his arms and
studied the toe of his left shoe, aware that his posture communicated
defensiveness but unable to repress it.

"I know where she is."

Skinner's brows angled downward, the corners of his mouth following
suit. "Then why in the hell did you just let me stand here and spout off
about how worried I am?"

Grey looked up, resolutely absorbing the fury in Skinner's gaze.
"Because you aren't going to like it."

"Talk."

"Cancerman -- Spender -- whatever you want to call that slimy subhuman
lifeform, offered her a deal."

Skinner laughed, a bitter, mirthless, despairing sound. Of all the
diverse reactions for which he'd braced himself, laughter never made it
on the list. Grey's jaw dropped.

Skinner slowly shook his head. "Did you ever have the feeling that our
entire lives are just a single series of events, endlessly repeated?
That we move in some kind of cosmic circle, doomed to wind up right back
where we started?"

Baffled and extremely disconcerted by Skinner's uncharacteristic
behavior, Grey groped for a response. "Walt, I..."

Skinner cut him off. "Am I safe in assuming that this *deal* involves a
cure for Mulder?"

"He told her he can make a serum with the antibodies in her blood."

"And she *believed* him?"

Grey shrugged helplessly. "Did Dana fill you in on what I remembered
earlier today?"

Skinner nodded impatiently, a slight jerk of his head.

"He told her the chemo would kill Fox. Said the run-in they had with
that giant fungus a couple months ago damaged his genetically enhanced
immunity and another exposure to a toxic chemical could finish him off.
Dana said it fit, that it all made sense. And without the chemo... It's
his only chance, Walt."

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "You *condoned* it? Do you have any idea what
they could do to her while they have this golden opportunity that she
handed them on a damn silver platter?"

"YES! And so did she! You think it makes a bit of difference when Fox is
dying on the other side of that door? Do you honestly think I could have
stopped her? I'd have done it myself if they'd given me the chance!"

Grey drew back his fist and swung at the wall, aborting the movement at
the last moment. Instead, his palm caressed the plaster and he tipped
his forehead against the smooth window, shutting his eyes to the view.
Lost in misery, the hand clamped on his shoulder barely registered.

"I was out of line."

Not hesitant or grudging -- a simple statement of fact.

Grey acknowledged the apology by cracking open one eye. "She doesn't
want him to know, Walt. She made me promise not to tell him anything."

Skinner snorted. "Good luck. Once he realizes she's missing..."

The eye slammed shut. "Right now I can hold his hand and he doesn't even
know I'm there."

Skinner gazed through the glass at Mulder's wan face. "I'm sorry, Grey.
Is there anything I can do?"

"Pray," Grey said tonelessly. "The rest is in Dana's hands."


Continued in part 17

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (17 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Location Unknown
Thursday
5:26 p.m.


*Brilliant. Blinding. Piercing. Endless. Relentless. Helpless.*

Scully violently reconnected with her surroundings, lurching upright and
scrambling backward until her spine hit the wall with a painful crack.
She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and rocked, sobbing
brokenly. Her entire body ached with the steady throb of a sore tooth.
But far worse than the physical suffering was the aggregation of chaotic
and extremely disturbing images that lurked at the fringe of her
consciousness.

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder," she chanted softly, wishing she could feel him
pressed behind her, that he could encircle her in the safety and
security of his embrace.

Eventually, though her eyes grew puffy and her mouth parched, her innate
strength of spirit reasserted itself and she began to assess her
situation. A small room, blank, sterile and uninspiring, containing a
bed, chair, sink, and toilet. A medium-sized mirror built into the wall
opposite the bed and a video camera in the corner screamed that even if
not currently under observation, she could be at any given moment. Naked
except for a skimpy hospital gown, Scully spied her clothing folded in a
neat pile on the chair, shoes lined up like soldiers beneath. She
clutched the sheet tightly to her chest as the sensation of complete
vulnerability resurfaced with a vengeance.

Scully closed her eyes, sucked in slow, deep breaths, and concentrated
on slowing the erratic beat of her heart. With the return of her poise,
however, came the uncomfortable awareness that she desperately needed to
relieve herself. She could hardly be called a prude -- many facilities
for pathologists still catered to men, the showers distinctly lacking in
privacy. But while she might forsake strict adherence to modesty in her
everyday professional life, the idea of using the toilet surveillance
left her faintly nauseous.

Oddly enough, the indignity sparked her anger and relegated the numbing
fear to a back corner of her mind. She stoically surrendered to the
necessary bodily function, glaring at the mirror and muttering about
twisted, pathetic voyeurs. She experienced a fleeting impulse to test
the door to determine if it was locked, but quashed it. She might be
treated like a prisoner, and her room certainly possessed all the charm
of a cell, but the bottom line was that she'd willingly placed herself
into their hands for the chance to save Mulder. She wouldn't escape,
even if she could.

Scully returned to the bed, moving carefully to avoid overtaxing her
abused muscles. She paused to longingly consider the pile of clothes,
but the rattle of the doorknob settled her dilemma, and she slid quickly
back under the shelter of the sheet.

Her nose identified the visitor an instant before her eyes. She watched
him silently, coldly as he crossed the room to the chair,
unceremoniously dumped her clothing to the floor and sat down. The
ferocity of her revulsion startled Scully. From the smug, soulless eyes
housed in a craggy face to the careless ease of his posture, she loathed
him with murderous abandon. Yes, murderous, Scully mused uncomfortably.
Though she'd always placed an inestimable value on human life, she could
cheerfully put a bullet in this monster's head without remorse. He'd
reduced her to this. And it only served to fuel her hatred.

A cliched puff of smoke and bland smile. "Agent Scully, I trust you've
found the accommodations to be adequate for your needs."

As if he were putting her up for a long weekend rather than exploiting
her dire need for his own purposes. Scully's lip curled. "A regular home
away from home."

"Good, good. Work is proceeding on the serum as planned. With your
continued cooperation, I'd venture to say that a working solution will
be completed in another twenty-four hours -- forty-eight at the
outside."

Continued cooperation. So they weren't finished with her yet. Scully's
dry tongue vainly attempted to moisten equally arid lips. "Is that the
extent of this little social call? To not so subtly let me know that I'm
not finished playing guinea pig?"

Spender lifted an eyebrow, unperturbed by her venom. "In part. I
actually thought you might like an update on Mulder's condition. Was I
overstepping my bounds?"

Scully ground her teeth, the grating of bone on bone reverberating
through her skull. "How. Is. He?"

"Exercising the Mulder tenacity," Spender replied, a glint of something
that could only be labeled admiration in his eye. "Fever is down enough
that he's coherent, or so I'm told. Of course, that creates a whole new
set of difficulties, doesn't it?"

Scully's eyes narrowed as she tried to reconcile the Smoker's deeds with
the respect evident in his gaze. "Why are you doing this -- really? And
don't give me that bullshit about your investment. You've certainly
tried to kill Mulder in the past -- your hands are red with his father's
blood. He's thrown a monkey wrench in your plans more often than not.
Why not let him die and be rid of him?"

Instead of the supercilious smile, a look of fond reminiscence crossed
his features. "A favor for an old friend?"

"You? You'll have to forgive me when I say I find that impossible to
envision."

Spender looked amused. "Perhaps, but true nonetheless. There was a time
when Bill and Teena welcomed me as an extension of the family. It was
part of my job, you see, to keep an eye on Bill and ensure his
complete...devotion to the Project. He trusted me, with his wife and his
children."

Scully's mouth curved. "But not all of them."

A flare of irritation and then the resurgence of respect. "No. Evidently
not. But I learned early on not to underestimate Bill and Teena. Or
their son. The success of our genetic enhancements became obvious while
Fox was still very young. Pity that Bill could never seem to reconcile
his fatherly pride with the guilt over his capitulation."

Scully reeled back, as if Spender had slapped her face. "You're saying
Mulder's father... He *allowed* the experiment?"

Spender eyed her coolly. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, but even
*I* can't orchestrate an Immaculate Conception, Agent Scully. Bill and
Teena made the decision not to have children. Eventually, with the right
persuasion, he changed his mind."

Spender crushed the cigarette under his heel and rose smoothly to his
feet while Scully still struggled to understand what she'd heard. "I'll
keep you updated on the serum, Agent Scully. Meanwhile, someone will be
in with some food and water. We want you to keep up your strength, after
all."

Incapable of more, Scully stared mutely at the door long after Spender
had left the room. She felt sickened by the revelation that Bill Mulder
knowingly participated in the experimentation on his son - and most
likely his daughter, as well. How could she add this straw to Mulder's
already overburdened back? How could she do otherwise?

Preoccupied by her existing worry over Mulder's failing health coupled
with Spender's disclosure of his father's complicity, more than an hour
and a tasteless meal passed before another of the smoker's statements
clicked into place and stole the breath from her lungs.

*The success of our genetic enhancements became obvious while Fox was
still very young.*

*Enhancements.*

*Plural.*

*My God. What else have they done?*


Room 326 
Thursday 
7:18 p.m.


*He was in a dark place, the darkness so pervasive and complete that he
was unable to catch even a glimpse of his own hand held in front of his
face. Where he was and how he'd come to be there were a complete
mystery, but the gnawing need for food and drink eclipsed his normally
overactive curiosity.*

*"Hello? Is anyone there?"*

*The barren echo of a tomb converted his vocalization into that of a
stranger. He shivered, the sensations of fear and cold breaking thorough
his intense thirst and hunger.*

*"Please, is anyone there? I'm freezing!" he called pitifully.*

*"There's a blanket near your right hand. Help yourself."*

*Scully's voice, warm and familiar, but the location indistinguishable
in the void.*

*"Scully? Scully, where are you?" His teeth clacked together as
involuntary shudders wracked his body in an attempt to warm it.*

*"Put on the blanket, Mulder, or you're going to freeze to death."*

*Comforted by the familiarity of her wry command, he stretched out his
right hand and groped along the frigid surface. Though he fumbled in all
directions his questing fingers came up empty and numb.*

*"It's not here, Scully. Scully, where are you?"*

*"I'm here, Mulder, and so is that blanket. There's a mug of hot soup,
too, if you're interested."*

*At the mention of soup his stomach rumbled fiercely. Mulder flung out
both arms, scrabbling in all directions and even crawling a short
distance on hands and knees. Nothing. Only cold, polished ebony in all
directions. By now his entire body had begun to lose feeling, even his
tears of misery and frustration like ice on his cheeks. What was
happening to him? Where was Scully, and why wouldn't she help him?*

*"I can't find it, Scully! I need your help. I need you," he moaned.*

*"I've been with you the whole time, Mulder. You just have to reach out
and touch me."*

*This time he recognized deep sorrow in Scully's warm tones. In a surge
of desperation he stood and staggered in a circle, arms flailing wildly
but meeting only air. Spent, he dropped to his knees and buried his face
in his hands, weeping brokenly.*

*"I can't," he sobbed. "Ican'tIcan'tIcan't..."*

*A soft click and the subsequent flood of bright light terminated his
mantra, and he slowly raised his tear-filled eyes. Directly in front of
where he knelt, so close he would surely have tripped over them in his
frantic searching, lay a thick warm blanket and a large ceramic mug of
steaming soup. And right beside them sat Scully, her expression
grief-stricken and her cheeks tear-streaked.*

*"It was a test, Mulder. You had it all right in front of you, but you
just wouldn't see it."*

*To his horror, Scully's form wavered and became transparent, seeping
away like fog in brilliant sunshine.*

*"NOOO!" he screamed, clutching ineffectively at her no longer corporeal
form. "Sculleee! I'm sorry! Sculleeee!"*

*The lights winked out and he found himself plunged once more into the
depthless void.*

"Sculleee! Sculleee!"

"Fox, take it easy! It was just a dream."

Grey mimicked the motions he'd seen Dana perform to comfort his brother,
stroking a lock of sweaty hair back from his brow and maintaining a
steady patter of reassuring words. Fox gradually quieted, his twitching
body limp against the mattress. His eyes, dark and sunken, revealed both
pain and lucidity.

"Where's Scully? I need to see her."

Grey stood up and occupied his hands with the task of pouring his
brother some water. How many times had he danced around this question
today? Each query left him feeling guiltier and Fox more frustrated.
Dana had now been absent over twenty-four hours, and the excuse that she
was working on a cure was wearing thin.

He silently offered the water, jockeying the straw into position near
Fox's lips and studiously ignoring the irate gaze directed at him over
the rim of the cup.

"More?" he asked solicitously when the cup ran dry.

"Yeah. More answers," Fox croaked, scrutinizing Grey's every move.

Grey sighed, keeping his face carefully bland. "Fox, I already told you.
Dana is trying to create a serum from the antibodies in her blood."

"Yeah, you told me. But it doesn't explain why she hasn't even called to
see how I am," Fox grumbled, shifting his head irritably on the pillow.

"Did it ever occur to you that she could've called while you were
sleeping?" Grey retorted, skirting the edge of the lie and hoping to
avoid jumping in. So far he'd avoided any out and out falsehoods, the
thought of jeopardizing his brother's trust abhorrent. That tactic,
however, had rapidly become ineffective.

"She did? When?"

Grey could have kissed Dr. Brewer, who burst into the room at exactly
that moment. He moved away from Fox's bed, ostensibly to allow Brewer
access to his patient, his heart pounding and perspiration trickling
down his back.

*Don't tell him anything, huh, Dana? Sure. Fine. Whatever.*

"You're looking a little better, Mulder," Brewer said cheerfully,
flipping through the chart before crinkling his eyes in an
above-the-mask smile. "Seems like that new antibiotic is agreeing with
you."

"Yeah. Now instead of three-quarters dead, I only feel half dead,"
Mulder rasped.

Brewer chuckled appreciatively. "I didn't say you were ready for a
marathon. But I would like to consider picking up where we left off with
the chemo. We could start first thing in the morning if you have a good
night."

"Fine."

"NO!"

The words launched spontaneously, crashing and burning in midair. Mulder
squinted suspiciously at his brother.

"What do you mean -- no? We already discussed this, Scully said..."

"She changed her mind," Grey blurted, flushing under Brewer and Mulder's
puzzled stares. "She told me absolutely no chemo."

Mulder quirked an eyebrow. "She did. And while you two were having this
in depth discussion of my medical status, did she happen to share the
reason for this sudden change of heart?"

Still trying for as much truth as possible, Grey nodded. "She had a
theory about why you got sick. She said she thought the chemicals from
that giant mushroom you two stumbled on might have damaged your
immunity. She's afraid that exposure to chemo, essentially another toxic
chemical, might make you sicker."

His brother's sarcasm faded as he analyzed the concept. Brewer just
gaped at both of them, obviously still stuck on the part about the giant
mushroom. Fox propped himself up on his elbows and nailed Grey with his
eyes.

"You're *sure* about this? Scully said no chemo?"

"I'm positive. She made me promise not to allow it if she wasn't here."

Satisfied, Fox slumped back onto the pillows, coughing weakly. "You
heard him," he said to Brewer. "No chemo."

Brewer shook his head disapprovingly. "You realize what you're saying?
That chemo is your only chance."

Mulder thrust out his lip stubbornly. "Scully will figure something out.
She'll find a way."

Brewer sighed. "Fine. If you change your mind -- again -- let me know.
I'll stop by to see how you're doing in the morning."

Mulder remained silent until his doctor exited the room, then glared at
Grey. "I want to know what's going on. Right now."

Grey swallowed hard, his mind racing.

*Someone please shoot me now and put me out of my misery.*

"What do you mean?" When in doubt, play dumb.

"Dammit, don't do this to me! Scully did *not* just have some sort of
divinely inspired epiphany about that mushroom, and she's not in the lab
working on a serum. There's more that you're not telling me -- something
big -- and I want to know what it is!"

Too much emotion, too much strain on irritated and overtaxed lungs and
airways. The coughing fit was by far the worst Grey had witnessed. His
brother doubled over, clutching his ribs in an attempt to protect them
from the violent spasms, and flecks of blood spattered his gown and the
sheet. Elena raced into the room an instant later, alerted to his
soaring heartrate by the monitor. Grey stood back helplessly while she
replaced the oxygen mask with the nebulizer to deliver the necessary
aerosol medication. By the time she'd cleaned him up with a fresh gown
and bedding, Fox had slipped into a gray state -- neither conscious nor
asleep, but wavering somewhere in between.

Elena gently wiped his face with a cool cloth. "That's it, Mulder,
you're fine now," she said soothingly. "Just rest for a bit."

Turning, she grasped Grey firmly by the arm and steered him over to the
corner farthest from the bed. "What brought *that* on?" she asked
pointedly. "I thought I heard raised voices and then the monitor went
nuts. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that he can't afford to become
agitated right now."

Grey ducked his head, properly chastised. "I'm sorry. He's asking
questions about Dana, and she was adamant that he not find out where she
is right now."

Elena frowned. "Why not? Two days ago I thought I'd never get her to go
home and sleep. Now she's evading him?"

"She's pursuing a cure for this disease," Grey explained, glancing
uneasily over his shoulder and keeping his voice low. "It's very risky
and her life is on the line. She knew he'd eat himself up with worry."

Elena rolled her eyes in exasperation. "And he isn't now? This is none
of my business, Grey, but take my advice. The devil you do know is
always less frightening than the one you don't. He can't weather another
episode like this, he risks permanent respiratory damage." She lay a
gentle hand on his arm. "I'd tell him."

She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her words, just gave his arm a
squeeze and slipped out the door. Grey wandered slowly back to the bed,
rubbing his fingers against the pain that had settled just over his left
eye. Fox slept, looking brittle and wrung out. Rarely moved to tears,
Grey felt the treacherous moisture building behind his eyes for the
second time in as many days. Sinking into the chair, wrapped in the
privacy of the still room, he surrendered.


Continued in part 18

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (18 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Room 326
Friday
7:12 a.m.

When Mulder finally surfaced again, Skinner had replaced Grey, his bulk
dwarfing the institutional plastic chair. He was immersed in a copy of
the Washington Post, unaware that his charge had awakened, so Mulder
took the opportunity to clear the cobwebs from his fuzzed brain. He
tried to reconcile the man currently enduring the discomfort of gown,
gloves, and mask with the hard-nosed A.D. who shot down fifty percent of
his 302s. His relationship with Skinner had shifted and evolved over the
years -- sometimes colleague, sometimes adversary, sometimes friend, but
always respected. That he occupied that chair, rather than his office at
the bureau, only elevated Mulder's already simmering anxiety over
Scully's absence.

He must have unconsciously sighed, because Skinner's eyes snapped up
from the paper to regard him with honest pleasure.

"Mulder. Welcome back to the land of the living."

Mulder forced words past a raw, abraded throat. "You sure about that,
sir?" he whispered.

Skinner just grinned and performed the water ritual. Though swallowing
further aggravated chafed tissues, the cool liquid took the edge off
Mulder's discomfort. Skinner sat back in the chair and regarded him
shrewdly.

"Heard things got a little out of hand last night."

"I notice he's conveniently absent from questioning," Mulder retorted
bitterly, referring to Grey.

"He'd been here nearly twenty-four hours straight, Mulder," Skinner
replied neutrally. "He was ready to keel over with exhaustion. I
insisted he go get some sleep."

Shamed by his selfishness, Mulder averted his eyes. "Sorry. I know he's
been pushing himself too hard, especially after all he's been through. I
just want a straight answer about Scully."

Weak, tired, and feeling miserable, he couldn't quite hide the tremor in
his voice. Skinner clenched his jaw and regarded him cautiously. He knew
about the confrontation that triggered Mulder's coughing spell -- Grey
had brokenly related the entire incident, including the inner conflict
between his loyalty to his brother and his promise to Scully. Skinner
studied Mulder's anguished face and made a decision.

"Mulder, Grey promised Scully that he wouldn't tell you where she's
gone." Skinner quickly held up his hand to still Mulder's protest. "*I*
made no such promise."

Mulder's eyes glittered and his fists clutched the bedclothes. "Tell
me."

"First, you give me your word," Skinner said tersely. "Scully kept this
from you because Scully *knows* you. This is out of your hands now,
Mulder, and beyond your control. You will not attempt to leave the
hospital after I tell you this, in fact, you will not *do* anything. I'm
not about to let you put me in the position of explaining to Scully why
I contributed to your illness. Is that clear?"

Mulder grit his teeth. "It's clear. Where is she?"

"Cancerman offered her a deal. He supplies the equipment and personnel,
Scully supplies the blood, and you get your cure -- provided that she
places herself in his custody."

Mulder sucked in a sharp breath of air, face contorted in a grimace,
head seesawing wildly back and forth in denial. "No," he moaned. "No,
she wouldn't do that, how could she do that?"

"Can you really ask that question? Or have you forgotten the
conversation we had in my office a couple years ago?" Skinner gently
reminded him.

"But you know that bastard can't be trusted!" Mulder growled, breaking
off into several hacking coughs. At Skinner's warning glare he wrestled
his agitation into submission. "There's no telling what he'll do now
that he has her," he muttered, voice cracking. "He won't give Scully
what she wants without exacting a price."

"A price she was willing to pay," Skinner said. "She felt the potential
benefit was worthy of the risk."

Mulder flung his arm over his eyes. "She's crazy."

Skinner lifted an eyebrow. "She loves you."

Mulder didn't move. "Same thing."


Unknown location
Friday 
4:43 p.m.


Scully prowled the room restlessly, unable to smother the constant,
low-level buzz of dread that resonated through her body. She'd awakened
in her room nearly two hours earlier, after spending another
indeterminate segment of time under dissection. This time she'd regained
consciousness rapidly, and everything, from her memory to her level of
pain, was clearer and more intense. She could perfectly picture the
detached brown gaze of the doctor as he recorded her responses to
various excruciating stimuli. Stimuli that, she was frighteningly
certain, emanated directly from the chip embedded in the back of her
neck. Coupled with that realization came another vivid recollection of
paralysis, her limbs restrained and unresponsive, as a hot poker pierced
the tender flesh above the apex of her spine. Scully's hand had flown to
her neck, fingers aggravating blistered skin but locating the tiny
subcutaneous bump. The chip was still there -- or *a* chip, anyway.
Impossible to know if her tormentors had replaced it with a new model.

She'd used the toilet and slurped some water from the sink, barely
granting the invisible eyes a passing thought. A small part of her was
disturbed by the resigned adaptation to her imprisonment, but she was
too weary and uncomfortable to allow it much consideration. She'd been
halfway through consuming a turkey sandwich, discovered on a tray by the
bed, when the first tendrils of unease had wormed their way into
Scully's mind. Her Mulder alarm -- the vague, distressed whisper that
inevitably signaled impending disaster for the man. Alaska. New Mexico.
Bermuda. As illogical, irrational, and un-Scullylike as it might be, the
feeling proved to be eerily accurate time after time.

Scully tried to pass off the sensation at first. Spender had assured her
Mulder had rallied, his condition taking a distinct upswing after she'd
left. But the bread and meat stuck in her throat, settling like wet sand
in her belly, and she left the second half of the sandwich untouched. By
the time the doorknob rattled, signifying company, she'd nearly worked
herself into a frenzy of apprehension. She retained the presence of mind
to retreat to the bed, not climbing in but bracing herself against it.
She expected more smoke and deception, her defenses rattled when the
interloper turned out to be Krycek instead.

"Hey, Scully," he said matter-of-factly, as if he'd just bumped into her
at the deli.

"Krycek," Scully said coldly, the name an insult on her lips. "What are
you doing here? I'd think someone with your talents would be busy.
Surely there's a murder or kidnapping that requires your attention?"

Krycek grinned. "Be nice. I'm here to take you back."

Scully's battered spirit soared at his nonchalant declaration, but she
schooled her features to reveal nothing. "Just like that."

Krycek shrugged. "Don't look at me, I'm just following directions.
Smokey evidently got what he needed from you."

"And what about what *I* need? Where's the serum for Mulder?"

Krycek extracted a leather case from his pocket and snapped it open.
Inside lay a small glass vial of amber fluid and a capped syringe
identical to the one he'd produced in the van.

"The vial is for him, the needle is for you. You know the drill. Get
dressed and we can get this over with."

Scully's eyes caressed the precious liquid as she reached for her
clothing. "How do I know that's the real thing? That I won't get it to
the lab and find it's colored water - - or worse, poison?"

"You don't." Krycek shook his head. "Did you think it was going to come
with a certificate of authenticity and a money-back guarantee? Just put
on the clothes, Scully."

Scully unfolded her slacks, then hesitated, looking pointedly at Krycek.
"Do you mind?"

"Actually, I do." Krycek delivered a leer worthy of Mulder, but showed
her his back. "You know, you're a beautiful woman, Scully. Mulder's a
lucky son of a bitch."

Scully chose not to reply as she hastily pulled, zipped, and buttoned.

"'Course I knew Mulder had it bad for you -- anyone with eyes could have
seen that. I just never thought he'd scrape up the courage to tell you
and end that 'worship from afar' routine."

Scully refused to be baited, holding her tongue. Krycek continued after
a brief pause, unperturbed.

"I've got to admit, when I heard you two were together my first thought
was 'what a waste.' You could do better, Scully."

Scully donned her shoes just as he finished speaking and turned around
with a smirk. She folded her arms and considered him with raised
eyebrow.

"Jealous, Krycek?"

Green eyes smoldered through long dark lashes. "Would you like me to
be?"

Scully's lip curled. "I meant jealous of me. The way I hear it, *you*
actually kissed Mulder before *I* did."

Krycek's face darkened, seducer exchanged for cold-blooded killer. He
negligently chucked the leather case at Scully, who barely snagged a
corner before it could strike the linoleum.

"Do it. Or I will."

*Brilliant, Dana. Question a man's sexual preference right before you
place yourself completely at his mercy.*

Scully removed the syringe and set it aside before tenderly wrapping the
vial in the case and tucking it into the pocket of her blazer. Licking
her lips, she unzipped her pants enough to expose her hip and removed
the plastic cap from the needle. Krycek watched her dispassionately
while she deftly administered the drug, refastened her slacks, and
inched up onto the bed.

The effects hit swiftly, her eyelids gaining fifty pounds and her
thoughts slipping sideways when she tried to focus. Krycek sauntered
slowly over to her side and removed the spent syringe from her weakening
grasp. Scully internally cringed with fear at his proximity, but the
pull of the narcotic negated any physical response. Krycek lifted his
hand and gently tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear,
astonishing the small portion of her brain that could still comprehend
the incongruity of his action. His fingers brushed soothingly against
her forehead until her eyes slid shut, but the words he murmured no
longer carried any meaning.

"You're something else, Scully. Hope Mulder recognizes what he's got."


GUMC 
Friday 
8:12 p.m.


"...suffering from an undetermined narcotic, some form of depressant."

Fingers tugging at her right eyelid, then blinding white light shot
straight through her skull. Scully moaned, reflexively jerking her head
to the left but the same procedure was relentlessly repeated on her
other eye.

"Pupils equal and responsive. She's coming around. She doesn't seem to
have incurred any physical trauma." A nurse's voice, brisk and
efficient.

"Do we have some I.D.?" Another female voice, authoritative. Probably
the doctor.

"Yes. Special Agent Dana Scully. She's with the FBI."

"What's a fed doing parked on a gurney in the ER, stoned?"

Scully wrestled her eyes open, flinching back from the blurred face
scant inches from her own, penlight in hand. It retreated to a more
respectable distance, and Scully squinted to focus her still fuzzy
vision.

"Agent Scully? I'm Doctor Chin, I've been taking care of you. Do you
know where you are?"

The speaker was Asian, a bit older than Scully and very pretty, her
glossy black hair drawn back from her face in a ponytail. Scully
scrambled to marshal her muzzy and disjointed thoughts, eyes scanning
the large room and the small curtained section she currently occupied.

"Um." She cleared her dry throat, grimacing at the nasty taste in her
mouth. "Am I back at Georgetown Medical?"

Dr. Chin's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Back? You were here before?"

Scully floundered to a sitting position and swung her legs over the edge
of the gurney, ignoring the fervent protests from both doctor and nurse.
Her eyes sought the clock on the wall, widening at the time.

"What day is this?" she asked anxiously.

Dr. Chin exchanged a long look with the nurse before answering. "Friday.
November 12. But I'm supposed to ask *you* that question. Agent Scully,
you need to lie down. You're still suffering from the lingering effects
of an unknown narcotic and..."

"My jacket! What happened to the jacket I was wearing? What did you do
with it?" Scully knew she sounded hysterical -- couldn't stop the panic
racing through her veins with every beat of her heart.

"Calm down, Agent Scully, it's right here." The nurse lifted the navy
blazer from a hook on the wall, a bit put out when Scully snatched it
from her grasp.

Scully's hands trembled as she dug her hand into the pocket, weak kneed
with relief when she felt the smooth surface of the small container. Dr.
Chin frowned at the odd display of behavior and tried again, keeping her
voice deliberately patient and conciliatory.

"Dr. Scully. An orderly found you unconscious, lying on a gurney in a
hallway off the emergency room. Despite extensive questioning of the
staff, nobody seems to know how you got there, and you've obviously been
drugged. Now I suggest you lay down and let us finish examining you."

Scully pulled on the blazer and meticulously adjusted the collar, though
she knew in her presently rumpled and misused state it hardly mattered.
Taking a cleansing breath, she donned her professionalism as well,
regarding Dr. Chin calmly.

"Dr. Chin, I appreciate what you're trying to do, as well as what you've
already done, but I'm fine. I'm caught up in a life and death case, and
time is of the essence. Please get the appropriate paperwork for me to
sign so I can leave -- AMA, if that's my only option."

Dr. Chin's jaw dropped, then she threw up both hands in defeat. "Fine.
Never let it be said that I impeded the dispersal of justice. Janet, get
the paperwork for Agent Scully."

Five minutes later Scully exited the elevator to the third floor, tired,
sore, disheveled, but bearing the priceless serum safely in her pocket.
Her pulse sped up and she broke into a jog as she neared Mulder's room,
excitement and apprehension fighting for the upper hand. Snatching a
gown off the rack she darted to the window, hungry for a glimpse of his
face. Instead her eager eyes found an empty bed, stripped of linens and
its inhabitant.

Shock slammed into her -- a runaway freight train that knocked her
completely out of her body, leaving an empty shell. Scully staggered,
nearly went to her knees but for the reflexive clasp of fingers to the
window sill. The desolate, keening wail started somewhere around her
toes and shredded most of her insides on the way out. She ground her
forehead into the cool, unyielding glass, her tears streaking the
surface like bitter raindrops.

"Too late," she whispered, the words' serrated edges severing her heart
from her chest. "I'm sorry, Mulder, so sorry."

She breathed the refrain over and over, like a prayer. But no one heard.


Continued in part 19

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties V: Legacies (19 of 20)
By Dawn

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Intensive Care
Friday
8:47 p.m.


It was all caving in, the substance of his day to day existence
crumbling to rain down around him in large chunks and pieces. And
Skinner could only stand to the side and mutely view the destruction.

Intensive care again, Mulder as white and still as death amidst the
tubes and wires reminding his body to function. Grey, his brother's
pliant hand clasped between his own and pressed against his bowed head.
No masks and gloves, the unspoken meaning clear. Not long now...

Skinner leaned against the wall, something solid and steady among the
chaos. Mulder treading the thin line between life and death, the growth
now exerting more pressure than his fragile brain tissue could
withstand. Scully missing, in the hands of a monster devoid of even the
most basic components of human conscience and emotion. And Grey
gradually imploding, collapsing inward under the weight of his own grief
and helplessness. Not long now...

Brewer's fingers brushing his sleeve startled Skinner from his dark
reverie. Brewer himself looked a shadow of his normally free-spirited
persona, his tie a subdued stripe, rigid shoulders replacing the casual
slouch, and eyes...resigned. Skinner's lungs went on strike, the oxygen
catching and sticking in a suddenly constricted throat.

"Mr. Skinner, this is the last conversation I wanted to have, but..."

"DON'T."

Seeing in Brewer's wide eyes and defensive step backward that he'd
inadvertently used the drill sergeant voice, Skinner sighed. "You don't
have to say it, Dr. Brewer. It's right in front of me. How long?"

Brewer stroked his jaw, fingers rasping on stubble, and Skinner felt
gratified to see honest compassion cloud his face. "Hard to say with any
accuracy." A flash of respect. "He's a fighter. But in spite of our best
efforts the intracranial pressure keeps rising. We'll keep giving him
mannitol for the inflammation, and the dilantin seems to have arrested
the seizures. But these are stopgap measures to manage the symptoms.
Eventually the pressure will rise to an unmanageable level and..."

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. "I understand."

Dr. Brewer turned, then paused. "Dr. Scully?"

"We are currently unable to communicate with Agent Scully," Skinner
replied curtly, thinking what an understatement *that* was.

"I see. Well, if she does contact you..." He faltered, clearly
uncomfortable. "I suggest you tell her to get back here. Soon."

Skinner watched Brewer approach Mulder's bedside, conversing quietly
with Grey as he gently but thoroughly checked his patient. He recognized
the instant Brewer delivered his prognosis -- Grey's body folded, his
forehead dropping to the bedrail and his shoulders shaking. Skinner spun
on his heel, teeth clamped together, fists curled.

"Mr. Skinner?"

The nurse was young, blonde, and generic, and Skinner wished for Elena's
unique and feisty brand of caregiving.

"Yes?"

"There's a call for you, sir. You can take it right here."

He pressed the receiver to his ear, curbing the impulse to jump down
Kim's throat for disturbing him, then catching sight of the hour.

"Skinner."

"Is this Assistant Director Walter Skinner? Of the FBI?"

Impatience provoked his growl. "Yes. Who is this?"

"Sir, my name is Dr. Amy Chin. I'm a physician downstairs in the ER. I'm
calling in regards to one of your agents -- a Dana Scully? I was unable
to reach either her mother or Fox Mulder, both listed as emergency
contacts in her wallet. I spoke to your assistant at home and she gave
me this number. Needless to say, I didn't expect to find you just two
floors up."

Skinner's brain locked onto the name Dana Scully, the rest of the
doctor's speech fading to meaningless drivel.

"Agent Scully is there?" he demanded eagerly.

"No. That is, she *was* here, but signed herself out against medical
advice. I'm calling because Agent Scully left her keys here, and also
out of concern for her present condition."

"What's wrong with her? Was she injured?"

Dr. Chin evidently was accustomed to interrogations by worried friends
and didn't flinch at his tone. "No. But she'd been injected with a very
potent narcotic, and her manner upon waking was...odd."

"In what way?"

"She was quite disoriented at first, but that's to be expected. One of
the reasons I tried to persuade her to stay is that the drug will take
several hours to clear her system. She's apt to be a little confused and
unsteady until then."

"I don't understand -- you just said that's normal. What did you find
disturbing?"

Dr. Chin hesitated before proceeding cautiously, obviously not wishing
to put Scully in an awkward position with her boss. "She became almost
hysterical at one point just because she couldn't locate the blazer
she'd been wearing. Once we returned it to her she regained her
composure -- to the extreme. She insisted that she was in the middle of
an important case and couldn't remain under observation. I'm
uncomfortable with the wild mood swings, and concerned about a possible
undetected head trauma."

Skinner absorbed the doctor's description, his mind working furiously.
Scully's panic over the jacket -- could it have contained Mulder's cure?
It would certainly explain her undue agitation, and the subsequent
reassertion of control. He suddenly registered the pregnant pause as Dr.
Chin awaited his response.

"How long ago did she sign herself out?"

"Only ten minutes -- fifteen at most. But she didn't reveal where she
was going."

"I know where she's going," Skinner replied grimly. "Thank you for your
concern, Dr. Chin. Someone will be by to pick up the keys. I'll take
care of Agent Scully."

He hung up the phone, eyes searching for a nurse and locating Blondie.

"If Mr. McKenzie asks for me, please tell him I had to pick up something
important and I'll be right back," he advised tersely.

The elevator trundled up to the third floor with maddening lack of
urgency. Skinner drummed his fingers against his wool clad leg, staring
at the floor indicator as if he could prod it to move faster by sheer
force of will. He darted into the hallway, headed in the direction of
Mulder's old room, his steps slowing as his eyes zeroed in on the bright
copper of Scully's tangled hair. She stood pressed against the glass
outside the vacant room, hand clutching the window frame to assist
trembling legs in bearing her weight. Even from a distance, Skinner
could hear her heartbroken sobs. A nurse carefully approached, hand
outstretched to offer comfort, but Skinner broke into a trot and waved
her off. Swallowing hard, he let his own hand drift to Scully's
shoulder.

"Scully."

So grief stricken, her defenses completely stripped away, Scully didn't
even attempt to disguise her tears. "It's all for nothing. I'm too late,
and I wasn't even with him when he needed me the most."

Skinner's fingers tightened as he turned her to face him, shaking his
head. "Scully, no."

"It's true!" She wrenched away from his grasp, eyes inexorably drawn
back to the empty bed. "I failed him! What good is this now?"

She scrabbled in her pocket, yanking out a small black case and
wrenching it open. Skinner's eyes widened at the sight of the fragile
glass tube. Scully scooped it into her palm recklessly, brushing away
tears with the back of her hand.

"This is the reason I couldn't touch him, couldn't hold him in my arms
one more time. It hardly seems worth it, does it sir?"

Her fingers clamped roughly over the little vial and her arm twitched.

"Scully, NO!" Skinner lunged for her wrist, terrified that in her
distress she would dash the precious bottle to the floor. "He's alive,
Scully! He's in pretty bad shape, but he's holding on."

Scully's face went slack and she tottered, gripping Skinner's sleeve
when he steadied her. "H...He's alive?" she whispered, the voice of a
little girl afraid to believe. "But the empty room, I thought..."

"He's down in the ICU again. The headache suddenly became excruciating
this afternoon and he began having seizures. Brewer did another CAT scan
-- the mass has nearly doubled in size."

They were walking briskly toward the elevators now, and Skinner
surreptitiously looked Scully over, taking in the rumpled clothing, pale
skin and shadowed eyes. Despite Dr. Chin's fears, however, Scully
appeared to be clear-headed. She caught him looking, and actually
mustered a weary smile.

"I'm fine, sir. Really."

Standing silently in the elevator, he wanted to pump her for
information, to ask exactly how she had been treated and what she'd
endured, but his lips couldn't form the words and Scully's body language
clearly indicated that she didn't want to discuss it. The moment the
doors began to open she squeezed through and flew down the hall, leaving
Skinner scrambling to catch up. When he reached Mulder's cubicle, she
and Grey were locked in a tight embrace. Skinner stuffed his hands into
his pockets and hung back, allowing them the moment.

"We were starting to think you weren't coming," Grey said, releasing her
to swipe at his eyes.

"I'm here. And I have what we were looking for," Scully answered,
bending over to place a kiss on Mulder's lips and running her fingers
through his hair. "Hey, Mulder. Didja miss me?"

The words quavered, unable to hold all the love poured into them. Scully
pressed another kiss to his cheek, murmuring into his ear. "I have it,
Mulder. Don't you let go now, not when we're so close."

"Dr. Brewer said it's unlikely he'll regain consciousness,
Dana," Grey said softly. "They've got him on morphine, not to mention a
heavy dose of something called dilantin."

"It's for the seizures," Scully replied, voice choked with emotion.

Despite Grey's words, Mulder's right hand twitched, followed by a slight
tilt of his head. His breathing sped up and he moaned, a low, tortured
cry. Scully shushed him, gently stroking his brow as his eyelids
fluttered and struggled to rise.

"Shhh. It's okay, love, you don't have to wake up," she crooned. "I'm
here now, and I've got medicine to make you well."

Heedless of her advice, as always, he pried his eyes open to half-mast
and fixed them on her face. "Scully."

She constantly marveled at his ability to say so much by simply uttering
her name. Tonight she heard pain, sorrow, fear, and, most of all,
overwhelming relief. Scully smiled, the complete, unrestricted display
of teeth that she knew he prized, and cupped his chin.

"Hey there. It's about time you welcomed me back."

Mulder's hand fumbled for her sleeve, latching on with a surprisingly
firm grip. "Shouldn'ta done it. All right?"

Her thumb caressed his cheek. "I'm fine, now that I'm here with you."

He tried to lean into her touch, but gasped, his face screwing up into a
grimace. A tear slipped down the side of his face and disappeared into
the pillow. "Make it stop, Sculleee," he groaned. "Make it stop. I
can't..."

A shudder ran the entire length of his body and his eyes rolled back in
his head. Scully sprang up, frightened that he was experiencing another
seizure, but he only slumped limply onto the bed.

"Give it to him now, Dana," Grey pleaded. "He can't take much more of
this."

Scully removed the vial and stared at the golden liquid nervously. "I
was planning on taking it to the lab first, for analysis. I have no idea
what's in here, or what it might do to him."

"He's in unbearable pain, Dana, and he's *going to die*. I don't really
give a damn what's in it at this point, it's the only chance he's got
left!" Grey snarled.

"So you'd rather I risk that he die by my own hand?" Scully snapped.
"Whatever happened to your admonishments about dealing with the devil?
Now you're ready to just trust that Cancerman's upheld his part of the
bargain?"

"We're past that now! We. Have. No. Choice. Brewer said an aneurysm
could drop him at any time, provided the pressure doesn't do it first.
If you don't want the responsibility, give it to me and show me what to
do."

"You don't understand, he could..."

"He's right, Scully."

Skinner surprised them, both caught up in the heat of the argument and
oblivious to his silent presence. He stepped over and placed himself
between them.

"You both care about him and have his best interest at heart. Brawling
like a couple of two-year-olds isn't going to help him."

Scully and Grey looked ruefully at each other, chastised by the truth.

"I'm sorry, Dana," Grey said. "I realize I'm not a doctor. I just can't
stand to see him like this." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't
face losing him."

Scully wove her fingers with his. "I'm sorry too. I'm just scared, Grey.
This is all or nothing."

"Scully, short of the lab telling you it's poison, would it really make
a difference what the analysis turned up?" Skinner asked. "Seems to me
it's going to come down to a leap of faith." He shook his head. "I can't
believe I just said that."

"Must be an X-File," Grey muttered.

All three involuntarily turned to regard the man in the bed. Scully
expelled a shaky puff of air and headed for the nurses' station.

"Where are you going?" Grey called, frowning.

"Preparing to jump," Scully said dryly. "I'll be right back."

Skinner answered Grey's puzzled glance with a shrug, and the two men
waited in silence until Scully returned a moment later, stripping the
plastic covering from a syringe. She popped off the cap and plunged the
sharp tip of the needle into the inverted vial, her hands quivering as
she slowly pulled back on the plunger to fill the barrel. Placing the
empty vial in her pocket, she extracted an antiseptic pad and tossed it
to Grey.

"Wipe down the skin on his neck, right over the carotid artery," she
instructed firmly.

"His neck?" Grey asked doubtfully.

"Just do it."

Grey tore open the pad and was in the process of smoothing it over his
brother's skin when nurse Blondie stuck her head in the cubicle.

"What exactly do you think you're doing? This is Dr. Brewer's patient,
you can't just administer meds without his approval!"

Scully spared her one cool look, then dismissed her. "Actually, *I* am
Mr. Mulder's primary physician. Now back off."

Blondie spluttered angrily. "You aren't listed on the chart. Dr.
Brewer..."

Skinner stepped forward, taking her by the arm and firmly rotating her
toward the nurses' station. "Why don't you just contact Dr. Brewer?
We'll wait right here."

The authoritative A.D. voice worked its usual magic and the disgruntled
nurse retreated, making a beeline for the phone and muttering under her
breath. Scully raised an eyebrow at Skinner before turning back to lean
over Mulder. Some of the alcohol from the prep pad still glistened on
his skin, and she tipped his chin gingerly to the right to better expose
the artery. She placed one hand over his heart and paused, eyes shut and
lips moving silently. It took Skinner a moment to realize she was
praying.

Scully opened her eyes and bit her lip. "I'm not sure what's going to
happen," she confessed. "But here we go."

Skinner watched with equal parts fascination and revulsion as she
inserted the needle into Mulder's neck and slowly depressed the plunger.
When all of the fluid had passed out of the syringe, she extracted it,
replaced the cap, and slipped it back into her pocket.

The whole procedure lasted about ten seconds, but the reaction was
nearly instantaneous. Something black and viscous oozed from beneath
Mulder's closed lids and from his nostrils. Rather than pouring out in a
continuous stream, it wriggled out in segments that squirmed down the
sides of his face as if he were shedding ebony tears. Scully drew in a
harsh breath of air and unconsciously shrank back before reasserting
control and leaning cautiously closer to scrutinize the now motionless
oily residue.

"Don't touch him," she ordered, disappearing into the hall once again
returning this time with a sterile specimen cup and a tongue depressor.
Upper lip wrinkling, she warily used the wooden stick to scrape the oil
into the cup. The surface tension was such that it transferred intact,
leaving no traces on Mulder's skin. Scully sealed the cup and turned to
Skinner.

"Sir, we need this sent to the lab for analysis, and it should be
handled under biocontainment procedures."

"I'll get a courier to pick it up right away," Skinner said grimly. He
collected the cup and left to use the phone, passing an agitated Dr.
Brewer on his way out.

Brewer burst into the cubicle, blinking when he saw Scully, who was once
again seated beside the bed and holding Mulder's hand. His eyes roved
around the area, checking out the equipment and Mulder's motionless
form.

"Welcome back, Dr. Scully," he finally greeted, the smile on his face
failing to hide the reserve in his eyes. "I just got a very strange call
from Brenna Martin, the ICU nurse. She had the impression that you were
injecting Mulder with an unknown substance. Where would she get a
strange idea like that?"

Scully shrugged. "Strange ideas are my job, Dr. Brewer. That's what the
X-Files are all about -- extreme possibilities."

"Scully, I just got very turned on."

The voice was as thin as tissue paper, consonants hopelessly slurred,
but the most beautiful thing Scully had ever heard. Her eyes jumped from
Brewer's face to the twin hazel orbs that peeked through heavy lids.

"'S gone," Mulder mumbled, his attempt to squeeze her hand little more
than the twitch of a few fingers.

Scully's heart hammered wildly. "The pain?" Mulder's eyes started to
drift shut and she insistently brushed her knuckles across his cheek,
her tried and true method of keeping him with her. "Mulder, the pain is
gone?"

Mulder scowled, trying to swat at her with a limb too leaden to move.
"Yeah. 'S all gone. 'M tired, babe, lemme sleep."

Scully stared at him as he slipped peacefully into sleep, his breath
still rattling in his lungs but leveling out to a regular rhythm. She
lifted her eyes to Grey's and saw her own fledgling hope reflected.
Brewer just gazed at them both as if they were about to start gibbering
and drooling any moment.

"Could somebody please bring me up to speed?"

"We need one more CAT scan, Dr. Brewer," Scully said, barely restrained
joy in her voice. "I think the results are going to surprise you."


Concluded in part 20

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

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

(Disclaimer in part 1)


Room 342
Sunday
9:38 a.m.


It felt like a party -- or maybe the first warm, sunny spring day after
a long and bitter winter. Scully's eyes slowly swept the room. Dr.
Brewer, back to his "rebel with a cause" image, sported a Simpsons tie
and listened slack-jawed as Mulder regaled him with the Tooms case.
Skinner, transformed from A.D. to mere mortal by worn jeans and a green
Henley, chuckled softly as Elena described her latest run-in with a
patient from hell. Grey, sitting in a chair, sock feet propped up on the
end of the bed, just...watched his brother with a look on his face that
made Scully's throat tighten and her eyes prickle. And the guest of
honor, still too pale and thin but showered and shaved, looked far
better than any man so fresh from the brink of death had the right to.
In fact, he looked amazing.

Elena must have sensed her thoughts, or at least read her expression,
because she winked at Scully and then turned to Mulder with an impish
grin.

"You know, you clean up pretty nice, Mulder. Who'd a thought?"

Mulder inclined his head. "Thanks. I think."

"Yeah, well, that's nothing," Brewer said. "Your insides look
incredible. We've got the pneumonia on the run, your white count has
already risen significantly, and..." He swung a piercing gaze onto
Scully. "I don't suppose you'd like to share just what you gave him that
managed to completely obliterate a tumor in the space of six hours?"

Scully pursed her lips and looked enigmatic. Mulder had a mild coughing
spell when Brewer folded his arms and muttered, "I know, I know -- must
be an X-File."

When he ceased sputtering, Mulder swallowed some water and looked
shrewdly at Brewer. "How long before I can work?"

Scully, Skinner, and Grey all groaned in perfect unison. Mulder crossed
his arms and stuck out his lower lip, glaring at them. Scully dropped
her head to hide the smile that tugged at her lips.

*Thank God.*

"I take it from their reactions that you tend to push the envelope on
recovery, Mulder," Brewer said dryly. "I have one piece of advice for
you. DON'T. Your body has taken an incredible beating and you're going
to feel like shit off and on for weeks. Don't fight it. You need sleep,
and plenty of it. If I see you back here with a secondary infection,
I'll be pissed."

Mulder made a face. "I don't do sleep very well."

Brewer just grinned. "Trust me -- you will." He dropped Mulder's chart
into the pocket at the end of the bed. "I'll stop by later. If we can
lose the residual fever and clear up your lungs a bit more, you should
be able to go home in a couple of days." He nodded to Scully. "In the
custody of your personal physician, of course."

Elena followed him out, flashing Skinner a smile and touching his arm as
she passed. "Be back in a bit with your meds, Mulder," she called
cheerfully.

Scully recorded the smile, as well as the way Skinner's head rotated on
its axis to watch Elena walk out the door. Mulder, as usual, was
oblivious, but she noticed Grey observing Skinner and smothering a
smirk.

*Hmmm. Extreme possibilities popping up all over the place.*

Skinner turned back, caught them looking, and flushed. Scully was still
trying to wrap her mind around *that* when Grey put Skinner out of his
misery.

"How 'bout it, Walt? Is that offer of a ride still good?"

Skinner appeared comically relieved. "Yeah. I'll pull the car up front
so you don't have to walk -- I'm parked way out." He glanced at Mulder,
eyebrows drawing together. "*Rest*, Mulder. Believe me, you aren't even
touching those files for at least two weeks."

Mulder's pout deepened, then he leaned toward Grey, who was lacing up
his shoes.

"You all right? What's this about not walking?"

Grey waved his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. My back is still a
little sore, no big deal. It's getting better." He reached over to place
his hand on Mulder's wrist. "You know, I never really got to thank you
for getting me out of there, Fox. I hope you know..."

Mulder flipped his wrist and clasped his brother's hand. "I do. And it
was nothing you haven't done for me. I'm just sorry you've been sucked
into that part of my life, I never meant it to happen. It was selfish of
me to ever contact you in the first place."

"Shut up." Grey's tone was affectionate. "You're part of my family, Fox,
and I want you in my life. Cancerman, Krycek, global conspiracies -- the
rest doesn't matter. But you..." He closed his eyes and dropped his
chin. "This one was way too close, little brother. I thought I was going
to lose you."

Mulder sucked in his lower lip, blinking hard. "I know the feeling."

One corner of Grey's mouth turned up and he stood, giving Mulder's hand
a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

"Gotta go. I'm finally going to make things up to Kristen today. Walt's
dropping me off at her place."

"Don't put any unnecessary strain on that sore back," Mulder said,
wriggling both eyebrows.

"That all depends on your definition of unnecessary, doesn't it?" Grey
replied, lifting his arms over his head in a stretch and wincing a
little. He leaned over to give Scully a kiss on the cheek, their eyes
sharing a wealth of joy during the brief connection. "He's all yours,
darlin'. Hope you're up to the challenge."

"Why does everyone act like I'm going to cause trouble?" Mulder whined.

Scully gave him "The Look." "Two words, Mulder. Past experience."

Mulder put on an aggrieved face. "Scully, you wound me." He then emitted
an enormous yawn.

"Get some sleep, G-man," she said, undermining the order by smiling.

Mulder shook his head stubbornly, though his eyes were drowsy. "Uhn uh.
Do you realize this is the first time we've really been alone in over a
week? I don't want to talk about going to bed, unless you'd like to..."
He pulled back the covers and offered her his most lascivious look.

Scully rolled her eyes. "Here? Not in your most triple X dreams, Mulder,
even if you were up to it -- which you're not," she added hastily before
he could pounce on the obvious double entendre.

Mulder released the sigh of the terribly oppressed. "Fine. Then just get
up here and let me hold you. Does that fall within your standards for
hospital etiquette?"

Scully gazed at him, drinking in the sight like a cup of cool water. A
long and undoubtedly bumpy road to full recovery, but alive. ALIVE.

She kicked off her loafers and crawled up on the mattress, letting
Mulder gather her in like a lost chick until her head rested on his
chest.

"You sure this is all right, love?" she asked worriedly, hearing the
crackling of his breath as his lungs expanded and contracted.

"Mmm. Better than all right, babe. Perfect." She felt his lips press the
crown of her head and tightened her arm around his too slim waist.

"Have to fatten you up, Mulder," she observed, the soft hospital gown
tickling her cheek. "Time to break out the secret weapon."

"Gonna call your mom, huh?"

"Yep. And just so there's no mistake -- you're coming home to my place.
I can take care of you better there."

Scully felt him shift, heard his heartbeat speed up a bit, and frowned.
She lifted her head to regard him solemnly. "Out with it, Mulder. You
don't want to come to my place?"

Scully half-expected to encounter the blank, guarded expression that
signaled Mulder's defenses in high gear. Instead, a variety of strong
emotions flitted across his face.

"No. No, Scully, it isn't that at all, I..."

Scully deliberately lay her head back down, knowing he could more
readily find the words he sought without enduring her scrutiny. "Take
your time, love. I'm listening."

Mulder's hand crept up and buried itself in her hair, his fingers
weaving slowly through the individual strands. "I... I had a dream while
you were gone. A very vivid dream."

"Not surprising," Scully murmured. "Between the high fever and the
morphine."

"This was different, Scully. I think... I think my subconscious was
trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was just my heart," he added
softly.

Scully listened while quietly, painfully, he recounted the dream, his
voice breaking when he got to the part where she'd faded away. She could
sense the power of the images in the rigid feel of his body. To her, the
meaning behind the dream shone clear as crystal -- but could Mulder see?

When he finished, Mulder paused and pulled in a gulp of air. "What do
you think it meant, Scully?"

*Ah, ah, ah. You don't get off that easy. This is your journey, my
love.*

Aloud, Scully kept her response neutral. "It doesn't matter what I
think, Mulder. What do *you* think it means?"

Mulder actually chuffed subdued laughter. "You been studying psychology
behind my back, babe?"

Unable to resist, Scully tipped her chin up onto his breast and cocked
an eyebrow. "You know me, Mulder. I always read the owner's manual."

They chuckled quietly together for a moment before the returning tension
in Mulder's limbs told her he was about to speak. "I think it means I've
been so screwed over by what people told me was love, that it's been
hard to believe the real thing finally came along."

Scully immersed her face in the gown, the words blazing a trail of
warmth to the bottom of her soul. Did he finally understand?

"I've wanted to believe it, Scully," he continued, the words hushed.
"But I'm a coward. Every time I tried to let go, to accept that you
could really love me as much as I love you, I'd think that sooner or
later you'd realize you were making a big mistake. And how much it would
hurt when you left."

Hot tears burned her cheeks. "How could you think that, Mulder? We've
been together over six years, I know exactly who you are, and I love
that man. Why would you expect me to leave you?"

Mulder's voice was rough. "It's all I know."

Scully turned, inched up his body, and took his face between her hands,
caressing his lips with her own even as the tears continued to slip down
her face. When she'd rendered him sufficiently breathless, she pulled
back and leaned her forehead against his.

"Listen to me carefully, Mulder, because I'm not going to say this
again. I. Will. Not. Leave. Are you reading me?"

He caught her lips and gave as good as he'd received. "Loud and clear,
babe. And I'll be glad to recuperate at your place on one condition."

She kissed him again and snuggled back down. "Name it, Mulder. I'm
feeling generous."

His fingers found her hair again. "That as soon as I'm strong enough we
look for a place together."

Scully nuzzled his chest with her nose. "I think that's a great idea,
G-man. Wish I'd thought of it."

"Ha, ha," he returned, punctuating his sarcasm with another yawn.

Scully could feel the anxiety drain out of his body and his breathing
settle into a more regular pattern. She thought of Spender, of the
disturbing revelations regarding Mulder's father and his secret legacy.
She needed to share what she'd learned with Mulder, as devastating as
the truth was likely to be.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

His response was heavy with fatigue, but urgency pressed her forward.

"When I was with Spender, he revealed some things. Things you need to
know."

"Mmm hmm. Later, 'kay, babe? 'M kinda tired."

She knew he was asleep before the last syllable, the hand in her hair
settling lax on her shoulder. She burrowed a little more deeply into his
side, relishing the warmth that denoted life. Now was probably not the
time to hit him with the news of his father's betrayal. Better to tackle
the whole mess when he was better, stronger. The truth would keep until
then.

Right?


End