Blood Ties Chapter 6
(Blood Ties Series)
by Dawn




Outside Georgetown Memorial
Tuesday
8:33 p.m.


"Don't give up yet. Please."

Skinner thrust his jaw forward and averted his eyes, staring at the
damaged building rather than the frustrated countenance of Joe Adamson,
leader of the rescue operation.

"Look, Assistant Director Skinner, it isn't that I don't sympathize,"
Adamson said wearily, scrubbing his sleeve across the sweat and grit
layering his face. "But we've had no success gaining access to the
fourth floor, and our attempts to do so haven't uncovered any signs of
life. From what we've been able to determine so far, there *isn't* a
fourth floor anymore. It's almost as if the fifth floor dropped down to
take its place."

"But you haven't been able to explore the entire fifth floor, have you?"
Skinner persisted. "You said you'd only managed to break through to a
small stretch of it."

Adamson wrinkled his nose and massaged the back of his neck. "That's
true. To be honest, our first priority was evacuating the injured on the
floors we could reach. Amazingly, there have been relatively few
casualties thanks to the early warning and the efficiency of hospital
staff.

"Then you have to admit..."

Adamson shook his head, holding up one hand to forestall Skinner's
protest. "Just because I've seen only a portion of that area doesn't
mean I can't make some pretty educated assumptions regarding the chances
of those closest to the blast. Frankly, surviving that kind of a
concussion would be a miracle. I understand they're your agents, sir,
and I wish I had better news. But I have my own men and women to think
of, and proceeding in the darkness, despite the floodlights,
significantly increases their danger. Considering the odds against
finding anyone still alive,
I'm loath to take the risk."

Skinner trained the full intensity of his gaze on Adamson. "I understand
what you're telling me, and I've no doubt it's based on hard-earned
experience. But you've got to trust my judgment on this. I'll admit I've
got my doubts about Mulder and Scully living through that explosion."
Skinner's grim features softened and one corner of his mouth lifted.
"But if anyone on this planet could, it would be those two. More than
once I've written them off only to have them prove me wrong. I won't
make that mistake again."

He sighed heavily. "And as we stand here and debate whether to call a
halt to the search for the night, there are two untrained, but extremely
stubborn, men in there somewhere, conducting their own little rescue
mission. God only knows what kind of a jam they've gotten themselves
into by now."

Adamson squinted at him doubtfully. "You're certain about that? I know
you said they were already inside, but nobody has seen hide nor hair of
them."

Skinner's hand tightened reflexively on the walkie-talkie in his pocket,
reproachfully silent despite repeated attempts to contact Grey. "They're
in there, all right," he growled. "I can't vouch for Bill, but I know
Grey won't give up until he discovers exactly what happened to them. I
can't do any less."

Adamson pondered his declaration, then shrugged. "All right. Have it
your way -- for now. We'll take another crack at the fifth floor. But
until I find some hint of life, I'm playing it conservative, Skinner."

"Of course. I understand."

Skinner worked to contain the influx of relief that left him weak-kneed.

*In the greater scheme of things, this means nothing. The cold hard fact
is that Adamson is probably right. How could they have survived?*

"Mr. Skinner?"

He turned to see Maggie Scully, a steaming cup of coffee extended and a
questioning expression on her careworn face. Kristen hovered at her
elbow.

"Any word?"

Skinner accepted the cup, taking a gulp of liquid warmth, which spread
throughout his chilled body while he chose his reply carefully. Calling
Maggie Scully with bad news was becoming a familiar, though unwelcome,
occurrence. Each time his admiration for the woman rose another notch
--her grace and fortitude under fire reminiscent of a certain redheaded
agent.

"No sign of Dana or Mulder -- or our recalcitrant pair of rescuers, for
that matter. But he's agreed to continue the search, at least for now."

Maggie let her eyes slip shut and exhaled. "Thank God for that." She
fixed Skinner in the warmth of her gaze. "And thank you, Mr. Skinner.
Don't think I don't appreciate your role in that decision."

When he attempted to voice an embarrassed denial, Maggie held up a
quelling hand. "We've been through this a few times, you and I.
Certainly enough for me to have seen the subtle ways you've supported
Dana and Fox." She shook her head ruefully. "I frankly don't know who to
be more concerned about. My daughter-in-law tells me there was no love
lost between Grey and my son."

Skinner's mouth twitched. "I wouldn't worry," he said, looking at
Kristen from the corner of his eye. "I'm sure Grey can take care of
himself."

Maggie reached over to give Kristen's arm a gentle pat. "Oh, I'm certain
of it. It's Bill I'm worried about. I love my son dearly, Mr. Skinner,
but there's times he'd try the patience of a saint."

The startled guffaw burst from Skinner before he could rein it in.
Initially horrified by the inappropriateness of his laughter, the
twinkle in Maggie's eye told him she hadn't taken offense -- had, in
fact, purposely provoked the release of tension.

Allowing an open smile of admiration, Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Please
call me Walt, Mrs. Scully. I think we've been here enough times to
dispense with the formalities."

"You're right about that. And it's Maggie, Walt." She turned to the
shivering Kristen with a critical eye. "We're going to go somewhere warm
and get a quick bite to eat. Can we bring you something?"

Skinner could feel his stomach applaud at the mention of a meal.
"Please. Anything warm will do."

Maggie nodded, but Kristen was shaking her head vehemently. "I'd rather
not leave, what if they find them, what if..."

Maggie linked her arm with Kristen's. "I was a Navy wife for over thirty
years, Kristen. I had to sit by while Bill ventured into some dangerous
situations, and I learned an important lesson. The next best thing to
being with him was to make sure I was prepared to welcome him home.
You'll be of no use to Grey if you're half-starved and frozen."

Kristen frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but the steel in
Maggie's brown eyes changed her mind. "Well, maybe just a quick meal,"
she said grudgingly.

Skinner watched Maggie steer her away before turning back to stare at
the crumbling building. Kristen was in good hands. He could only hope
Mulder and Scully would fare as well.


Floor 4SW 
Tuesday 
9:22 p.m.


"So... Tell me again why you think the Knicks are going to do so well
this year?"

Scully endeavored to keep her voice light, conversational. She didn't
want Mulder to sense how troubled she was.

"Scullee! Already 'splained to you. 'S because..."

Mulder's slurred reply trailed off and she knew he wasn't even aware
that he'd stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence. His cognizance
and coherency had declined sharply over the past hour, causing fear to
bubble up inside of her like a pot left unattended over a flame.

"Mulder?"

"Mulder!"

Her only reply was an incoherent mumble. Scully desperately wished she
could see him, could look into his eyes to assess just how frightened
she should be. A barely perceptible trickle of light filtered into their
prison, illuminating a vague outline of Mulder's body, but no more.
Contenting herself with touch, she ran her fingers over the too warm
skin of his brow, down his cheek, and across to his ear.

"Sorry, love," she muttered.

Taking his earlobe between thumb and index finger, she gave the soft
flesh a vicious pinch, wincing as if she'd inflicted the discomfort on
herself.

"OW!"

Too late, Scully realized that the simple trick for restoring
consciousness would also cause Mulder to reflexively jerk away from her
hand. His cry of pain modulated into a wail, bringing tears to her eyes
and a frantic litany of apology from her lips. Reduced to soft whimpers
of pain and gasps for air, Mulder still managed to seize her hand and
press it tightly to his cheek, silently communicating forgiveness.

They lay mutely in the darkness for an undetermined time, long enough
that Scully began to fear he'd slipped under despite her unwitting
torture. Then Mulder spoke, his words a bit garbled but lucid.

"Think Sam's alive?"

Like coming into a play during the second act, Scully scrambled to
figure out what just happened and what lay ahead. Mulder's silhouette,
dark and indistinct, revealed nothing, but the voice was laced with
weariness and resignation.

"Why are you asking me that question now, Mulder?" she asked, hoping to
define the terrain of this unfamiliar landscape. "You've always been
certain she was out there, somewhere, and that one day you'd find her.
Does it really matter what I -- what anyone else -- thinks?"

He was so still, his ragged, uneven breathing her only indication that
the shadow beside her didn't belong to a statue carved from stone.

"Useta be sure of a lotta things, Scully. Not anymore."

Ahh. Scully was both relieved and disconcerted to be back on the topic
of Bill Mulder's betrayal. Leave it to Mulder to be half out of his head
with pain and shock one moment and probing for the answers to life's
greatest mysteries the next.

"Mulder. I know that learning of your father's duplicity has shaken you.
But it doesn't have to change your beliefs, your convictions."

Mulder's grasp on her fingers tightened. "It does. Changes everything,
Scully. 'S like dominoes. Nothin's left standin'."

Scully shook her head, realized he couldn't see the gesture, and pulled
their joined hands to her lips instead. "Even dominoes need a solid
surface beneath them, love. There are fundamentals that your father's
deeds, however treacherous, can't touch."

"Such as?"

Scully sucked in a deep breath. "Such as the man you are. You're a good
person, Mulder. A little flawed, yes, but no more so than any of the
rest of us. And your relationship with Samantha -- love can't be
engineered, can't be genetically programmed. What you meant to each
other hasn't changed just because your father dealt with the devil.
You've dedicated your life to finding her and bringing her home. Has
anything you've learned really changed that?"

Silence, and she could practically feel him thinking. The fingers woven
between her own trembled and his breathing hitched, first speeding up
and then slowing down as he fought for restraint.

"Used to waver b'tween wanting his attention 'n dreading it," he said
softly. "Only emotion he showed me was anger, disappointment. Thought it
was 'cause of Sam. Thought he blamed me." A pause and more rapid pants
for air. "He *knew*, Scully. He *knew* why they took her but he left me
to bleed. How could he live with himself?"

Scully walked the tightrope, each footstep tentative and meticulously
placed. "From what you've told me, love, he didn't -- at least, not very
well. He became an alcoholic, his marriage broke apart, and he alienated
his son. I don't think you were the only recipient of his guilt."

A tissue paper thin sigh. "Mulders're quite the all- American family,
huh, babe?"

Scully bit her lip. "I'll admit your family life was pretty
dysfunctional, Mulder. But nobody's is perfect."

"Yours was pretty close."

Inside, she flinched at his wistfullness. She knew she'd allowed Mulder
to bare his soul concerning his family without ever really sharing much
about her own. Yes, on the surface, and in comparison to Mulder's, her
formative years appeared smooth sailing. But Mulder considered her
family life a small step away from "Father Knows Best," and she was
guilty of perpetuating that myth.

"Mulder." It was hard to say the words, her lips and tongue felt heavy
and uncooperative. "My family was not... We had our own problems. My
father was away at sea for long periods of time, and every time he came
home we had to adjust to having him around again. He was much stricter
than Mom, so it felt like the rules changed in the middle of the game.
He'd try so hard to "whip us into shape" that he wound up overreacting.
Melissa, in particular, found his restrictions stifling and she'd rebel
just for the sake of defying him. She dyed her hair green, dabbled in
drugs, ran away from home... And as if that weren't enough, Bill started
trying to fill Dad's shoes when he was gone, lording it over the rest of
us and insisting he was the man of the house. He and Charlie barely even
speak to each other now, which is part of the reason you've never met
Charlie. And me..."

"The good girl," Mulder whispered.

Scully's lips turned up in the suggestion of a smile.
"Yeah. That was me. Daddy's girl, the one always trying her hardest to
please, to live up to his standards, his expectations. I loved and
admired him so much, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make
him proud."

"But you went into pathology. The FBI..." Mulder's voice fell off but
she clearly heard what remained unspoken.

*The X-Files.*

She explored the memory of her father's disappointment the way a child's
tongue probes the hole from a missing tooth, cautiously testing for
pain. To her intense relief, she found only a dull ache.

"That's the danger of raising your child to be her own person," Scully
mused. "Eventually she is."

Mulder's thumb traced the lines on her palm. "He'd be proud, babe."

"I hope so. But what's more important, is that *I'm* proud. You've given
me that gift, Mulder. Together we do good work, important work." She
squeezed his hand. "Another fundamental. Don't ever doubt it."

Mulder released a puff of breath that might have been laughter, then
sighed. "Thanks, babe. 'M glad you're your own person."

Scully grinned. "I'm going to hold you to that, love. Count on it."


Continued in part 14

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 1999 22:55:05 -0600
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (14 of 18)
Source: xfc

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (14 of 18)
By Dawn


Floor 3SW
Tuesday
9:17 p.m.


"I don't get it. Mom told me that Mulder didn't know about you until
recently. Why not?"

Grey didn't actually turn his head, just allowed it to loll to the right
so that Bill came into view. "His...our parents gave me up for adoption.
They never told Fox and Samantha I existed -- or anyone else for that
matter."

Bill's forehead creased. "I repeat -- why?"

Grey pressed his shoulders more firmly against the wall and grit his
teeth. Finding Fox had helped him come to terms with his parents'
actions, but they still stung. "That is a very long, very complex, and
extremely unbelievable story. Suffice it to say that they felt they were
protecting me."

Bill silently absorbed this while Grey took another swig of his water
and gazed at the pile of rubble bisecting the hallway. A pile he and
Bill had systematically reduced over the last several hours, finally
breaking through just a few minutes earlier. Eyes bloodshot with fatigue
and muscles quivering from exertion, both had sunk to the ground in
unspoken agreement to rest.

"Why just you?"

Sliding down the silence into a slight stupor, Bill's question jerked
Grey back like a dog on a leash. How to answer that one? Bill lived a
black and white, two-dimensional existence not so different from the one
he himself had inhabited up until about six months ago. Shattering that
worldview was not a responsibility Grey cared to shoulder  -- not that
Bill would be receptive if he tried.

"By the time Fox was born, I don't think my parents' lives were their
own," he said carefully. "Deception was no longer an option." After a
pause, he added, "You feel contempt for my brother's quest, for the
choices he's made. But the simple truth is that Fox never really had a
choice.
There were those who manipulated his future even before his birth. Yet
somehow he's managed to retain his integrity, the purity of his
purpose."

"You sound as if you *admire* him," Bill muttered, incredulity dripping
from his words and twisting his features.

"Damn right," Grey retorted softly, vehemently.

Bill snorted and shook his head. "Look, McKenzie. You seem to be a
decent guy, though occasionally a pain in the ass. But your brother..."
His lip curled. "You think I didn't check up on him when I found out
Dana was assigned a partner? I've got friends with connections; I put my
ear to the ground! Spooky, they call him. Had an amazing capacity for
catching serial killers -- most likely because he shares many of their
personality traits. Cracked up after mind-melding with one too many
psychos and wound up in the basement, investigating aliens, ghosts, and
things that go bump in the night. Couldn't hold onto a partner, a lone
wolf with complete disregard for rules or procedures. That's what they
told me my little sister was paired with. And you know what? I've seen
nothing to dispute that assessment!"

The inability to summon anger defined Grey's exhaustion more clearly
than his burning muscles. He released a long puff of breath and pursed
his lips.

"I've got news for you, Bill. I've asked a few discreet questions of my
own, and I've little doubt that my source is a bit more reliable than
yours."

"Yeah, they call him Spooky. The name originated right about the time
his solve rate exceeded that of any profiler in the Bureau's history,
coined by those jealous of his talent. And yes, his acquisition of the
X-Files occurred after a breakdown caused by an outrageously heavy
caseload and too much empathy for victims. And as far as not keeping a
partner, well, he and Dana have been together six years. A lot of
marriages don't last that long!"

"You think you dislike my brother, Bill, but the truth is that you don't
even know him. You let rumor and innuendo taint your perception of him
before you ever saw his face, and now nothing can sway you from that
preconceived opinion. And I guess the saddest thing of all is that you
trust the judgement of a few acquaintances above that of your own
sister."

Grey expected a smart retort or come back of some kind, so Bill's
expressionless mask and stony silence unnerved him. Heaving a sigh, he
hauled his throbbing body upright and resumed clearing away pieces of
rubble to widen the passageway.

"Don't know why I wasted my breath," he grumbled to himself.

Grey tugged at a particularly heavy board that abruptly came free and
sent him staggering backward. Cursing softly under his breath, he let it
drop to the floor and inspected the now shredded skin around a large
blister in the center of his palm.

"Here."

The gruffly spoken word was followed by a white handkerchief thrust into
his view. Grey's gaze trailed from the hand, up the arm, until it met
Bill's scowling face.

"Better wrap that."

Grey accepted the square of cloth, fumbling awkwardly as he attempted to
wind it around the injured area with only one hand. After watching
impatiently for several moments,
Bill uttered a grunt of annoyance and snatched the handkerchief, though
he accomplished the bandaging with a surprisingly gentle touch.

Grey flexed his fingers, then stooped to pick up a slab of drywall.
"Thanks. That really helps."

"Just didn't want you so incapacitated that I'd have to do the rest
myself," Bill replied stiffly, avoiding Grey's eyes by reaching for a
section of pipe.

Grey suppressed a sharp rejoinder and merely shrugged, throwing himself
back into the task at hand. After less than ten minutes they'd created
an opening large enough to wriggle through on hands and knees.

The corridor before them looked like a nightmarish obstacle course.
Mounds of beams, girders and piping were interspersed with overturned
carts and smashed equipment.
In some areas the ceiling had cracked and sagged downward, in others the
linoleum buckled and surged upward -- a surreal parody of stalactites
and stalacmites. Grey added the weak beam from his flashlight to the
faint glow from what he could only assume were external floodlights.
What he saw made his heart sink like a stone in deep water.

The hallway was passable for perhaps thirty feet before the ceiling
caved in completely, sealing off the remainder in an impenetrable wall.
He felt Bill move up behind him, heard the sharp catch of breath as he
took in the destruction.

"That's it, then," Bill said, his voice not soft enough to hide the
despair. "End of the line."

Grey's temper ignited, the culmination of too much worry, overwhelming
physical exhaustion, and the forced companionship of a man he strongly
disliked. "It is *not* the end! I haven't sweat blood over the last nine
hours just to give up now! There's got to be another way!"

Bill planted himself in front of Grey, deliberately invading his space.
"Where? Have you been paying attention? We only made it this far by
nearly killing ourselves in that elevator shaft! This was the only
direction we could pass down the corridor, and that's a hell of a dead
end! I want to find them as much as you do, but we've just run out of
options!" Bill's explosive tirade cut off abruptly, and he dropped his
head, massaging his temples with shaking fingers. "Look at this place,
McKenzie. This is only the third floor. If it's this bad down here..."

"NO! I refuse to accept that until I see it with my own eyes! I *won't*
give up on them, so either start looking for an alternative or stay the
hell out of my way!"

Bill simply folded his arms in unspoken challenge, refusing to step
aside.

Something deep inside Grey snapped. He connected with
Bill's jaw before he could consciously register that his fingers had
formed a fist. The force of the blow drove Bill backward, an almost
comical look of astonishment on his face. He recovered quickly, however,
surprise transforming almost instantly to anger. A quick lunge forward,
the blur of his arm, and Grey found himself sprawled on the floor, a
warm trickle spreading across his upper lip. Bill loomed over him,
cradling his jaw and glowering.

Grey let his head drop back to the floor with a small moan, swiping at
the blood beneath his nose with the back of his hand. "I can't believe I
did that. I must have a death wish."

Bill stared at him blankly, then broke into a shark's grin. "Actually,
you've got a pretty mean right hook."

"Easy for you to say," Grey griped, groping for his flashlight, which
had rolled several inches away. "You're the one standing."

"And you're the one who started this dance," Bill reminded him, still
probing his jaw. But he leaned over and extended a hand. "Here. Get up."

When Grey remained motionless, ignoring his offer of assistance in favor
of examining the ceiling, Bill huffed in irritation. "Oh come on! I
didn't hit you *that* hard!"

Grey, oblivious to his aggravation, trained the beam from his flashlight
upward and scrambled to his feet. He continued absently to blot the
blood from his nose as he turned in a small circle, head cranked back as
far as possible.

"McKenzie!" Bill snarled.

Grey didn't bother to look at Bill, but his clipped command seethed with
excitement. "Look up."

Thoroughly exasperated, Bill threw up both hands and glanced impatiently
in the direction indicated. "Why? What in the..."

An opening.  Nearly two feet in diameter, its edges were absurdly smooth
and regular, as if fashioned by a paper punch. And through the hole,
dimly, an open expanse that hinted at accessibility.

Grey's head swiveled slowly, revealing a bloodstained face and eyes that
glittered with manic glee.

"I think we just found our option, Billy."


Floor 4SW 
Tuesday 
10:24 p.m.


Scully was alone. Mulder was reduced to a mere physical presence, a warm
body. He'd become increasingly difficult to rouse, finally completely
unresponsive even to painful stimulus. She didn't realize how much
strength she derived from just hearing his voice until he fell silent.
While he was conscious, she could focus on *his* pain, *his* needs. Now
her arm throbbed and she burned with thirst. Her only measure of comfort
was that Mulder, at least, had escaped his torment.

So she pressed tightly against his fevered body and tried not to think
of ice water in a tall glass beaded with moisture. Of lying in Mulder's
arms in the safety and comfort of their bed, piled high with soft
pillows and thick blankets. Of sun and sand and blue, blue water -- all
that should have been but now might never come to pass. Scully buried
her face in the crook of her own arm and wept.

His soft, unintelligible moans and whimpers of pain shook her from the
indulgence of tears and she concentrated on smoothing his sweaty hair
from his brow and rubbing small concentric circles across his back. The
sound of her voice calmed him so she rambled on, a surrogate television
to soothe his restive spirit.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Charlie and I redecorated the
Christmas tree? I guess I must have been four and he was three. Melissa
was in first grade, Bill was in kindergarten, and Charlie and I were
supposed to be napping. Poor Mom was lying down in her bedroom -- worn
out from dealing with the four of us since Dad was still away at sea. I
remember Charlie and I had our noses out of joint because we hadn't been
allowed much participation in decorating the tree. Mom let us hang a few
unbreakable ornaments, but only Missy and Bill got to handle the really
special ones."

"It was my idea, I'll admit. Charlie would pretty much follow any
suggestion I made at that age, so when I concocted my brilliant plan he
tagged right along. I figured if the two of us took all the ornaments
off the tree, then we could have the fun of putting them all back on
again. We were too small to reach the ones at the top, but I dragged a
couple of kitchen chairs over so that we could get most of them." Scully
nuzzled his shoulder with a small grin. "You know how resourceful I can
be, Mulder.  I guess we had nearly three-quarters of the ornaments
stripped off the tree by the time Mom woke up and caught us in the act.
She shrieked so loud Charlie nearly fell off his chair -- it's a wonder
neither of us broke our necks!"

She chuffed quiet laughter at the memory, but it sounded hollow and
lonely without accompaniment. Scully blinked back a rush of tears and
soldiered onward. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Charlie and I
did *not* get to hang any of the ornaments we so industriously removed!
We also had to stay in our rooms rather than play outside in the snow
after Missy and Bill got home from school. But those punishments were
nothing compared to the agony of having our little escapade recounted in
excruciating detail every single Christmas." She sighed. "I just hope we
get out of here so that Mom can embarrass me by dredging it all up again
this year."

Mulder made a small sound in the back of his throat, shifting restively.
His hand twitched restlessly until it tangled with hers, and his eyes
fluttered open to half-mast. He regarded her solemnly in silence, until
his tongue crept out to moisten chapped lips.

"So thirsty." The words were as dry as the parched tissues of his
throat, as insubstantial as a current of air.

"Me too, love."

His fingers tightened painfully and she felt a shudder ripple through
his body. "Hurts."

One word, a single syllable, but from a man who could redefine the
meaning of "stoic" it spoke volumes. Scully bit down hard on her
trembling lips and shut her eyes firmly against the tide of emotion. All
she could do was share his vulnerability.

"I know. Me too, love."

He fell silent, though the occasional glitter of his eyes catching the
meager light told Scully he was still awake.
Another, smaller spasm and he drew a ragged breath.

"Not coming, babe."

His quiet declaration affected her on so many levels -- she wanted to
comfort, she wanted to berate, she wanted to deny. In the end, she
simply pressed a kiss to his palm.

Because deep down inside, she feared Mulder was right.


Continued in part 15

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 1999 22:56:25 -0600
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (15 of 18)
Source: xfc

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (15 of 18)
By Dawn


Floor 4SW
Tuesday
10:36 p.m.


Grey paused, panting and clinging to the angled beam like an oversized
tree squirrel. Bill's face poked from the hole above his head, a pale
moon in the semi-darkness. One large hand wrapped around the high end of
the board in a stabilizing grip, the other directed a flashlight so that
Grey could see as he shimmied upward.

"You all right?"

*This guy deserves an award for asking stupid questions.*

"Yeah. Having the time of my life," Grey growled, mopping the
perspiration from his brow as best he could without loosening his death
hold on the wood.

"You can make it, McKenzie, you're almost there," Bill called.

It was supposed to be encouragement, but it set Grey's teeth on edge.
True, he'd covered three quarters the distance from the floor to the
hole in the ceiling, but the difficulty of ascent also increased
exponentially along with the angle. When he and Bill were lugging the
heavy beam across piles of rubble and then hefting it into place, he'd
thought climbing up would be the easy part.

Wrong.

Bill had gone first, scooting up the makeshift ladder with relative ease
while Grey anchored the bottom end. Unfortunately, when Bill attempted
to return the favor it rapidly became clear that providing the same
steadying influence from above was impossible. The further Grey's weight
moved upward, the more the beam rocked, until he feared losing his grip
and tumbling to the floor.

Pulling in a long, slow, breath of air, Grey slid both hands several
inches up the beam and dragged his body after, assisting the process
with a push from his feet. The wood beneath him bucked and shifted,
prompting Bill to drop the flashlight and grab on with both hands. Grey,
thrown off balance by the absence of light, fought to regain
equilibrium.

Feeling himself tilt to the right, he leaned hard to the left. Too hard.
The near darkness impaired his spatial perception, abruptly removing
cues he needed to orient himself. The sensation of teetering on the edge
of an abyss caused him to clutch instinctively at the board beneath him,
but its wobbling only served to further confuse him.

"LOOK OUT!"

Bill's shout of alarm coincided with the terrifying disappearance of the
beam from beneath him, followed by a loud clatter. Grey flung both arms
upward, with a low cry. Something like a vise clamped onto his wrist,
halting his plunge with a teeth-rattling jerk. He screamed involuntarily
as pain burst along the length of his arm, a giant wishbone about to be
separated at his shoulder. His feet kicked wildly, a bizarre dance over
thin air.

"Stop kicking, you moron, I'm gonna drop you!" Bill grunted through
clenched teeth. "Put your other hand up!"

Biting his lip hard against the pain, Grey did as ordered and nearly
wept with relief when Bill caught his left arm and eased the tension on
his right. Peering upward he could now make out Bill's tense face by the
weak glow of his discarded light. He refused to look into the blackness
beneath his dangling feet.

"Haven't we been here before?" he panted blearily.

Bill bared his teeth, the cords on his neck standing out as he slowly
hauled Grey upward. "Not exactly."

"Liked it better...the first time through."

Grey's legs cleared the rim of the hole and he dropped onto the floor.
He rolled to his back and cradled his aching arm, looking around
carefully. They were in a tunnel formed by fallen supports and debris,
the roof barely four feet above his head. Bill puffed wearily and
retrieved his flashlight.

"Arm okay?"

Wincing, Grey sat up and flexed the limb experimentally.

"Hurts like a sonuvabitch, but I'll be fine." He searched Bill's
expressionless face. "Thanks."

Half Bill's mouth turned up in a wry smirk. "Told ya I wouldn't owe you
for long."

Grey started to retort, only to snap his mouth shut and struggle to his
knees.

"What...?"

"Shhhh!"

Grey made a cutting motion with his good arm and cocked his head,
listening intently. A moment later he was rewarded by a faint cry.

"Is someone there? We need help!"

His heart swelled almost painfully in his chest and his eyes darted to
Bill. With something akin to awe, he watched the man's face transform, a
brilliant smile replacing the sullen glare.

"Dana? Dana, is that you?"

Shocked silence, then Dana's voice, muffled and quavering with emotion,
replied.

"*Bill?*"

"It's me, Short Stuff," he called tenderly. "Where are you?"

Grey, who had fumbled his own flashlight from his pack with shaking
fingers, hastened to add its illumination to Bill's. They began moving
slowly down the narrow passageway toward Dana's voice, crawling on hands
and knees.

"Don't know. There are boards and other rubble all around and I can't
move. Bill, what are you doing here?" She sounded so small and lost, the
words rough like sandpaper.

"Mom sent me to bring you a hat," Bill replied dryly, carefully
navigating over several jagged hunks of steel.
"And who should I run into but..."

"Dana? Dana, where's Fox?" Grey interrupted frantically.

He struggled to keep Bill's pace, hampered by his sore arm. Scrambling
awkwardly over the chunks of metal, he snagged his ankle and hissed in
pain and frustration. Bill skidded to a halt and Grey nearly barreled
into him.

"He's here, Grey. But he's hurt. You need to hurry."

What Dana left unsaid came through clearly in the inflection of her
voice -- fear, despair, and something
Grey couldn't quite put a name to. Something like dread.

"Why are you stopping?" he snapped impatiently, sitting up to peer over
Bill's bulk.

"Found 'em," Bill said tersely. "Would you like to propose how we reach
them?"

Grey stared in dismay at the wreckage cocooning a bright flash of auburn
hair. Creeping around Bill he shined his flashlight between two boards
to reveal Dana's blood- streaked face and haunted eyes. Panning the beam
to the right he could dimly make out the sprawled form of his brother,
motionless.

"Fox?"

The name began as a cry, but emerged as little more than a whisper. He
dragged his eyes back to Dana, silently asking for a shred of
reassurance. Instead, she gave a sharp shake of her head and repeated
her previous plea.

"Hurry."

Grey turned on Bill, who had been studying the pile of debris with an
almost detached air, now and then reaching out to warily touch a section
of pipe or slab of plywood.

"You heard her, we've got to get them out of there!" Grey said shortly.

He'd actually stretched out a hand to tug at a loose board when Bill
elbowed him sharply in the chest, knocking him backward.

"Stop!"

Grey scrambled to get up, white with fury. "What the hell do you think
you're doing?"

Bill held him down, hand to chest, his face impassive. "Preventing you
from killing my sister -- *and* your brother!"

Grey knocked the hand away, lunging forward and burying his fists in
Bill's shirt. "You heard what she said, you bastard! He's going to die
if we don't get him out of there! But that wouldn't really bother you,
would it?"

Bill tried to twist free, then settled for copying Grey's hold. "Listen,
you self-righteous little jerk, I want my sister out of there just as
badly! But that's like a house of cards -- you pull out the wrong piece
and the whole thing could come down on top of them! And have you stopped
to think what in the hell you're going to do once you get him out of
there? We can't exactly take them down the elevator shaft, you know!"

The truth in his words pricked the bubble of Grey's indignation,
effectively deflating it. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," he
said weakly. "We can't just sit here, we have to try..."

"You touch anything and so help me God, I'll..."

"STOP IT!"

Dana's angry command yanked them from their bickering. Grey flushed in
shame and Bill dropped his eyes guiltily to the floor.

"I don't know how you two Neanderthals made it this far," she rasped.
"But you'd better stop arguing and work together or none of us will get
out of here. This whole area is unstable, and you two are carrying on
like a couple of brawling little boys!"

She took a shuddering breath and winced, exhausted from her tirade.
"Grey, you can't move him," she went on quietly. "He's pinned to the
floor by a piece of metal pipe through his left side. We need help."

Grey slumped down, dropping his head to his hands. "Okay," he muttered.
"I get the picture."

Bill's hand on his shoulder startled him. "I didn't mean we'd do
nothing," he said gruffly. "But we have to take it very slow."

Grey nodded, then gasped. "I can't believe I forgot! I've still got the
walkie-talkie!" He dug through the pack and located the transmitter.
"I'll contact Walt. You see if you can find a way through that mess."

"Sure, give me the fun job," Bill grumbled, but his face held
determination and not resentment.


Outside Georgetown Memorial 
Tuesday 
11:03 p.m.


"Thought I'd return the favor."

Skinner handed Maggie a cup of coffee, tendrils of steam seeping from
beneath the lid. She was seated on a chair in the makeshift "command
center," an island of serenity amidst the turmoil. She smiled
appreciatively and inclined her head to indicate an empty chair.

"Agent Harding?" Skinner asked, sinking down and barely containing a
grunt of relief.

"She's been keeping Grey's family informed," Maggie explained, popping
the lid from the Styrofoam cup and taking a sip. "His parents were ready
to fly up immediately, but Kristen convinced them to wait -- in exchange
for regular updates."

"Skinner."

He stiffened, feeling Maggie's curious gaze as he turned to face the
speaker. Mike Fenton crossed to his side, dodging police, FBI, and
rescue workers with barely concealed impatience. Skinner had managed to
avoid the SWAT leader until now, but his anger had not cooled. Though
he'd not spoken to the man in fifteen years, he deliberately kept his
hands clasped behind his back, a silent indication of his disapproval.

"We're heading out now," Fenton announced, gesturing at his team members
piling into the van. "Most of the gapers have lost interest, and Chuck
assigned a fresh batch of patrolmen to keep the press in check. My men
are beat, it's been a hell of a day."

Skinner's jaw tightened with the effort of withholding his true
feelings. "Fine."

Fenton, his hair now a uniform silver and his face deeply lined,
frowned. "You got a problem, Skinner?"

*Yeah, I got a problem. You.*

"Nothing I want to discuss here or now," he said aloud, the words
clipped.

Fenton's eyes narrowed. "Oh please. Don't worry about my delicate
sensibilities," he said sarcastically.

It proved to be too much. Skinner's grip on his temper had always been a
bit tenuous, so grief, worry, and bone-deep fatigue merely served to
loosen his fingers.

"All right. If you insist." Skinner's voice was deceptively soft, deadly
calm. "We shouldn't be here right now. My agent had the situation under
control, five more minutes and we all would've headed back for a late
lunch. You overstepped your bounds, and Mulder and Scully may very well
pay for your rashness with their lives."

Fenton's brows angled downward. "Jackson acted on his own recognizance!
You can't blame me for..."

"You once told me that the men in your unit were taught to follow your
orders, and to do so without question," Skinner interrupted. "Are you
slipping, Mike?"

Fenton's face flushed red and his hands curled into fists. "I oughtta...
You'd better think carefully about that accusation, Skinner. Easy enough
to take pot shots here, but unless you want to repeat it in front of a
review board..."

"Oh, I intend to, Fenton," Skinner said dangerously. "You can count on
it."

Clamping his mouth shut and spinning on his heel, Fenton stomped off to
the van, plowing through a young EMT and nearly sending him to the
ground. Skinner sighed, running a hand across the top of his head and
cupping the back of his neck. He turned to find himself the object of
Maggie's amused stare.

"I thought Fox was supposed to be the one who didn't play well with
others," she said quietly, lifting an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Skinner muttered, the oddest feeling of dj vu washing over
him.

Then he understood. How many times had he observed the same scene played
out between his two agents -- Scully dryly disapproving, Mulder
sheepishly repentant? Finding himself cast in Mulder's role was too
strange to contemplate.

"Anger is wasted effort," Maggie was saying sadly. "What matters now is
finding Dana and Fox and getting them out of there." She sighed, eyes
far away. "Fox was already so weak."

Skinner searched her face, then shook his head. "You're just as worried
about him as you are Dana," he reflected, obviously amazed by the
epiphany.

"Why should that surprise you?" Maggie's tone was honestly puzzled.

"Well...she's your daughter. Granted, Mulder is now much more than just
her partner, but..."

Maggie chuckled, though her eyes were still shadowed. "Oh, Walt, he's
been much more than just her partner for a very long time!" When
Skinner's face screwed up in confusion, she continued.

"I was drawn to him over the months Dana was missing. He was so kind, so
attentive to me, keeping me abreast of the investigation into her
disappearance. I saw the guilt devouring him, recognized that he blamed
himself for not being there when she needed him. But I sensed there was
more -- deeper, older hurts that had never quite healed.
Maybe it takes one mother to perceive the void left by another." She
smiled affectionately. "If ever there was a young man that cried out for
some mothering, Fox is one."

"You love him like one of your own," Skinner observed, his respect
evident. "In spite of the pain the X-Files have brought Scully."

Maggie's smile widened. "Of course. Walt, you've seen them, seen the way
he looks at her. I have no doubt that Fox would throw himself in front
of a moving train if it meant sparing Dana pain. How could a mother not
love a man who'd put her daughter's life above his own?"

"Sir?"

Skinner looked up to see a young D.C. cop, one of Draper's men,
fidgeting nervously beside him. Gratified he could still strike terror
in others, if not his two agents, Skinner stood.

"Yes?"

"An Agent Hastings asked me to deliver a message to you," the officer
stammered. "He said that someone has been trying to reach you on the
walkie-talkie. Channel three."

Frowning, Skinner reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the device.
The knob had been turned all the way to the off position, something he
vaguely remembered doing in a fit of pique when Grey refused to answer.
Cursing under his breath, he waved the kid away and flicked the unit
back on.

"Walt? Walt, I repeat, this is Grey! Do you hear me?"

Skinner's throat suddenly transformed into the Sahara Desert. He cleared
it apprehensively.

"About time you decided to let us join the party," he growled. "What's
the situation in there?"

Grey's next words, both triumphant and distraught, brought Maggie
immediately to his side.

"They're alive, Walt. But you have to hurry, we don't have much time."


Continued in part 16

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 1999 22:57:51 -0600
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (16 of 18)
Source: xfc

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (16 of 18)
By Dawn


Floor 4SW
Tuesday
11:42 p.m.


Under Bill's direction they cautiously, methodically cleared an opening
to reach Dana and Fox, shoring up the weak areas with extra pieces of
wood to add stability. Grey wriggled through first, nearly knocked on
his backside when Dana launched herself into his arms. Swallowing hard,
he enthusiastically returned the embrace. Dana hissed at the pressure on
her injury, and he pulled back as if scalded.

"Sorry. Is it broken?"

"More than once, I'm afraid." She ran her tongue over her lips and
greedily eyed the pack on his back. "Don't suppose you have any water,
do you?"

Grey mentally smacked himself on the head. "What a couple of idiots! Of
course I do! Here."

He fished out a bottle and twisted off the cap, holding it steady until
her shaking fingers could find purchase. She took several rapid
swallows, eyes slipping shut in bliss, then came up for air.

"Don't have to tell you to go easy, do I darlin'?" Grey asked.

Dana barely heard him, her eyes darting to the sprawled form lying
several feet away. "He's badly dehydrated from the blood loss," she
said, voice quavering. "He needs this more than I do."

"Plenty to go around," Grey replied easily, feigning a calm he didn't
feel. "I'll take care of him. You just relax."

"He's been in and out, Grey. I'm not sure..."

"Dana!"

Bill crawled through the opening with a grace that belied his large
stature. He scrutinized his sister from head to toe, face a mixture of
joy and concern, before gently pulling her into a hug.

"Thought I'd lost you, Short Stuff," he murmured, the words cracking
with emotion.

Dana buried her face in his shoulder, snuffling and clinging with a
white-knuckled grip. Grey tore his gaze from the reunion and crawled
over to his brother. Tears flooded his eyes, blurring his vision and
muting the gruesome sight. He scrubbed at them impatiently with the back
of his hand, then reached out tentatively to stroke a lock of dark hair
from his brother's ashen face.

"Fox," he choked.

Grey swept his flashlight slowly down the length of Fox's body,
following the beam with a feathery touch of his hand. He examined the
pipe violating his brother's body and pressed his lips tightly together.
Brow furrowed, he abruptly leaned over, curled his fingers around the
metal, and tensed in preparation.

"NO!"

Dana's weak but vehement cry frightened him and he automatically lifted
his hands defensively. Scooting closer she placed her hand on his arm
and turned her face up to his.

"You can't do that, Grey. It's the only thing keeping him alive."

Grey's face twisted with confusion. "What? Dana, are you out of your
mind? Can you imagine how much pain he must be in? We have to get that
thing out of him right away before infection..."

"He'll bleed out," she replied forcefully. "Of course I understand the
danger of infection, but that pipe is responsible for minimizing his
blood loss!"

Grey stared down at the large, sticky puddle of crimson before his eyes
slid back to her. "You call *that* minimal? It looks like pretty damn
much to me!"

Bill scowled at his belligerent tone. "Look, McKenzie, if
Dana says..."

"Oh shut up, Bill," Dana snapped impatiently. "You'll only make it
worse. I can handle this." She tightened her fingers on Grey's arm. "I'm
not trivializing it, Grey, he's lost a lot of blood. But it could be
worse, much worse. He could be hemorrhaging, but he's not. God knows,
I'm aware of his pain -- I've endured it with him. We have no choice."

Grey squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded. Rummaging in his pack he
produced another bottle of water, a box of gauze pads, and several
sample packets of ibuprofen.

"Here," he said huskily, tossing her two blister packs. "Sorry it's not
the good stuff but they keep that locked up."

"You've heard the expression 'Beggars can't be choosers?'" she returned,
grimacing while attempting to open the pills one-handed.

Bill took the package from her and extracted the pills, which she washed
down with gulps of water. He watched as Grey moistened a gauze pad and
tenderly bathed the dried blood and sweat from Mulder's pale face.
Averting his eyes, he grappled with an empathy he didn't want to feel.

"I warned you he brings you only grief, Dana," he muttered softly,
mustering anger instead. "Can't you see it?"

Dana's mouth dropped open in consternation and her eyes darted to Grey.
Seeing that he was too occupied with his task to overhear, she purposely
turned her back and confronted Bill.

"You bastard!" she hissed, torn between slugging him and bursting into
tears. "Brings me *grief*? Have you stopped to wonder why his injuries
are more severe than mine? Have you?"

Bill's nostrils flared but he jerked his head sharply.

"He threw himself on top of me, you ass! Mulder figured out what was
happening a split second before the bomb detonated, and he reacted by
protecting me with his own body. He saved my life!"

Bill squirmed, aware he'd gone too far. He desperately wracked his brain
for a reply, but a guttural moan saved him.

"Fox? C'mon, little brother, I didn't join this party just to watch you
sleep," Grey coaxed.

Fox's lids slid open a crack, just enough to reveal a glint of hazel.
Grey dribbled some water onto his cracked lips, delighted when his
brother first licked them, and then pulled them into his mouth and
sucked frantically to extract the fluid.

"More."

"Easy. A little at a time," Grey soothed, repeating the action several
times before Fox signaled he'd had enough.

The edge off his thirst, Fox seemed to register Grey's presence. He
struggled to turn his head, but Grey quickly stilled his movements with
a firm hand on his neck.

"Fox, don't. You'll hurt yourself."

He crouched down so that his brother could see him without effort and
tried to paste on a confident expression.

"If you didn't want to go to Cancun, you should've just said so, little
brother," he gibed gently. "I'd have taken Dana."

Fox blinked sluggishly. "How...get here?"

"You might say we took the low road," Grey replied, stroking back the
same stubborn piece of hair he'd touched earlier. "Walt's people are
taking the high road, and should get here soon."

Fox's eyes lost focus, rolling back in his head before wandering back to
Grey's face. "Tired," he whispered, the word little more than a puff of
air. "Really tired."

Grey tried to reply, but grief and fear filled his throat and tied his
tongue. To his astonishment, Bill leaned over his shoulder and answered
for him.

"Tired?" he chided, but his tone held no malice. "You think *you're*
tired? While you were lying there resting, your brother had me climbing
up elevator shafts and excavating tunnels! He refused to give up,
Mulder, so you damn well better make the same effort. Your boss is
already pissed at us, so you'd better not bail on us now."

Mulder's eyes had widened when Bill began speaking, but now his mouth
turned up in a faint grin. "Skinner...kick ass."

Bill cocked an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Grey. "He can try."

As if summoned, Grey's walkie-talkie squawked to life.
"Grey? You read this?"

Grey pulled it from his pocket and moved off to the side. "I hear you,
Walt. What's the hold up?"

"About a ton of concrete and steel," Skinner replied dryly. "Adamson
just contacted me. He's fairly certain that he's in close proximity to
your location. He said there are weak spots in the rubble beneath them
and he's going to attempt breaking through. Just sit tight and don't get
spooked by the noise."

Grey glanced at the others, saw that they understood. "We hear you,
Walt."

Skinner hesitated. "How's Mulder?"

Grey looked up, but at this distance Fox was barely discernable in the
muted lighting. "Hanging in there."

"Keep in touch," Skinner said quietly.

Grey pocketed the transmitter and moved back toward the others. Bill,
who had removed his jacket, astonished him by spreading it over Fox, not
Dana. His brother's eyes were closed and he was shivering. Grey quickly
stripped off his own coat and added it to Bill's.

"Shock," Dana murmured. "That and the fact that the floor is freezing."

Bill tugged her back against his chest and curled his arms around her
small frame. Dana settled into his warmth with a sigh like a sob.

"He wouldn't let me give him my coat," she said, her lip trembling. She
used the pad of her thumb to swipe a few errant tears from beneath her
lashes. "He was so adamant I gave in -- figured the stress was worse
than the cold."

The faint roar of heavy equipment caused the three of them to jump, in
spite of Skinner's warning. Grey glanced at the ceiling uneasily, then
settled back down next to his brother with his hands clasped around his
knees. Fox continued to shiver, oblivious to the noise.

"Was what you said true?" Scully asked after several minutes of strained
silence. She tilted her head to see her brother's face. "Did you really
get here by climbing up an elevator shaft?"

Bill hitched a shoulder in Grey's direction. "He drove," he said,
grinning. "I just came along for the ride."

"He asked so nicely, I just couldn't refuse," Grey confirmed dryly.

Scully's eyes leap-frogged between the two men, her lips parted in
surprise. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you two were
actually beginning to get along with one another!"

Bill eyed Grey as he replied. "You know the old saying about politics
making for strange bedfellows? Guess the same could be said for a bomb."

"I'll say one thing for your brother," Grey remarked grudgingly. "He's
got a great catch."

Bill smirked. "Yeah, but my high wire act could use some work."

Scully rolled her eyes. "I'm guessing I'd rather not know what you two
are talking about."

The racket from the rescue equipment sharply increased in pitch,
followed by the clatter of heavy objects striking the floor. The machine
cut off, followed by a brief silence.

"Hello? Agent Mulder? Agent Scully? Can you hear me?"

"Over here!" Scully called frantically, leaning forward as if to crawl
toward the voice.

Bill's large hand on her arm restrained her. "I'll find them," he said
gruffly. "You stay with Mulder."

Scully gaped at his retreating back, then turned slowly to regard Grey
with an arched brow. He simply shrugged.

"Been campaigning for your cause, darlin', but I didn't think I was
getting anywhere. Now sit down before you fall down, you look terrible."

"You sure know how to sweet talk a girl," Scully grumbled, but she
complied anyway.

Grey placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder and they waited
in tense silence until Bill reappeared. Close on his heels was a
middle-aged man in coveralls and an EMT dragging a box of first aid
paraphernalia. Scully waved the young man off with an impatient flick of
her hand.

"I'm all right. My partner needs you now."

Before she could continue with an assessment of Mulder's condition, the
older man spoke.

"Agent Scully, I'm Joe Adamson. I can't tell you how happy we are to
find you -- you and Agent Mulder have been our needles in the proverbial
haystack!"

"We're equally happy to be found, Mr. Adamson," Scully replied, her eyes
glued to the paramedic as he checked Mulder's pupils and wrapped a blood
pressure cuff around his upper arm.

Seeing her preoccupation, Adamson lightly touched her arm to gain her
attention. "I've got another medic coming with a basket. As soon as
Olsen there has your partner ready to travel, we'll get him out of
here."

"It's not that easy," Scully said sharply. "If I'm correct, once that
pipe is removed from his side the bleeding will escalate. He'll need a
trauma team and a surgeon ASAP."

Olsen, who had been examining Mulder's injuries while Grey held a high
powered flashlight, raised his head and nodded grimly. "She's right,
Joe. This has to be choreographed down to the smallest detail or he
could bleed out before we've cleared the building. As it is, it's much
too risky to transport to another hospital. Can they take him
downstairs?"

Scully flashed him a grateful look while Adamson frowned and pulled a
radio from his belt. Scully scooted closer to Mulder while Adamson
conferred with someone on the outside, voice low and terse.

"How's he doing?" she asked, watching as Olsen efficiently started an
I.V. in Mulder's hand.

Olsen brushed blond bangs from his eyes and grimaced. "He's not good.
Are you a doctor?" When Scully nodded, he continued. "He's pretty
dehydrated -- but the saline will help with that. His BP is low and his
pulse is thready. There's early signs of infection, but nothing like I
would expect in a situation like this."

"He just got out of the hospital a week ago after suffering from
pneumonia," Scully murmured. "They've got him on some heavy duty
antibiotics."

Olsen winced. "Poor guy can't catch a break, huh? Don't worry, we'll get
him through this. Once my partner gets here -- there she is."

A young woman, her bobbed hair as dark as Olsen was fair, squeezed into
the now crowded enclosure, pulling the long, wire basket that would
eventually transport Mulder to freedom.

"Glad you could join the party, Brandmeier" Olsen said smoothly. "Our
patient here is Agent Mulder. This is his partner, Agent Scully, and his
brother."

Mulder's hand twitched and his eyelids fluttered. Olsen sprang quickly
to prevent him from dislodging the I.V.
Further disturbed by the restriction, Mulder whimpered and began to
struggle.

"Take it easy, Agent Mulder, we're trying to help you," Olsen said,
leaning into his grip. "You have to stop fighting me or you're going to
mess up the I.V. and I'll have to start another. You don't want that,
right?"

Mulder went limp, but his eyes opened and flitted anxiously about.
"Scully?"

"Shhh. I'm right here, Mulder. Just lie still, we're going to get you
out of here."

Scully worked her way around to his head, where she could rest her hand
without interfering with the EMTs. She tried to block out Olsen and
Brandmeier's concerned expressions as they quietly conferred, petting
Mulder's hair and drawing what strength she could from Grey's solid
presence. Adamson put away his radio and cleared his throat.

"Everything's set on the outside. The ER was barely affected by the
blast and though they're closed to public admittance they've been
treating patients internally who incurred injuries from the explosion.
They'll have a team standing by. We'll take him up and out the fifth
floor and around the building to the ER. Proceed whenever you're ready."

Olsen and Brandmeier consulted each other with their eyes, reached an
agreement. Olsen beckoned to Bill, who reluctantly crawled to his side.

"First things first," he said briskly. "Mr..."

"Bill. Bill Scully," Bill replied uneasily.

"Bill. I need you to help me lift this beam so that Brandy can slip
Agent Mulder's arm out from under it. Once that's done, we'll extract
that section of pipe and get him the hell out of here."

Bill hesitated only momentarily, then nodded. Following Olsen's lead, he
seized the heavy plank of wood.

"On three," Olsen said. "One, two, THREE!"

Scully and Grey looked on anxiously as Bill and the EMT carefully hauled
the beam upward, tendons standing out on their necks and perspiration
dotting their foreheads.
Surrounding boards creaked ominously, but Brandmeier drew Mulder's arm
from the niche slowly and deliberately.

"Got it!"

 The beam settled back in place with a soft thump, Bill and Olsen
huffing from the exertion. Mulder squirmed a bit as Brandmeier poked and
prodded the limb.

"Scullee. Make 'em stop," he moaned.

Scully shushed him, relieved when Brandmeier flashed her a brilliant
smile.

"Looks good. Circulation wasn't affected but the wrist is sprained
--possibly broken. It can wait until later."

Scully leaned over to press a kiss to Mulder's temple. "Hear that,
love?" she whispered. "Gonna have matching casts too."

"Okay, let's take this act on the road," Olsen said briskly. "Brandy,
did you give him some morphine?"

"Just enough to take the edge off," she answered, adjusting the drip on
the I.V. "I'm concerned about the head injury and he's awfully shocky."

Olsen nodded, then addressed his observers. "I need everyone but Agent
Mulder's brother to move back. Once I get rid of this pipe we're going
to break speed records to get him out of here. Every second counts. Joe
will help the rest of you out once we're gone."

Bill moved to a corner, surreptitiously touching Scully's shoulder as he
passed. She brushed her lips against Mulder's forehead, then his cheek,
blinking hard against stinging eyes. Mulder's lids kept slipping shut
and his gaze was vague and unfocused. Knowing that he couldn't grasp
what was about to happen added to her distress.

"I have to leave you for a few minutes, love," she murmured, the words
catching in her constricted throat. "I'll just be a few steps behind
you. Wait for me, okay? No ditching or I'll kick your ass."

His only response was a string of consonants. Weeping inside, Scully
tipped her chin up and gave Olsen a firm nod.

Licking his lips, he curled his fingers around the pipe and gave an
experimental tug. Mulder whimpered, and Scully's eyes slammed shut
reflexively. Warmth encompassed her shivering body, along with a
familiar and comforting scent. She leaned back into Bill's arms,
appreciative of the support and that he offered it silently. She turned
her face into his shoulder, for the first time unwilling to face
Mulder's pain head on. Olsen's voice was tense but steady.

"One. Two. THREE!"

Mulder shrieked. The cry was raw, primal, and Scully felt it throughout
her entire body like an electrical charge. A flurry of motion and a
volley of terse, hasty words drew her from her sanctuary just in time to
see Mulder strapped into the basket and whisked out the narrow opening,
Olsen pulling and Brandmeier pushing.

One snapshot image of his deathly pale face and shuttered eyes, a
sparkle of moisture on his cheeks.

Tears.

And then he was gone.

Scully listened dully as the scrape of the basket, shouted instructions,
and hurried footfalls faded and utter stillness rushed in to take their
place.

She felt split, torn in two, as if Mulder had been ripped from her the
way Olsen had ripped the pipe from Mulder's body. Involuntarily, her
eyes strayed to the discarded piece of metal stained with his blood.

He was gone. Just that quickly. Just that simply.

Something large and solid blocked her view, ending her contemplation.
Grey crouched down, glancing warily at Bill before taking her face
between his hands.

"Just a few minutes behind, Dana. You promised him, remember?"

She stared into his eyes, Mulder's eyes, and felt the split begin to
heal. She'd promised. And Mulder always held her to her promises.

Sensing something from her expression, Grey dropped his hands and
stepped back. Scully turned to Adamson, straightening her shoulders
despite the throb in her arm.

"Let's go. I've got somewhere I need to be."


Continued in part 17

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 1999 22:59:11 -0600
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (17 of 18)
Source: xfc

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (17 of 18)
By Dawn


Room 217NE
Wednesday
6:25 p.m.


An annoying hum, like a mosquito buzzing in his ear, drew Mulder
reluctantly up from the depths of velvet darkness. Somewhere there was
pain, sharp teeth gnawing the flesh of his side with avid intensity.
Fortunately, a thick gray cloud cocooned him, encasing his limbs in lead
and leaving his brain cells the consistency of slush. The pain was
there, somewhere. He just didn't care.

The quiet drone began fragmenting into pieces -- words, his torpid mind
finally concluded. They danced like butterflies just beyond his reach,
and he was tempted to ignore them and sink back into the comfort of the
darkness when a single syllable dropped into his grasp and he latched
on, following its thread.

"...Dana was very lucky. Both breaks were clean and she won't need
surgery."

Grey's voice.

"Still can't believe she wouldn't let them admit her for observation.
Sometimes she can be as hard-headed as your brother."

Skinner.

"I'm just grateful she sat still long enough for them to set the breaks
and give her some fluids," Grey answered dryly. "She wouldn't let anyone
touch her until he got out of surgery."

Skinner snorted. "If they were smart, they didn't push the issue. I've
been on the receiving end when she's distraught over Mulder and believe
me, you don't want to go there."

A soft chuckle. "I hear you."

"You all right? Playing Keanu Reeves in an elevator shaft can't have
been good for your back."

Mulder sensed the shrug. "It's pretty tight right now but the doc said I
didn't add any damage, just set back my recovery a bit. Funny thing is,
I never felt it until after we got Fox out of the building. Adrenaline,
I guess."

"Where's Agent Harding? I was looking forward to watching her kick your
butt. She was pretty worried, you  know."

A chuff of laughter, then Grey's voice softened. "She already did. I was
suitably repentant. She was dead on her feet, so I sent her home to get
some sleep."

"Wouldn't hurt to take your own advice."

"Yes sir, Assistant Director Skinner." Quiet laughter. "I swore to Dana
that I wouldn't leave him until she gets back. It was the only way to
get her to lie down for a while."

The teeth were gnawing a bit more vigorously now, harder to ignore, and
Mulder wanted to see his brother's condition for himself. Concentrating
mightily, he levered heavy eyelids to half-mast and tried to focus. He
must have made a sound because when the blurred images finally resolved
both Grey and Skinner were bracketing the bed and watching him intently.

"Hey, little brother," Grey said, eyes shadowed but warm. "How do you
like the new accommodations I got you?"

"'S hoping for...suite at...Hilton."

His throat had that ground glass quality consistent with intubation and
Mulder screwed up his face in displeasure.

"Here. I'll be Scully this time," Skinner said wryly, holding a straw to
his lips.

Cool, slick, wetness. Mulder drank and drank, vowing to never take water
for granted again. He finished the entire cup, then eyed Skinner as he
replaced it on the bedside table.

"Scully kisses me. Feel free...skip that part."

Grey chortled and his boss rolled his eyes. "Must be feeling better. His
smartass sense of humor is back."

Mulder let his head loll to the right. "How 'bout...damage report?"

Grey clasped his hand, and Mulder was surprised by how good the simple
physical contact felt. His brother sank into a chair but left their
hands linked. Skinner walked around to carefully perch on the foot of
the bed.

"Minor concussion. Sprained wrist. A set of bruises that would do a
prizefighter justice. And a half-inch hole in your side that somehow
managed to avoid every major organ. You were beyond lucky, Fox. You'd
better rethink your religious stance, 'cause someone was looking out for
you yesterday, and it wouldn't do to piss Him off."

Mulder's eyes wandered over the twin bags of blood and I.V. solutions,
then locked onto Grey's. "Scully?"

"Concussion and a couple of broken bones in her arm. She's lying down on
a cot in the nurses' lounge, thanks to Elena. They wanted to admit her
but she politely told them what they could do with their forms," Grey
smirked.

Mulder's lips curved. "Tha's my Scully," he slurred.

His side beginning to burn with a vengeance, Mulder tried to shift to
his right. The resulting explosion of pain rivaled Rynne's bomb. The
world receded to a pinpoint and his ears buzzed loudly for several
minutes. He didn't even realize he'd been moaning until he noticed his
sore throat had returned.

Grey was standing again, his face tight. "Guess I forgot to mention that
you shouldn't try to move right now."

Mulder tried valiantly to grin but it felt like a failure. "Don't
suppose...time for more good stuff?" he asked hopefully.

"I'll get Elena," Skinner said, jumping at the opportunity to be useful.

Mulder watched him duck out the door, managed a wry twist of his lips.
"Gonna get 'em together...'f I don' kill
m'self first."

Grey dropped back into his chair, shaking his head. "You do have a way
about you," he mused.

"I'm getting the strongest sense of dj vu," Elena said, pausing in the
doorway and offering Mulder a sassy grin. "Must be related to a past
life."

"Ha, ha," Mulder said weakly. "Should be...comedienne."

"After yesterday, I just may give that some serious thought," she
replied, crossing to the bed and setting down a small, stainless steel
tray.

She proceeded to slip a thermometer in his mouth and appropriated his
good wrist, eyeing the clock as she checked his pulse. The blood
pressure cuff went on and she retrieved the thermometer, nodding in
approval.

"Lookin' mighty good, Mulder. Temperature just a little above normal and
BP is climbing back up to a reasonable range. Good thing, too, since Dr.
Brewer was pretty ticked off that you messed up his hard work."

Mulder gave her a longsuffering glare. "Sorry. Apologize...when see
him."

Elena examined him with a critical eye, taking in the lines of pain
around his eyes. She touched his cheek gently, the skin cool and clammy
under her fingertips.

"Pain's bad?" she asked, all flippancy gone.

His eyes slid away to study the frayed edge of the blanket, but he
nodded. Fully aware this man tended to minimize his hurts, not
exaggerate them, she laid her hand briefly on his forehead and then
picked up a syringe from the tray.

"I've got just what you need," she murmured.

Within five minutes he was sleeping deeply, fingers slack in Grey's
grasp. "You must have given him some good stuff," he said, cocking his
head at Elena.

"He earned it," she replied, eyes soft with compassion. "A lot of people
owe him and Dana their lives." She smiled up at Skinner and Grey. "And
the two of you, as well."

Skinner actually grinned at her, some of the weariness falling from his
features. "You didn't do so bad yourself. The rest of us are trained for
this sort of thing, but you... You kept a cool head, Elena. You told us
what we needed to know, and you helped evacuate those most at risk. They
owe you too."

Elena gave a mocking little bow, but her eyes were pleased. "Well, thank
you. I'm on my way out of here -- can I buy you two a cup of coffee?"

Grey held up a hand. "Thanks. I'll take a rain check."

"He's just going to sleep, you know. I hit him with enough morphine to
stop a tank."

One corner of Grey's mouth lifted at her description. "I know. But I
promised Dana I'd stick with him until she gets back, and I value my
life."

Skinner's smile widened. "Smart man."

Grey listened to their banter as they walked out the door, glad that
Elena seemed to bring out Walt's lighter side. The man certainly needed
to loosen up now and then.

He squirmed around in the uncomfortable chair, finally propping his legs
on the end of Fox's mattress with a little hiss of relief. His brother
could have been made of stone, but for the gentle rise and fall of his
chest. Grey let his head drop to the seatback and closed his eyes.

"She said I had to stay, but she didn't say I had to be awake," he
mumbled wearily. "I won't tell if you don't."

Despite sore muscles and the hard chair, sleep found Grey easily.


Room 217 NE 
Wednesday 
7:22 p.m.


This time when he swam up to consciousness Mulder knew she was there. He
could smell her -- the distinct blend of soap, shampoo, and Scully that
lingered on their sheets and gave him a warm feeling of contentment. His
lips curved before he opened his eyes, his reward a blinding smile from
his favorite redhead.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. It's about time you decided to join the land of
the living."

The straw appeared before he could open his mouth, and he chuckled a
little to himself as he sipped. When she pulled it away he gave her a
loopy smile. "You're a lot prettier than Skinner, babe."

Scully laughed, an all out expression of mirth that he'd rarely been
privileged to witness. Her palm cupped his cheek and her thumb brushed
across his lower lip. "You are so stoned," she said, little riffs still
escaping.

Mulder wasn't sure what he'd said that was so funny -- the narcotics
racing through his system left him too fuzzy- headed to puzzle it out.
It didn't really matter anyway. He'd make an idiot of himself on a
routine basis if he could generate laughter like that.

"How do you feel?" Scully asked him, her fingers automatically slipping
to the pulse point on his wrist.

He opened his mouth to reply but a yawn slipped out first. "Better. Side
just aches a little."

"I'll bet," she replied, eyes still dancing.

Mulder slipped his wrist from her grasp and clumsily twined their
fingers. "You?"

"Pretty good, actually. I caught up on some sleep since you were down
for the count. And I'm on drugs myself -- though hardly of the same
caliber as what's dripping through that I.V. of yours!"

Mulder squinted a little, struggling to focus his wandering
concentration long enough to assess her appearance. To his relief, her
words seemed to be sincere. A cast encased her arm from wrist to
shoulder, and there was a livid bruise on her cheek, but her eyes were
bright and her posture relaxed.

"Look good," he said, attempting a lecherous wink but only succeeding in
provoking more gales of laughter.

He was still tired, so tired, and his eyes involuntarily began to drift
closed when an important question cut through his muzzy brain.

"Go home tomorrow?"

Well. Obviously he'd discovered how to make the laughter vanish too.
Scully sobered and her thumb caressed the tender skin around his I.V.

"Mulder, you've been through a severe trauma, and right on the heels of
a terrible illness. You need time to recoup, to build up your
strength..."

"Grey said no major organs. An' no infection."

"You lost a lot of blood, love. And you're on intravenous painkillers.
You're going to be hurting when you try to get up," she chided gently.

"Be fine," he insisted, wincing but doggedly shifting himself forward as
if to prove the point. "I'll rest."

"Mulderrr," she groaned helplessly. "Maybe by Friday -- *if* you keep
improving, okay?"

He shook his head adamantly, and to her bewilderment seemed on the verge
of tears. "NO, Scully. Tomorrow. Please?" He turned his head to stare at
the wall, blinking hard. "Don't wanna spend Thanksgiving in the
hospital, Scully. Please."

His ragged plea, delivered barely above a whisper, cut through her
confusion and splintered her heart in the process. Of course, tomorrow
was Thanksgiving. A day rife with unhappy memories for Mulder. The first
without his mother's presence -- such as it was -- in his life. No
wonder he was willing to endure anything not to spend it here.

"I forgot, love," she admitted, nudging his leg so she could sit beside
him. "I can't believe I could actually forget about Thanksgiving, but
I've been a little preoccupied."

"'S okay. I just can't..."

"Mulder, my man! How's the incredible human Timex tonight? Dude, you are
one for the record books, that's for sure."

Dr. Brewer breezed into the room with impeccable timing, sporting an
incredibly gaudy tie and a wide grin. Oblivious to the scene he'd
interrupted, he continued to converse as he pulled Mulder's chart from
the pocket at the end of the bed and flipped through the pages.

"Yesterday was crazy, huh? You guys do that for a living? This job
doesn't look half-bad after all! I gotta say, though, you are one lucky
son of a bitch, Mulder. Considering what your body's been through the
last few weeks, you're doing great -- no, make that amazing. You..."

Their silence finally seeped through his chatter and he trailed off,
eyes darting back and forth between their faces.

"What's up?"

"Nick," Scully said, squeezing Mulder's leg reassuringly. "We have to
talk."


Concluded in part 18

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 1999 23:00:34 -0600
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (18 of 18)
Source: xfc

Reply To: sunrise@avenew.com

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>

Blood Ties 6: Strange Bedfellows (18 of 18)
By Dawn


Room 217 NE 
Georgetown Memorial
Thanksgiving Day
3:08 p.m.


"More pie, sweetheart?"

Mulder waved a hand, while he swallowed a mouthful of whipped cream,
gazing pleadingly into Mrs. Scully's eyes.
"Maggie, have pity! I'm stuffed."

"Small wonder, you ate like a pig," Grey pointed out, standing up and
stacking his brother's now empty paper plate on top of his own.

"Like you have room to talk," Mulder retorted.

"He's right, Grey!" Kristen admonished, laughing. "People who live in
glass houses..."

Grey adopted a wounded expression. "Et tu, Kristen? Siding with my
brother against me?"

"Just keeping you honest," she replied, pressing a kiss to the corner of
his mouth and appropriating the plates. "It's hardly fair to pick on an
injured man."

"In other words, the answer is yes," he called after her as she scooped
up an empty cup and headed for the trash can.

"I want to thank you again, Maggie," Mulder said, ignoring his brother's
theatrics. "I never intended..."

"Doesn't matter what you intended, Fox," Maggie said firmly. "You're a
part of this family now -- don't you realize that? I'd never let one of
my children spend a holiday in the hospital, alone."

He stared at her mutely for a moment, then looked quickly away eyelids
flickering rapidly. He sensed Grey make himself scarce, felt Maggie's
hand run affectionately through his hair.

"I'm sure you miss her, sweetheart. Holidays just seem to intensify it.
I must admit I find myself thinking of Bill and Missy more this time of
year."

It took him a moment to process that she was speaking of his mom and not
Samantha. Mulder swallowed the tears and met her gaze.

"In some ways you've been more of a mother to me than she ever was," he
confessed softly. "But I think... I *think* she regretted that."

Scully, chatting with Tara near the doorway, drifted over, gaze shifting
between their faces, her expression tentative. Mulder smiled
reassuringly, touched by the mixture of relief and love that crossed her
face.

"Is she done stuffing you, Mulder?" she asked, slipping her hand into
his.

Maggie looped an arm around her daughter's waist in a hug. "You know me
better than that, sweetie. I haven't even begun! Now if you two will
excuse me, I haven't had a chance to wish Walt and Elena a Happy
Thanksgiving." She headed across the room to where Skinner and Elena
were conversing with Grey.

Scully turned to Mulder, her eyes doing a quick inventory from the top
of his head to the tip of his toes.

"See anything you like?" Mulder asked, producing a respectable leer,
thanks to the reduction of morphine in his bloodstream.

"Mmm. Let's just say I'm *very* thankful this year," Scully responded,
giving him a smoldering look of her own. "How are you holding up under
all the festivity?"

"I'm a little tired and sore," he admitted.

"You can have another shot, Mulder. You had them cut back the dosage
pretty drastically."

"Your mother went to an awful lot of trouble to pull this off, Scully. I
didn't want to be too high to appreciate it. I'll be all right for a
little bit longer."

Scully eyed him shrewdly, but whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her.
"Mom wanted to do this, Mulder. When she heard it was impossible for Dr.
Brewer to release you, she felt terrible. She insisted that if you
couldn't come to Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving would come to you."

"I'm sure Bill loved that," Mulder said under his breath.

Bill was currently seated in the corner near the door, arms folded
across his chest, watching the activity with a jaundiced eye.

"He was less than enthusiastic," Scully admitted, pursing her lips in a
useless attempt to hide her smirk. "Mom told him to feel free to spend
the day at home, alone. She's adopted you now, Mulder. There's no
escape."

Mulder tore his gaze from Bill, a smile creeping back onto his wan face.
"Yeah. She told me. I'm grateful, and I'm sorry I hared out on you
yesterday. I just..." He sucked in a long breath, blew it out slowly.
"It was too much like the holidays when I was a child, after Samantha
was gone. I tried, year after year, to concoct a way to bring our family
back together. To make it special and maybe recapture just a little of
the good times we used to have. But no matter what I did, how creative I
was, it was always a bust."

He looked down at their joined hands wistfully. "I wanted this year to
be different. When Mom died, the last vestiges of my old life died with
her. I don't mean to sound as if I've given up on finding Sam -- I'll
never stop looking. But I'm also not that lonely little kid anymore,
desperate to belong. I have Grey, and I have you. That trip to Mexico
was more than just a vacation to me. It was a sign, proof that this year
I'm not on the outside looking in. When it all went to hell like that,
when I realized that I would wind up stuck in here..."

"It felt like old times," Scully murmured.

"In the worst sense of the word," Mulder agreed.

She gently disengaged her fingers from his and reached up to brush a
lock of hair from his eyes. "Even if my mother hadn't turned into the
Martha Stewart of the surgical wing, you wouldn't have been on the
outside, love." She ducked her head and grinned into his eyes. "Or at
least you would have had someone out there with you. And believe me, I'm
just as disappointed about the vacation as you are. But I consider it
postponed, not cancelled. Once you're up to it, I expect to be lying on
the beach in that skimpy bikini you bought me, while you rub suntan
lotion on my back and bring me a cold drink."

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "I'm beginning to understand my place in the
grand scheme of things," he said sardonically. His eyes dropped and he
shifted uncomfortably. "Might be a while before I'm ready to wear a swim
suit, babe. Got a glimpse of the damage when they changed the dressing
today, and my left side is not a pretty sight."

Suddenly his patented leer was wearing Scully's face. "Mulder, when you
wear that suit, it's not your *side* they look at."

He gawked at her in shock, then embarrassed amusement.
"Sculleee!"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Skinner's voice startled them both, and Mulder shot Scully a quelling
glare. "Not at all, sir. Scully and I were just mourning the loss of our
vacation."

"Only you could find a way to be injured in a hospital, Mulder," Skinner
said ruefully, shaking his head.

Scully half-heartedly attempted to conceal her grin behind her hand, and
he barely resisted the impulse to stick out his tongue. There was
obviously still too much morphine in his system, since no snappy retort
would come to mind.
Skinner spared him further deliberation by turning serious.

"Mulder, I wanted to let you know that I checked on Theresa Rynne. She
was evacuated before the explosion and she's still alive, though in
critical condition. The shock of her husband's death, and the
circumstances surrounding it, understandably put a further strain on her
already weakened condition."

"What's her prognosis?" Mulder asked quietly. "Did you speak to a
doctor?"

"Her new cardiologist," Skinner replied grimly. "She was transferred to
George Washington and assigned a new physician, since Dr. Lawrence...
Anyway, he was less than hopeful. Said she'd probably survive another
couple weeks, a month at most. All they can do at this point is make her
comfortable. They don't expect her to leave the hospital. She has a
sister that's assuming guardianship of the children."

Mulder absorbed this information, his face impassive. "Did you take care
of the other matter?" He sensed Scully's sharp gaze, maintained eye
contact with Skinner.

Skinner averted his eyes, jaw tight. "It's a highly unorthodox request,
Mulder. I don't even want to *think* about all the articles of protocol
I'm helping you violate," he said sotto voice.

"Then you did it?"

Skinner's eyes were back on his, piercing. "Yes. My lawyer had a trusted
colleague who's handling it. The trust fund will be set up so that
Rynne's son can only access the money for his education. There's a
second one for the daughter if she decides to go to college when the
time comes. They're anonymous, and won't be traced back to you."

The tension left Mulder's body and he leaned back farther into the
pillows, wincing. "Thank you, sir. I understand your reservations, but
this was something I needed to do."

Skinner acknowledged his words with a slight dip of his head. "You have
nothing to feel badly about, Agent Mulder. Your handling of Rynne was
above reproach, and if not for outside intervention, I have no doubt
that you would have resolved the situation peacefully." He appeared to
mentally push aside irritation that his own statement engendered. "Now I
think I'll have that second piece of pie that Maggie has been offering."

Mulder stared after Skinner's retreating back, a thoughtful expression
on his face. Scully cleared her throat, giving him a narrow look.

"Something you forgot to share with me, Mulder?"

He flushed guiltily, tugging her closer to the bed. "I was going to tell
you eventually, Scully. I just wasn't sure how you'd react."

His expression was contrite, but she also sensed a deeper sorrow lurking
under the surface. Slipping off her shoes, she nudged him over and
carefully joined him on the bed. Her arm still ached, and it felt good
to lean into the warmth of his body and the softness of the pillows.

"Scully, not now. Your mother is here and there's a minor present,"
Mulder teased, indicating Matthew, who was busily driving cars on the
windowsill.

"You're deflecting, Mulder," she said, quieting his fidgeting hand by
snagging it with her own. "Tell me about this trust fund."

He went very still, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I'm not blaming
myself, Scully. I know there's nothing I could have done to stop what
happened. But I couldn't forget how proud Daniel looked when he talked
about his son. The first Rynne to go to college."

"So you decided to make sure he'd be able to graduate, in spite of his
father's death," Scully said.

"His kids were the reason I was finally able to reach him, Scully,"
Mulder replied defensively. "It meant everything to him that his son
might succeed where he hadn't. You know how I feel about the money my
parents left me. This puts some of it to an honorable use."

Scully brought his hand to her lips and placed a kiss on the palm.
"Mulder. I think it's a wonderful gesture. Did you really think I
wouldn't approve?"

A shrug of his shoulder. "Not exactly. Just that you might think I was
doing this out of a sense of guilt. That it was
a way of punishing myself for not being able to save Daniel."

"*I think* that you're someone who feels deeply for other people," she
replied affectionately. "It's just one of the reasons I fell in love
with you."

He shifted a little to look into her face, waggling his eyebrows
suggestively. "Just one, babe? Care to mention some of the others? Or
better yet, let me refresh your memory?"

"My mother and Matthew, Mulder, remember? Not to mention how you your
little demonstration would affect Bill."

Mulder leaned back, a beatific smile spreading across his face. "Ahh,
Scully. Now *there's* a picture that's worth a thousand words."

She chuckled softly, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Across the room, Bill eyed their cozy position and turned stiffly in his
chair, taking another gulp of the drink in his hand.

"You're sure the life of the party, Billy. Better tone it down, we *are*
in a hospital, after all."

Bill scowled up into Grey's mild smile, pushing his chair back and
standing. "When I find a reason to celebrate, I just might be," he
growled.

Grey shook his head, the humor leaving his expression. "It's all staring
you in the face, Bill! Two days ago a bomb took out a wing of this
hospital, yet we're here, alive and reasonably intact, to tell the tale.
You could be standing over your sister's grave right now but instead
you're here, a drink in your hand, a wonderful meal in your belly,
surrounded by people who, for some reason, love you -- including your
sister. What more do you need?"

Bill had the good grace to look ashamed. "She's my little sister,
McKenzie, and I love her. I just want what's best for her. This life she
leads with your brother -- it's not what I would have chosen for her."

Grey shook his head. "She doesn't need you to choose for her," he said
shrewdly. "She needs you to love and support her in the choices *she*
makes."

Bill heaved a gusty sigh and glanced back to where his sister and Mulder
were lying on the bed, their heads close together as they talked
quietly. He clenched his jaw and turned back to Grey.

"Supporting her is a bit much for me right now. But I guess I can stay
out of her way."

"Now *that's* something to celebrate," Grey said, clapping him on the
back. "How about joining Kristen and me for a piece of pie and you can
tell me all about where you learned to catch someone on the fly."

"It's all in the wrists, McKenzie," Bill answered, grinning.

Mulder glanced over just in time to see his brother slap Bill's
shoulder, and the answering smile. Squeezing Scully's hand to gain her
attention he motioned toward the two men.

"Scully, look at that!"

Scully swiveled her head and watched their brothers for a few moments, a
smile spreading slowly across her lips.

"Now *there's* an extreme possibility, Mulder. Must be an X-File."


End

Author's note: Well, if you've made it to the end, hope you enjoyed the
ride! This story began as just a small piece to follow Legacies and
resolve a few loose ends. Then my cyberbud, Vickie Moseley, had to
complicate things by casually tossing out a couple of terrific ideas.
Suddenly, my short little holiday story became a major epic - thanks,
Vickie! <VBG> But I have to say, this story truly would not be what it
is without her input and I am very grateful. Thanks also to Vickie,
Laurie, and Donna for their beta magic. This was a lot of work, and at
times I thought I'd never finish, but it was lots of fun too. To all of
you who have sent me wonderful feedback for this series - you keep me
going and make this so rewarding. Thank you!