TITLE: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord
(Blood Ties Series)
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: MTA, Xemplary, Gossamer - others are fine, just let me know
SPOILERS: Up through Closure
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: XA
KEYWORDS: MSR, AU
SUMMARY: Has Mulder's somewhat tenuous tether to sanity finally snapped?

DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter and 1013
Productions. Grey McKenzie is my own little creation.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you to everyone out there who has supported this
series and stalked me until I wrote another installment. <G> Your kind
words have meant more than I can say. Though this is an alternate
universe for obvious reasons, I do try to keep pace with the show.
Therefore, this story takes place soon after the events of Closure. The
exception, of course, is that I killed off Teena a year before Chris
did. <BEG> The story can be found in its entirety on my Web site at:
http://members.tripod.com/~dawnsunrise/index.html
More notes at the end.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please. It makes my day!



Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (1 of 21)
By Dawn


Prologue


Raleigh Police Department
Thursday, March 30
10:34 a.m.


Grey McKenzie scrutinized the forensics report, mouth twisted in a
scowl, and tapped his pen impatiently on the desk blotter. "This is the
best they could come up with?" he asked incredulously, eyeing his
partner over the top of the page.

Mark Preston shrugged. "I don't write 'em. I just read 'em."

Grey snorted. "From the looks of this, they aren't writing 'em either. I
refuse to believe our guy could break in, sexually assault this woman,
and crawl back out the window without leaving a shred of trace evidence.
I'm not releasing the crime scene until they take another look."

Preston shook his head but reached for the phone. "If you say so. But
you're going to be pretty unpopular."

"I'm sure I'll be sobbing into my pillow tonight," Grey growled.

The phone trilled just as Preston's fingers made contact, and he scooped
up the receiver while sparing a grin for Grey's sarcasm. "Detective
Preston. Yeah, he's right here." He passed the phone, lifting his
shoulders in answer to Grey's upraised eyebrows.

"This is Detective McKenzie. How can I help you?"

"Grey? It's Walter Skinner."

Grey dropped the report and leaned back in his chair, a smile lighting
up his face. "Hey, Walt! It's been a while. How's things?"

The pregnant pause wiped the grin from his face and brought him upright.
"Walt?"

Skinner's voice was tense, clipped. "This isn't a social call, Grey."

"What is it? Has something happened to Fox?" Grey's fingers tightened
around the phone in a white-knuckled grip and he forced himself to wait
for an answer. He turned his back to his partner's concerned gaze.

"Grey..." Skinner trailed off and swore softly. "There's no easy way to
say this."

Grey ground his teeth. "Just do it."

"Scully is missing. No one has seen her for over twenty- four hours."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and he massaged his forehead. "Oh, God. Fox
must be out of his mind with worry."

Skinner's voice was oddly neutral. "There's more, Grey. We've recovered
a weapon, a knife, with blood on it that matches Scully's type. We're in
the process of running a DNA test to confirm that it belongs to her."

A chunk of ice settled in Grey's stomach and he swallowed hard against
the nausea that followed. "I'm packing a bag and catching the next plane
to DC. I'll call as soon as I know my flight information and..."

"Grey..."

"You can give me the rest once I get there, Walt! Tell Fox to hang on
until..."

"GREY." Skinner's tone was harsh, commanding. "There's something else
you need to know before you come. Something you won't want to hear."

"I don't care what else you've found, Walt. I refuse to give up until
you show me a body and I'm sure Fox feels the same," Grey snapped
curtly.

"As do I, and that's not what I need to tell you." Skinner sighed, and
when he continued he sounded incredibly weary. "They pulled two clear
prints off the knife, Grey. They were your brother's. Right now he's the
number one suspect."


Continued in part 2

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 09:26:29 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (2 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (2 of 21)
By Dawn


Three Weeks Earlier
Hegal Place
Saturday, March 11
3:04 p.m.


*June 26 More tests today, including the really awful one that feels
like they're drilling a hole in my brain. I can't even close my eyes
because the drugs paralyze me so I won't move and mess up their results.
I don't think I could stand it if I didn't have my safe place. I go to
it whenever I'm really scared or the pain gets too terrible. Sometimes I
walk barefoot on a sandy beach and look out at deep green waves. I know
it's the ocean because the water seems to go on forever, and I taste
salt on my lips. Other times there's a tire swing hanging from a huge
oak tree in a shady backyard that I swing on till I'm dizzy. Always
there's an older boy with dark hair and gray eyes. He teases me, calls
me buttmunch, but I know he'll never let anything bad happen to me.
He'll protect me.

I wish he were here.*


Mulder closed the diary's yellowed pages and swiped at his eyes with the
back of one hand. Tossing it onto the coffee table he gazed dully at
stacks of books and files and the empty boxes waiting to receive them.
Closing his eyes, he let his body slip sideways until he was lying prone
on the couch, one arm flung over them and one foot still resting on the
floor. Neither the rattle of keys outside the apartment door, nor the
click of the deadbolt roused him from his position.

"Mulder?"

The door shut and footsteps padded cautiously toward the couch. He could
smell her -- a combination of soap, shampoo, and vanilla body lotion --
and at any other time the fragrance would have coaxed a smile to his
lips. Instead he remained motionless, desperately feigning sleep while
his spirit vacillated between wanting her to take him in her arms and
wishing she'd go and leave him to his solitude.

More footsteps, and he could feel her study him as if he were a body
awaiting her expertise.

"I know you're not asleep, Mulder. Your breathing is all wrong."

He lifted his arm just enough to peer at her. "What would you know about
breathing? You specialize in dead people."

Scully's forehead creased and she started to perch on the coffee table.
Catching sight of the diary, she picked it up before sitting. Cradling
it carefully in her hands, she smoothed her palm across the cover and
sighed.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Mulder tore the arm from his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows,
glaring at her. "What exactly am I doing to myself?" he growled.

"I think you know the answer to that," Scully replied softly. She lay
her hand along his stubbled jaw, her thumb tracing dried tear tracks.
"Every time you read this diary you wind up in a place so dark and deep
I can barely reach you. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you snap at my
attempts to get you to talk to me..."

He jerked back from her touch, blinking hard. "What do you want from me,
Scully? I can't just forget what they did to her! Can you imagine what
it must have been like, how scared she must have been? They took my
little sister and turned her into a guinea pig. And even worse, they
stole her memories of the people who loved her!"

Scully met his eyes steadily, without flinching. "A lot of terrible
things happened to your sister, Mulder. But they happened a long time
ago, and obsessing over them now is not going to help you heal."

Mulder evaded her gaze, jaw clenched. "I need to know who took her,
Scully, and why. I can't heal until I have those answers."

She replaced her hand on his chin, pressing gently until hazel eyes
returned to blue. "What happened to 'I'm free'?" she asked gently.

This time Mulder leaned into the caress. "I'm freed from my quest for
Samantha, from the burden of finding her. But now I have other
obligations." He placed his hand over hers and his mouth curved. "You of
all people recognize I'm an obsessive personality, Scully. You must have
known something would take its place."

Scully tipped her face closer until her forehead rested against his. "I
was kind of angling for that spot myself," she murmured huskily.

As she'd hoped, Mulder chuckled warmly. He pressed his lips against
hers, little riffs of laughter still escaping at first until she
brazenly slid onto his lap and deepened the kiss. When Scully pulled
back the darkness had vanished from his eyes and they were both
breathless. Mulder tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his
fingers linger on the silky skin of her cheek.

"You will always be my number one obsession, babe."

Scully looked pointedly over her shoulder at the empty boxes. "Really? I
see a distinct lack of progress here, Mulder. You're supposed to be out
of here in two weeks. You know -- you, me, an apartment made for two?"

"I know, I know. I'm getting organized, you just can't see it," he said
defensively, letting his fingers creep under her shirt to rub her back,
a sure distraction.

"You can say that again...oh, right there," Scully moaned appreciatively
as he went to work on a particularly tight group of muscles. She let her
head drop to his shoulder and gave herself over to the skillful massage.

"You've got an awful lot of knots here, babe. I haven't been that bad,
have I?" Mulder asked, only half teasing.

"I took some boxes over to Goodwill today. Guess I overdid it," she
answered, sighing contentedly as his hands gentled to long, soothing
strokes.

"You should have called, I'd have hauled them over for you."

"You've been a little...preoccupied this weekend. I thought I should
give you some space," Scully replied quietly, her words muffled against
his chest.

Mulder went still, then rested his cheek on the auburn crown of her
head. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She sat up, regretting that unhappiness had returned to his face. "It's
okay, love. It's been a difficult year."

Mulder looked at her sharply. "I wasn't sure if you remembered."

Scully pursed her lips, exasperated. "Of course I remember! In fact, I
was a little worried when I realized that our move to the new apartment
is going to take place exactly one year to the day that your mother
died. But you didn't mention it, so neither did I. It's still not too
late, Mulder. We could always schedule the movers for another day."

Mulder shook his head vehemently. "No. I didn't say anything because
there's nothing to be said." He blew out a long gust of air and tucked
her head back under his chin. "It's fitting, don't you think? My
mother's death was the catalyst that turned my world upside down. Seems
appropriate that the biggest change of all should occur on the
anniversary."

Scully nuzzled her nose against the soft, gray cotton of his tee shirt.
"Scared?"

A brief explosion of mirth rumbled through his chest. "Terrified. But
that doesn't mean I don't want this, Scully. More than I've ever wanted
anything in my whole life."

Her throat constricted painfully at the sweetly wistful note to his
voice, and she tightened her arms about his waist. "Me too."

They remained that way, in contented silence, for some time, Mulder's
fingers weaving through her hair and skimming up and down her back. As
always, he marveled at the size of her. That so much strength of both
mind and body could reside in such a diminutive package. Holding her
like this, feeling her soft curves pressed against him, it was difficult
to remember that she could deliver a serious ass-kicking.

Mulder grinned to himself. And his had the heel marks to prove it.

"What are you smirking about?" Scully asked drowsily without lifting her
head.

"How would you know if I'm smirking? You can't even see my face," Mulder
pointed out.

"Trade secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you," she replied, her
own smile growing when Mulder chortled in delight.

Mulder dropped his head onto the back of the couch and stared up at the
ceiling, his fingers tracing small circles on Scully's thighs.

"Sometimes I have trouble reconciling the fact that this has been both
the best and worst year of my life," he mused. "Losing Mom so suddenly,
without the chance to fix what had broken between us -- I'll always
regret that our last words were spoken in anger. And Sam..." his voice
became thick with emotion and Scully felt the breath hitch in his chest.
"I really wanted to save her, to bring her home."

"They may have tried to steal her memories of you, Mulder, but they
never truly succeeded." She ran her hands down the bare flesh of his
arms and tangled their fingers together. "On some level you were always
with her, giving her comfort. She must have loved you very much."

Mulder didn't reply, but his hands tightened convulsively in hers and
she sensed him struggling to take slow, deep breaths. When he did resume
speaking, his voice was soft but steady.

"But in the midst of all the sorrow, there have been moments of the
purest joy I've ever known. Finding my brother, after all these
years..." He chuffed a little. "And I even *like* him."

Scully lifted her head and an eyebrow. "Count yourself lucky -- half the
time *I* can't make that claim."

Mulder grinned evilly. "Aw, come on, Scully. Bill did help save my life.
'Course, I think Grey might have had a gun to his head at the time."

She tried to muster a look of disapproval, but wound up snickering with
him instead. Their laughter tapered off, and Mulder's expression turned
abruptly serious. He cupped her face between his palms, one corner of
his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.

"And then there's this," he murmured. "I'd willingly endure every
terrible moment of the last year just to be here, like this, with you. I
still can't figure out what the hell you see in me, Scully. But I'm not
going to argue."

Butterfly kisses fluttered over her eyelids and cheeks before his lips
finally settled on her own. Scully concentrated on the exquisite contact
to keep her tears at bay. Mulder had the power to annoy her more than
any man she'd ever known, but he could instantly banish the memory of
every irritation with one heartfelt confession. He'd once called himself
high maintenance, and truer words were never spoken.

But, oh, the perks.

Breaking the kiss while she still had the willpower, Scully resolutely
slipped off his lap and stood, offering her hand. Mulder licked his lips
and pouted.

"What makes me think that taking your hand is not going to mean a trip
to the bedroom?"

Scully smirked and pulled him upright. "That's why they pay you the big
bucks, Mulder. Those investigative skills are never wrong."

"Scuhleee!"

She reached down, hefted a stack of books, and placed them in his hands.
"First we fill a few of these poor empty boxes," she said firmly. "Once
we're done...who knows?" She waggled her eyebrows in a parody of
Mulder's patented leer.

Mulder's eyes widened, then dilated. "Start packing, babe. I'm feeling
very motivated."


Continued in part 3

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 09:29:17 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (3 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (3 of 21)
By Dawn


FBI Headquarters
Wednesday, March 15
9:27 a.m.


Scully entered the office to find Mulder swearing steadily under his
breath and ransacking the organized chaos of his desktop. She'd ducked
out for a few minutes to grab a carton of yogurt from the cafeteria and
check up on some lab results from an autopsy. At that time he'd been
comfortably ensconced in his chair with feet propped up and hand buried
in a bag of sunflower seeds, sifting through a pile of cases tagged as
possible X-Files. He'd been so absorbed he'd barely acknowledged her
departure, a preoccupied wave of his hand and the crack of a shell the
only indication he'd heard her.

She moved to her desk and set down the container of lowfat blueberry
swirl, frowning as he rifled through a stack of folders and then dumped
them to the floor with an impatient flick of his wrist.

"Mulder!"

She circled his desk and scooped up the scattered files, stuffing
exposed papers back in their proper folders and glaring at him. Mulder
flopped into his chair and scrubbed his face with both hands, then ran
them through his hair until he looked more like a punk rocker than a
federal agent.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" Scully demanded, setting the
straightened folders back on the corner of his desk and crossing her
arms.

"Skinner called. He wants to see us in his office in five minutes and I
can't find the damn Henderson file!" Mulder snapped, punctuating his
reply with a sharp kick to the trashcan that sent it toppling toward the
floor.

"Mulder!"

Scully caught the can just in time and righted it. "Calm down. I thought
you were still writing your field report for that case."

"I was. I finished it last night," he growled through clenched teeth.
"That's why I was late getting home for dinner. Skinner pulled me aside
in the hallway yesterday and read me the riot act, told me he expected
it to be in his hands no later than noon today."

Scully stepped closer and began carefully sifting through another stack
of papers. "Did you check your briefcase? Could you have brought it home
last night? Maybe you left it at my place."

"I just told you that I stayed late to finish it so that I wouldn't
*have* to bring it home," Mulder snarled. "I almost took it up before I
left but I really didn't want to get into it with Skinner if he was
still here."

The barely repressed fury in his voice and his slightly trembling hands
disturbed Scully but she said nothing. They continued to search the
office in silence until the phone rang. Mulder purposely ignored it,
moving over to thumb through some folders sitting on top of a filing
cabinet, so Scully snatched it up with an exasperated sigh.

"Scully. Hi, Kim. Yes, we do realize his time is valuable. We were just
on our way out the door."

She hung up and turned back to Mulder, brushing a piece of lint from her
jacket and smoothing a hand over her hair. "Forget it, Mulder. Skinner
is less than pleased about being kept waiting and Kim's feeling the
heat. We have to get up there now, he's got a ten o'clock meeting with
the Director."

Mulder ground out an expletive that was graphic, even for him, and just
stood with shoulders hunched and fists propped on his hips. Torn between
concern and irritation with his behavior, Scully pulled open the door
and waited. After a moment Mulder huffed and stalked through the
opening, muttering things under his breath that Scully made no attempt
to decipher.

Kim barely glanced at them when they entered, merely waving them onward
like a parking attendant indicating the next available spot. That was
more acknowledgement than they received from the A.D., however, whose
eyes never broke from their perusal of a report. Mulder and Scully
seated themselves in their customary spots and waited silently -- Scully
with folded hands and relaxed posture, Mulder gnawing savagely on his
lip while his foot wriggled and jittered.

Just as Scully was about to risk a furtive smack to her partner's arm,
Skinner set aside the papers and cleared his throat. "Agents. So nice of
you to make time in your busy schedule to see me."

Scully remained stone-faced but Mulder flushed and his eyes narrowed.
"Sir, before you say anything more, I have to tell you up front that I
don't..."

"I believe *I* was the one who called this meeting, Agent Mulder,"
Skinner cut him off, voice clipped. "I have another in" - he consulted
his watch - "less than twenty minutes, so I'd appreciate it if you'd
hold whatever comment you were about to make until I've explained why
you're here."

When Mulder grudgingly nodded, he proceeded in a gentler tone. "Mulder,
SAC Carpenter from the VCS has been petitioning for your assistance on a
case involving a serial rapist/murderer. He first approached me nearly
two weeks ago and I turned him down flat. I know profiling is a strain
even under normal circumstances, and on the heels of the LaPierre case
and the news of your sister's death..."

Mulder's demeanor turned from chafing to guarded. "I'm fine, sir. As
someone pointed out, my sister's death occurred a long time ago."

Skinner watched Scully's eyes dart to Mulder's face and hurt flicker
across her own before the professional mask dropped back into place.
Mulder's expression remained studiously blank. Skinner picked up the
folder that rested near his left elbow, the action meant to cover his
own confusion. Something was definitely off between these two, but he
couldn't put his finger on what it might be. With a sigh he handed the
file to Mulder and resumed speaking.

"When Carpenter approached me yet again as I was leaving last night, I
agreed to leave the decision up to you."

Mulder took the folder but didn't open it. "We're between cases, sir.
There's no reason I can't take a look at this."

Skinner leaned forward, elbows planted on the desktop. "This is a
consult, Mulder. Just take a look at the evidence and the current
profile. Scully can review the autopsy results if you'd like. If they
seem to be on target, give your stamp of approval. If not, tactfully
point out the necessary modifications." He tipped his head so that he
was peering at Mulder over the top of his glasses. "*Tactfully*,
Mulder."

Scully caught the humor coloring the words and smothered a smirk, but
Mulder just looked annoyed. "Yes, sir. I promise I'll be a good boy."

Skinner saw the slight smile slide off Scully's face and his feelings of
disquiet deepened. Mulder's sarcastic reply, though expected, held none
of the usual mischief. Determined to end on a more positive note, if
only for Scully's sake, he retrieved the report he'd been reading when
the two agents entered his office.

"And by the way, I wanted to commend you both for your work on the
Henderson case. The local PD was highly complimentary about your
handling of the victims and your assistance in the arrest. And Mulder,
your field report - once received - was a concise and thorough summary
of the investigation." He shook his head and allowed a ghost of a smile
to touch his lips. "Refreshingly free from brain-eating mutants and
snake-wielding religious fanatics."

When he looked up to gauge Mulder's reaction, Skinner was thrown off
balance by the naked anger and confusion.

"Since when has it become customary for the Assistant Director to take a
field report from his agents' office rather than wait until it's turned
in?" Mulder asked tersely.

Skinner's brows plunged. "What are you talking about, Mulder?"

Mulder wasn't put off by the warning growl in Skinner's question. "You
know exactly what I'm talking about! I would have turned in the
Henderson report first thing this morning, there was no reason for you
to come down and get it. And the least you could have done was leave a
note. I nearly tore the office apart looking for the damn thing!"

Scully flinched at the insubordinate tone of Mulder's voice. She reached
out to lay a hand on his forearm, sending Skinner an appeasing look.
Skinner took a deep breath and forced his blood pressure to lower before
replying.

"I would not take a report from your office without informing you. And
in this case, it wasn't even necessary. The file was right here on the
blotter of my desk when I got in this morning. *You* turned it in,
Mulder."

The indignation slowly drained out of Mulder's face and he gaped at
Skinner. "I didn't...that is, I don't..."

The buzz of the intercom distracted Skinner from his agent's stammering.
He stabbed at the button, eyes skipping back to where Scully had leaned
her head close to her partner's and was murmuring something.

"Yes, Kim, what is it?"

Kim's voice, even through the tinny speaker, was contrite. "Sir, you
asked me to be sure you made it to the meeting on time..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just finishing up, Kim. Thank
you."

Mulder appeared to have regained his composure. He clasped the VCS
folder firmly in his hands and stood, but his eyes evaded Skinner's.

"If that's all, sir, we'll let you get to your meeting. I'll take a look
at this profile right away and give SAC Carpenter my thoughts."

Skinner nodded, snagging his suit jacket from the back of his chair and
slipping it on. He watched them head for the door, unable to shake off
his concern. Mulder guided Scully through with his hand pressed to her
back, and was about to follow.

"Mulder."

Mulder froze at the sound of his name, his back stiff. He propped one
hand on the doorframe but didn't turn.

"I'm fine, sir. And I'm sorry for the mix-up over the report. I was out
of line."

Skinner opened his mouth to press the issue, but changed his mind
midstream. "Let me know if you have any difficulty with the VCS or
Carpenter," he said instead.

Mulder's back loosened noticeably. He threw an impudent grin over his
shoulder, the first normal expression Skinner had seen all day.

"Piece of cake, sir. With my charming personality I'll have 'em eating
out of my hand."

Skinner snorted and rolled his eyes, though Mulder couldn't see it. He
reached for his briefcase and straightened his tie, feeling much better.

Scully followed Mulder down the hall, into the elevator, and back to the
office. His irritability had vanished, replaced with a brooding silence
that she found to be of marginal improvement. He wandered over to his
desk and sat down, so she let him be and began checking her email.

When she glanced up several minutes later he was still rocking idly in
the chair, staring blankly at the closed VCS folder.

"Mulder, let it go. Skinner has the report and he's more than satisfied
with it."

Mulder blinked and turned slowly to face her, as if returning from some
distant country. "Scully, I have no memory of taking that folder up to
Skinner's office."

His certainty bothered her, but she shrugged it off. "We all have spells
of absentmindedness. I really wouldn't waste time worrying about it."

He shook his head, a mulish, intractable set to his features that made
her want to strangle him. "You don't get it. I don't even have a fuzzy
spot in my memory where I might've done it. I can specifically recall
everything I did during the time I was here last night, from the moment
I finished typing the report to the instant I got in the car and drove
home. There's no place to fit in a trip up to Skinner's office. None."

Scully searched his face, read bewilderment beneath the vehemence.
"Mulder, you admitted that you considered taking the paperwork upstairs.
You were tired, and you've been under a lot of stress these past few
weeks. So you acted on that impulse but can't remember it. Is that
really so alarming?"

Mulder propped his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers under
his chin. "Scully, I have an eidetic memory. I don't just forget things,
not without a reason. Yes, I find that alarming."

Scully stood and moved over to crouch in front of his chair, placing her
hand on his leg. "Mulder, I understand about your memory. But you're
human, and you're going to respond to pressure just like anyone else. We
all lose track of little things in the wake of the big ones - misplacing
keys, forgetting to turn off the iron, missing an important
appointment..."

Mulder dropped one hand to cover hers and his lips quirked. "Oh really?
I haven't seen you do a single one of the things you just mentioned.
Scully, you have to be the most organized person I know."

Scully pursed her lips. "Watch and learn, partner. Watch and learn."

His expression turned decidedly lecherous, and she braced herself for
the inevitable innuendo, but the ringing of his phone spared her.

"Mulder. Yeah but I haven't had a chance to..." He listened, rolling his
eyes, then sighed. "Fine. I'll be right up."

The phone hit the cradle with excess force and he gave Scully's hand a
final squeeze before standing and pulling her up beside him.

"That was SAC Carpenter. He wants to give me a quick briefing on the
case."

Scully smiled as he scooped up the folder and tucked it under his arm.
"Remember, Mulder. You promised Skinner you'd play nice with the VCS
kids."

Mulder put on his "who, me?" face. "I try, Scully. It's just that
sometimes the need to mess with their heads..."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one," she said, her grin camouflaged as she
turned to her desk. "Try harder, ace."

His soft chuckle warmed her and she watched him stride out the door
before letting her own smile fade. In spite of her reassuring words, his
behavior of late was causing her more than a little concern. Subdued and
depressed one moment, wired and irritable the next - and now this
incident with the report. All signs that Mulder's customary resilience
had developed some cracks. She could only hope and pray that time and
patience would heal them.


Continued in part 4

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 09:35:21 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (4 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (4 of 21)
By Dawn


Headquarters for The Lone Gunmen
Friday, March 17
12:17 p.m.


"Who is it? What's the password?"

Mulder glared up at the hidden camera and raised his middle finger.
"It's Mulder and there's my password. Open the damn door, Frohike."

Eight staccato snaps of metal and the door creaked open to reveal
Frohike's face. "Don't get your panties in a twist," he said as Mulder
shouldered past him.

"I told you on the phone I'd be here in five minutes. Who did you think
was at the door?" Mulder growled.

Langly, clad in a wrinkled Agent Orange tee shirt and boxers and
nibbling on a pop tart, looked up from his computer. "Hey Mulder. Got up
on the wrong side of the bed, huh?"

Mulder's hands involuntarily clenched into fists, and he forced himself
to count to ten. When his irritation had receded to a manageable level,
he circled around the desk to see the monitor screen.

"What have you boys got for me?"

"Where's Scully?"

Byers, in direct contrast to Langly's slovenly appearance, looked ready
for a meeting with the board of directions. His three-piece suit was
impeccably clean and pressed, his white shirt crisp, and a conservative
tie adorned his neck.

Mulder braced both arms on the desktop, casting Byers a look of thinly
concealed impatience. "She's at Quantico, consulting on an autopsy.
Sorry, guess you'll have to settle for the floor model."

Frohike and Byers traded an uneasy glance as Langly's fingers flew over
the keys. "We started checking into the house you found on April Air
Force Base, managed to hack into some old records.  The house was
occupied by a CGB Spender and his family from 1974 through 1979. A wife
and two kids. We're trying to find out just what he was doing on the
base, but haven't been able to access the right files."

"All we get is that he was involved with a top secret project. Very
hush-hush," Frohike chimed in, moving closer.

Mulder snorted. "How about telling me something I don't already know?"

"We're doing our best, man," Langly replied defensively. "We can't just
go stomping in through the front door."

"The files are double and triple password protected, and they've laid
some booby traps along the way to tip them off to any snooping," Frohike
said.

"We just need some more time," Byers added quietly. "We aren't giving
up."

Mulder dropped down into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Anything else?"

This time all three gunmen looked at each other.

"What? What is it?" Mulder demanded shortly.

"We turned up medical records on the daughter, Samantha Spender," Byers
finally said. "She was supposedly being treated for a rare blood
disorder." He hesitated, then finished. "There were numerous instances
of hospitalization. Sometimes outpatient, sometimes more extended
stays."

Mulder closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "My sister
did NOT have a rare blood disorder. And those were not treatments. I've
read her diary, and I can only imagine what those butchers were doing to
her." His voice started out strong, powered by anger, but turned thin
and broken before he'd finished.

Langly eyed him nervously before hunching further over the keyboard.
Byers licked his lips and turned to study a spot on the wall. Frohike's
hand crept forward, paused, and then came to rest uncertainly on
Mulder's shoulder.

"Are you sure about this? Is it worth it? A lot of those responsible for
what happened to your sister are probably dead. Some truths are best
left uncovered, G-man."

Mulder tensed, but made no attempt to displace Frohike's palm. "Just
keep digging. See if you can get me copies of the alleged hospital
records," he replied woodenly.

"I'll see what I can do," Langly promised. "Maybe Scully can make sense
of them."

"NO."

All three heads snapped up at the intensity of his response. Mulder
pulled his hand across the stubble of his jaw and squinted up at each in
turn as he spoke.

"I don't want Scully involved in this. Any information you come up with
is for my ears only. This remains just between the four of us."

He waited for a clear, if reluctant, nod of confirmation from each of
them, then consulted his watch and stood.

"I've got to get back. Keep me posted."

Frohike followed him to the door and turned each deadbolt until only one
remained. He paused with fingers wrapped around the lock, then dropped
his hand and leaned back against the heavy oak without disengaging it.

Mulder shifted his feet restlessly, then reached over to open it
himself. "Come on, Hickey. I have to get back before Scully."

Frohike moved his body to block the way, face grave. "If you ask me, I
think you're making a big mistake leaving Scully out of the loop,
Mulder."

Mulder stepped back and crossed his arms, jaw thrust forward. "I don't
seem to recall asking." When Frohike refused to back down, he sighed and
shook his head. "This isn't about Scully or the X-Files. This is
something I have to do for myself. It's personal."

Frohike's face screwed up in disbelief. "For someone who's supposed to
be such a genius, you can be a thick-headed jackass! You can't use
'personal' as an excuse any more, Mulder. Those days ended the moment
you admitted you love her. You'd better come to terms with it, or you're
going to screw up the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Mulder clenched his teeth, but inclined his head. "I'll think about it,"
he replied tersely.

Shaking his head, Frohike threw back the last bolt and yanked open the
door. He watched Mulder climb into his car before shutting and locking
the door, then let his forehead thump against the wood.


Georgetown
Monday, March 20
3:41 a.m.


Scully opened her eyes, senses attuned and mind rapidly untangling the
cobwebs of sleep. Despite a deceptively bright spill of moonlight
through the blinds, the alarm clock's glowing display proved that it was
still the middle of the night. Brushing tangled strands of hair from her
eyes she turned to the right and propped herself up on one elbow,
knowing from both instinct and experience what had awakened her.

She could recall the first nightmare with crystal clarity, undimmed by
seven years of the same. Partnered for almost six months, they'd just
concluded a particularly nasty case -- the purported alien abduction of
a little girl that had turned out to be murder at the hands of her
mother's boyfriend. Scully's first experience with the violent death of
a child had left her shaken and horrified, but Mulder had been a rock,
gentle and compassionate with the family, calm and efficient with the
local police. She'd marveled at his composure, his apparent ability to
detach himself. Until that night, when she'd been wrenched from a deep
sleep by the sound of his screams through the thin, motel room walls.

Not so detached after all.

She'd gone to him that night, ignoring the closed connecting door and
his embarrassment. Yet beneath his discomfort with her witnessing such
vulnerability had been a wary gratitude.

And so it had become a habit, something she did without conscious
thought, like eating or breathing. Like a mother sensitive to the cry of
her child, she often found herself in Mulder's room and soothing him
before totally aware she'd left her bed. It had been difficult for him
to accept at first, testimony to the fact that he'd been coping with the
nightmares alone for a very long time. Images of Mulder as a young boy,
left to fend for himself, made Scully ache inside. Though they never
spoke of her nocturnal visits in the light of day, she'd relished the
rare opportunity to hold and comfort him.

And then their relationship had evolved and, amazingly, the frequency of
Mulder's nightmares had sharply declined. And when they did occur, when
the evils of their everyday existence could no longer be held at bay by
her mere physical presence, Scully had only to roll over and take him in
her arms.

Carefully, of course. A bloody nose had taught her early on that Mulder
in the throes of a nightmare could throw a mean right hook.

She watched him now, a troubled frown creasing her pale brow and a
queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. Ever since the discovery of
his sister's diary and the revelation of her death, Mulder's nightmares
had undergone a profound change.

He lay curled on his side, facing her, silently weeping. The cool wash
of moonlight illuminated a glistening path of tears on his cheek and his
breath hitched and stuttered in his chest. Both arms were wrapped
tightly around his body, as if in his dreams he attempted to assuage his
own sorrow. Ironically, Scully found herself wishing for terrified
screams and flailing limbs. A bloody nose would be far less painful.

She scooted closer and began threading her fingers through his hair,
keeping both her touch and her voice feather-light.

"Mulder. Wake up, love, you're dreaming. You need to come back to me
now."

She brushed the moisture from his cheeks with her fingertips, following
with her lips. After a moment he went very still, and she maintained a
steady stream of soft reassurances and soothing touches, knowing that
he'd be confused and disoriented for a brief time.

"Scully? I...where..." His voice husky and trembling, he blinked and
reflexively reached for her.

Scully tugged him closer and he enveloped her small body with his own,
his head tucked just under her chin. Every now and then fine tremors
would run through him as he struggled to complete the transition from
sleeping to waking.

"Shhh. We're at my place, remember? You were having a bad dream, so I
woke you."

She wove her fingers through his hair, occasionally smoothing her palm
up and down his spine, feeling his body gradually relax and grow heavy
against her own. She waged an internal battle, part of her willing to
let him slip back into the sanctuary of sleep, if possible; part of her
determined to drag whatever was bothering him into the light.

"Want to tell me what you were dreaming about?" she asked, never
breaking the movement of her hands.

Every muscle in his body went from soft and pliable to rock hard in an
instant and Scully could feel his breathing quicken.

"I don't remember."

Hurt, then rage washed over her, stilling her hands as she struggled
against the urge to push him away. She found it difficult to accept when
he closed himself off from her, but a blatant lie violated an unspoken
vow between them formed long before their romantic bond. Only the
haunted expression in his eyes tempered her anger.

"If you don't want to talk, Mulder, I'll respect that," she said
quietly. "Please don't betray my trust by lying."

It hit a nerve, as Scully intended. Mulder flinched as if she'd
delivered a physical blow and his fingers tightened convulsively on her
pajama top.

"I didn't mean to... I...I can't talk about it, Scully," he rasped, the
words sticking in his constricted throat. He burrowed his face further
into the silk and she felt the moist heat of fresh tears. "I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry."

Something deep inside her broke and Scully found herself on the verge of
weeping. She cradled him closer in her arms and pressed her lips to the
top of his head. "Shh. It's okay, love. I just want to help you."

Mulder was so distraught she wasn't sure her words reached him. All
Scully could do was to hold him, rocking gently and repeating a familiar
patter of calming words. Whatever he'd dreamed, it had disturbed him on
a most basic and profound level. Scully let her eyes slide shut in
resignation, reasonably certain of the trigger.

"Sometimes I wish you'd never found that diary," she muttered.

Slowly, gradually, she coaxed Mulder back towards sleep. His weeping
tapered off to an occasional catch of breath, his head pressed more
heavily to her chest, and his limbs went slack. When his respiration
became deep and even, and she was certain he wouldn't awaken, Scully
eased him onto a pillow and drew the blankets up to his chin. He
murmured restlessly in his sleep, but subsided when she brushed her lips
across his brow and whispered her love in his ear. After a long moment
contemplating his face, her emotions a confusing cocktail of fathomless
love, nagging worry, and aching sorrow, she wandered out to the kitchen
for a cup of hot chocolate.

An hour later the mug in her hands had gone cold and Scully found
herself staring blankly at a sticky spot on the tile where Mulder must
have spilled orange juice. Though her body begged wearily for sleep, her
mind refused to cooperate, troubled thoughts of the man sleeping in the
next room a stimulant that even hot chocolate couldn't overcome.

Fox Mulder, though a man possessed of deep feelings and emotions, was
not given to overtly displaying them. Yet lately he'd become prone to
extreme swings in mood and temperament - periods of elation and
excessive energy followed by explosions of anger, sarcasm, and grief.
Whether you used the scientific approach, or Mulder's brand of
intuition, all signs pointed to the same destination - Mulder was not
coping nearly so well with his sister's death as he wanted others to
believe.

And she didn't know what to do about it.

Something was going on in Mulder's head, but he wasn't willing to share
it with her. And while that admission hurt her deeply, she loved him
enough to put her own feelings aside. Mulder was in trouble. She wished
to God she could help him, but if not, she had to find someone who
could.

And that admission was the catalyst that jolted her sleep deprived brain
into producing an answer so simple and so apparent that a genuine smile
crept onto her face. A heavy weight lifted from her heart, and it felt
as if she could finally breathe again after an extended period of oxygen
deprivation.

For a very long time she'd been the only person to take care of Mulder,
the only one to love him. Maybe that's why sometimes she forgot how
drastically things had changed.

Scully got up and rinsed her mug, then padded back to the bedroom.
Mulder was lying just as she'd left him, though one hand was now
outstretched as if he sought her presence in his sleep. She slipped
under the covers and snuggled into the comfort of his sleep-warmed skin.
He sighed and mumbled something incoherent, pulling her close so that he
was spooned around her. Wrapped in the security of his embrace and her
own decision, Scully slept.


Continued in part 5

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 09:37:55 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (5 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (5 of 21)
By Dawn


Hegal Place
Wednesday, March 22
6:54 p.m.

He was only mildly annoyed until the jar of mayonnaise slid off the
ledge and landed on his bare foot. After his initial yelp of agony he
proceeded to curse the mayonnaise, condiments in general, and the
refrigerator whose faulty shelf allowed the mishap in the first place --
all while hopping about ridiculously and cradling his injured toes.

Scully stood serenely in the doorway and viewed the entire spectacle
with an upraised eyebrow and pursed lips. Mulder glared at her,
balancing on one leg like a stork.

"What?"

She shook her head, lips quivering suspiciously. "I don't know, Mulder.
They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I'd just be getting
warmed up."

"Ha, ha. I broke my toes and you're making jokes," he pouted, nearly
falling on his backside as he attempted to assess the damage.

Scully pulled a chair from the table and guided him into it, kneeling so
she could pull his foot into her lap. "Sorry, Mulder. The Scullys are
notoriously unsympathetic in this type of situation. I think it was
Ahab's way of toughening us up.  That hurt?"

"OW! Only when you try to amputate it!" Mulder grumbled, but let her
continue the examination. "What do you mean, unsympathetic?"

Scully looked up at him with a little grin. "Let's see. When I was about
nine, I took quite a fall down the stairs. I was rushing to get outside
so that I could force Melissa to let me tag along to the store with her
and her friend Suzanne. Anyway, my foot hit the top step too close to
the edge and slid right out from under me. I tried to catch myself, but
I couldn't get a grip on the railing and I tumbled down the entire
flight on my butt with a little head-over-heels flip at the end.
Fortunately, I didn't do myself any major harm, like breaking an arm or
my neck, but I did get the wind knocked out of me when I landed in a
heap at the bottom. I finally stopped rolling and just sort of sat
there, trying to catch my breath and figure out what exactly happened.
Ahab was sitting in his chair in the living room and got a front row
view of the entire thing. I looked up, expecting worry, or at the very
least pity, but he just cocked an eyebrow and said, "What in the world
did you do that for, Starbuck?"

"You're kidding," Mulder said, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of
his mouth. "Aren't you?"

"Nope. So you see, I tend to favor the 'shake it off' method of minor
pain management. And before you say it, I don't want to hear any smart
remarks about why I'm a doctor for dead people, Mulder." Scully set his
foot back on the floor. "No broken bones but you're going to have a
lovely bruise in a day or so."

Mulder stopped her from rising, leaning over to nibble on the overly
sensitive skin behind her right ear. "You know you can play doctor any
time with me, babe. In fact, how about we work on your bedside manner
right now? I'd be happy to help."

The man elevated kissing to a higher art form, Scully thought hazily as
she tilted her head farther to the left to give him easier access. Then
her gaze landed on a packing box sitting accusingly in the hallway and
she sighed, laying both hands on his shoulders and giving him a gentle
push. His lips, currently attached to her collarbone, separated with an
audible smack.

"Give it to me later, ace," she replied to his heartfelt moan. "We're
supposed to be packing -- remember? What were you doing in the
refrigerator, anyway?"

Wrong question. Mulder's brows drew together and his playful demeanor
vanished. "I wanted some sunflower seeds. I know I have some because I
just bought a new bag yesterday, but it isn't in the door of the fridge
where I put it."

"Maybe you put them somewhere else, like a cupboard,"
Scully suggested, standing and walking over to open one of the cabinets.

Mulder lunged to his feet and stomped back to the refrigerator, jerking
the door open and rummaging through its contents. "I distinctly remember
sticking them in here, in the door where I always put them. I've been
storing my seeds in that spot for years, why would I change...?"

"Mulder."

He turned to see Scully with a quizzical expression on her face and the
unopened bag of seeds in her hand. "They were right here, where you keep
your rice and pasta."

Mulder's jaw dropped, then his face darkened. "I did NOT put them there.
Did you move them?"

Annoyance creased Scully's forehead. "Of course not. Why would I do
that? You must have put them here, Mulder. Maybe you were distracted by
something, not paying attention."

Mulder's fingers curled into fists. "I did NOT put them in that
cupboard, Scully," he growled. "Someone else must have moved them,
because I clearly remember putting them in the refrigerator."

Scully frowned. "Who else could have done it? I really don't think some
shadowy conspirator sneaked into your apartment just to rearrange your
sunflower seeds! Why can't you just admit the possibility that you're
wrong?"

Mulder's fist slamming into the side of the appliance caught her by
surprise, and she physically jumped. "Because I happen to have a handle
on what the hell I have and haven't done! Or are you suggesting that I'm
losing touch with reality? Is that it, Scully?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "Mulder, don't be ridiculous! I can't
believe you're getting so upset, you're blowing this all out of
proportion!"

"So you do think I'm cracking up. Do you think I haven't noticed the way
you've been watching me, keeping an eye on me as if you're afraid I
might suddenly go postal?" Mulder snapped. "Thanks for the vote of
confidence, babe."

The words stung like a verbal slap and Scully blinked furiously,
determined not to break down. "I think that's my line, Mulder," she said
quietly and fled the room.

Of course, it was useless to hide in someone else's apartment. She
dodged through the haphazard scattering of boxes, eventually winding up
in the bedroom with eyes trained sightlessly out the window. Mulder's
footsteps were not unexpected; her ambivalence toward his inevitable
apology was. She loved him deeply, but the rollercoaster ride was
beginning to wear her down.

The footsteps stopped before he reached her, and to Scully's surprise he
made no move to wrap his arms around her, or even touch her. She
listened to the jagged rasp of his breathing, the whisper of his feet
shuffling on the carpet. She could see the little wrinkles of contrition
around his eyes, the guilty twist of his lips, without even bothering to
turn around. She longed to grant easy absolution -- even more, to
completely erase the whole scene. Mulder's voice shook her from her
reverie, and she stiffened involuntarily.

"Scully, I...I don't know why I said any of those things. I didn't mean
them. I just... I don't know...  Shit."

She sensed him moving away and spun quickly, placing a restraining hand
on his arm. "DON'T. *Talk* to me, Mulder. Please."

He backed up and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her down beside
him. She watched silently as his long, elegant fingers toyed with a
corner of the comforter. Her small hand stilled them, and forced his
eyes toward her own.

"I love you. Talk to me."

His eyes filled and he clenched his teeth. "I love you too. I'm just not
sure what to say. I guess maybe I've been feeling a little overwhelmed."

She nodded slowly. "That's understandable. A lot has happened the past
month."

"Maybe. But it's no excuse for treating you the way I just did." He
snorted softly. "I don't mean to be a bastard, but sometimes I can't
seem to help it."

Scully opened her mouth to reply but the trilling phone stopped her. She
waited for Mulder to pick it up, but he just sat and stared out the
window.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

He shrugged apathetically. "Let the machine get it."

Having an idea who it might be, Scully nudged him. "Go on, answer it.
What if it's important?"

Sighing like a martyr, Mulder leaned over on one elbow and snatched up
the receiver, taking care to hide his trembling hand from Scully.

"Mulder."

"Sorry to call you at home, Agent Mulder, but I have been bothered by a
giant slug in my plumbing and someone told me you might be able to
help."

"Very funny, Bubba. To what do I owe this honor -- or were you just in
the mood for making prank phone calls? And for your information, it was
a fluke, not a slug."

Scully watched the transformation with satisfaction. Mulder's morose
disposition vanished, a grin taking over his face and his shoulders
relaxing as he settled more comfortably on the bed. He fished around in
his pocket and removed a handful of sunflower seeds, cracking one
between his teeth.

"Just calling to shoot the breeze with my little bro," Grey answered
amiably. "How's the packing going?"

"You've seen my bedroom. How do you think it's going?" Mulder asked
sarcastically.  He mouthed the name Grey to Scully, who squeezed his
leg, pointed warningly at the fledgling pile of shells on the comforter,
and then disappeared into the living room. "How's work?"

Grey groaned theatrically. "Don't ask! Is there a full moon sometime
soon?"

"Why? You got a werewolf on your hands?"

"What I have is three cases of homicide, all apparently resulting from
domestic violence in the last five days," Grey complained. "Do you know
how much paperwork generates?"

"I have an idea."

"Could you say that with a little more sympathy? You can fake it, it
doesn't have to be genuine."

Mulder chuckled, dropping all the way back onto the mattress and staring
at the ceiling, the phone propped between shoulder and chin. "Sorry,
Bubba."

"Would you knock if off? Remind me never to drink beer with you, it's
like painting a target on my chest and suggesting you take pot shots,"
Grey grumbled. "I can't believe I told you that story."

Mulder's chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. "I can't either."

"All right, all right. I've told you my sad tale. How are you doing?"

The laughter dried up instantly and he involuntarily tensed, his chin
depressing several buttons on the phone, which gave a protesting squawk.

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old," he replied, keeping his voice
carefully neutral. "Things have been pretty quiet at work, so I'm
consulting on a profile for VCS."

Grey's tone took on the gentle, probing quality that Mulder found both
touching and irritating. "We haven't talked much since the service for
Samantha."

"Guess not."

"You still okay?"

Mulder jerked upright, frowning. "I'm fine. Why are you asking?"

Grey snorted. "Why am I asking? We buried our sister, Fox! Who, by the
way, you spent over half your life looking for. There might not have
been a body, but we gave her a grave. Why do you think I'm asking?"

Mulder gripped the phone tighter and stood, casting a sharp look at the
doorway. "And you saw how I was doing when you came up for the ceremony.
Why the sudden concern?"

"You're a psychologist! You know as well anyone that relatives go
through a period of numbness right after a death. It's weeks later that
things can get tough."

"Bullshit," Mulder replied angrily. "Scully called you, didn't she? She
asked you to talk to me."

Silence, then Grey sighed. "She's worried about you, Fox."

"I'm fine," he replied tightly. "I've told her that, and now I'm telling
you."

"Did you believe her all those times she was the one telling you?"

The mild question deflated his swelling anger as quickly and efficiently
as a pin pricking a balloon. Mulder sagged against the window, staring
fixedly at the passing traffic. He struggled to answer, but couldn't
seem to form the words.

"You still with me, little brother?"

"No."

"What?" Grey's voice was startled.

"No, I didn't believe her when she told me she was fine. Look, I know
she wants me to talk to her about this, Grey. But I can't." Mulder said
sotto voice. "Not right now, anyway."

"Do you mind telling me why? You two are so close, you've shared so
much. What makes this different?" Grey asked tentatively, feeling his
way on thin ice.

"I can't explain to someone else what I don't understand myself.
Everything's happening too fast, I need time to process it all, in my
own way, and Scully can't help me do that. She doesn't understand, she
grew up surrounded by a big family where everyone knew everyone else's
problems." He laughed bitterly. "After Samantha was taken I don't think
anyone would have noticed even if I'd spontaneously combusted in the
middle of dinner."

"Then you'd have wound up as one of your own X-Files," Grey mused. "Case
number X-1013. The spontaneous combustion of Fox William Mulder."

Mulder smiled, a little surprised he could. "Boggles the mind, doesn't
it?"

Grey chuffed a little laugh, then quieted. "I've gone through my own
life crisis, little brother. I can understand if you need the space.
Just remember to reach out when you're ready. Dana and I are only an
arm's length away."

Mulder slipped another seed into his mouth with steady fingers. A sense
of peace replaced his earlier agitation, leaving him almost giddy with
relief. "Thanks. I... I guess sometimes I need to be reminded of that."

"No problem. Listen, I've got to run, Mark's picking me up in a few
minutes to go shoot some hoops. I'll be up next Friday to help y'all
move, as planned."

"Sounds good. You know, if you'd have told me a year ago that Scully and
I would wind up living together, I'd have said you were crazy. I guess I
still find it hard to believe." He couldn't help the note of incredulity
that crept into his voice.

Grey humphed. "You and Dana must have been the only ones too blind to
see it. To everyone else, you might as well have been wearing a neon
sign. Now relax, don't do anything to piss her off, and I'll see ya in a
week."

"See you, Bubba."

Mulder could hear Grey curse as he hung up the phone, grinning. He'd
started toward the doorway, intent on finding Scully, when his eyes lit
on the pile of shells decorating the bedspread. Still grinning, he
retraced his steps, carefully scooped them up, and deposited them in the
trash can, Grey's word's echoing in his head.

"I'll try," he muttered. "But it's not going to be easy."


Continued in part 6

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 09:41:46 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (6 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (6 of 21)
By Dawn


The X-Files Office
Friday, March 24
9:23 a.m.


"Mulder, would you please stop it! You've been prowling around this
office like a panther in a cage."

Scully made no attempt to hide her annoyance. Exhaustion had lowered her
tolerance and raised her temper. Mulder's nightmares had become a
nightly occurrence, and they were both suffering from sleep deprivation.
But while she manifested the weariness by a tendency to nod off at the
computer, Mulder seemed to grow more and more restless and edgy. She
felt brittle and thin, stretched to the breaking point, and Mulder's
perpetual motion burned like salt in the wound.

"All right, all right," Mulder replied, flopping into his chair. She
heard him mutter something about "time of the month" under his breath
and it took willpower to avoid reaching for her gun.

He flipped open a file folder and began to read, but in minutes his foot
was tapping against the wastebasket with a hollow thud. The words on the
computer screen melded into a confused jumble of meaningless letters and
Scully backed up and started over for the third time. She was wracking
her brain for a bogus errand that she could send him on when his phone
rang.

"Mulder."

"Hey man, we've got some news."

Mulder stiffened and casually swiveled his chair until his back was
toward Scully. "I thought I was clear about how to handle this," he
said, trying to keep his voice conversational but unable to omit a hard
edge.

"You never called last night like you said you were going to. Did you
want us to just sit on this?" Frohike asked, offended.

Mulder sighed, feeling an itch between his shoulder blades where he was
certain his partner's eyes were focused. "Something unexpected came up,"
he replied, unable to add that Scully had walked into his bedroom just
as he'd picked up the phone. "Go ahead. Lay it on me."

"Langly was checking out the hospital where your sister was last seen
when a local news item caught his eye." Frohike fell silent and his
discomfort was palpable. "You aren't going to like this."

"What is this, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? I'm not going to guess,
Hickey!" Mulder snapped, an intangible sense of foreboding and his own
impatience overriding discretion.

"That nurse who tried to help your sister? Arbuttus Ray? She's dead,
Mulder. Local paper says she died of a heart attack less than a week
after you and Scully talked to her." Frohike cleared his throat. "I'm
sorry, man. I know you were planning on pumping her for more
information." When Mulder didn't reply and the silence over the phone
line grew oppressive, he added, "Mulder? You there?"

Numbness penetrated every cell in his body, and Mulder's lips felt heavy
and uncooperative. "Yeah. Yeah, I heard you. Thanks for the info." He
hung up the phone, only peripherally registering Frohike's voice still
squawking on the other end of the line.

Scully watched the ripple across his spine as he breathed, the only
indication that the phone call hadn't turned him to stone. She waited
for him to move, turn, crack a bad joke -- something to signify that
this abrupt stillness shouldn't alarm her.

"What did Frohike want, Mulder?" she finally pressed when several
minutes had passed without a change. "What kind of information did he
have for you?"

Mulder turned back to face her, but his features revealed only
evasiveness. "Nothing you need to worry about, Scully. How's the email?
Anything interesting?"

Scully deliberately shut her laptop and walked over to stand beside him.
"You have them hacking into the records for April Air Force Base, don't
you? You're still trying to find out what was done to Samantha." Mulder
had a lousy poker face when it came to deceiving her, and she could
immediately read confirmation in his eyes. She hovered between hurt and
anger that shifted like quicksand beneath her feet. "Why were you hiding
it from me?"

Sometimes she could see Bill Mulder's imprint with crystal clarity. At
her accusing tone Mulder went immediately on the offensive, his eyes
narrowing and his mouth turning down in a scowl.

"Just listen to yourself, and you'll know why! I was sure you'd be
against it, that you'd try to talk me out of it. You're awfully
predictable, Scully."

Well, since Mulder was exhibiting one of his father's less desirable
traits, why shouldn't she join in? Scully's Irish temper ignited.

"I'M predictable? Mulder you have it down to an art! Why must you always
be chasing after something? Why can't you ever, for just a moment, stand
still and appreciate where you are? I mean really, Mulder -- when is it
ever going to be enough?"

"It could just as easily have been me, Scully! It nearly was!" Mulder
snarled, lunging to his feet. She backed up two steps, frightened by his
fury. "My name was on that file first! I was a subject of their dirty
little experiments just like Samantha!" His voice dropped in pitch but
not intensity. "That diary could have been mine."

Scully sagged against the desk, aching to offer comfort but too weary to
find the right words. Her head throbbed, her eyes felt dry and gritty,
her thoughts sluggish.

"You must realize that many of those responsible for what happened to
Samantha could be dead, killed along with Cassandra Spender and the
rest. The Consortium, if it still exists, has been crippled. It's been
nearly twenty years since your sister's death, Mulder. Is it really
worth stirring up a hornet's nest just to chase down a few old men?"

Mulder's phone buzzed, the vibration so close to her hand that Scully
jumped. Keeping his eyes fixed on her face, Mulder reached over to
answer it.

"Mulder. Hi, Kim, I..." He broke off, the lines across his brow
deepening. "What? You mean, like, right now? Fine we'll... Oh. I see.
Thanks."

Scully pushed away from his desk and walked back to her own. Her
fingertips had just brushed her jacket when Mulder lifted his hand.

"Don't bother, Scully. Kim says Skinner wants to see me alone."

Not so unusual, for Skinner to meet with one of them alone. So why did
her pulse quicken, her stomach clench with dread? Was it that an
impromptu summons from Skinner rarely boded well? Or was it that in his
current emotional state she felt loath to let him out of her sight?

"Did Kim say what it was about?"

A slight twitch of his shoulders. "Nope. But this is our supreme leader
we're talking about, Scully. He says jump and our only question's
supposed to be 'How high?'" He tried for humor and indifference, but
failed miserably.

Scully watched him pull on his jacket, sinking her teeth into the corner
of her lip to stifle a plethora of admonishments. When his fingers
curled around the doorknob she could hold back no longer.

"Mulder."

He didn't turn back, simply stopped moving. "Yeah?"

"You've been pretty... Just... Whatever it is, don't lose your temper."

She wanted sarcasm. For Mulder to press a hand to his chest, thrust out
his lip, and pout, "Who, moi?" But all she got was a scarcely
perceptible jerk of his head and the snick of the door closing. She
sucked in a long breath of air and went back to her email.

Kim's grim face ratcheted Mulder's uneasiness up a notch. She inclined
her head towards the door, her perfectly manicured nails pausing from
their dance across the keyboard.

"You can go right in, Agent Mulder," she said in a volume sufficient to
be heard by her boss as well. Her voice dropped to a confidential level
as she added, "SAC Carpenter is with him."

Mulder gave her a tight smile and strode resolutely into the office.
Skinner sat behind his desk listening to Carpenter, who stopped mid-rant
to glare balefully at Mulder. Skinner looked up, motioning Mulder
forward with a curt wave of his hand. The irritation in his dark eyes
was obvious, but Mulder couldn't tell whether he or Carpenter was the
recipient.

"Agent Mulder, please have a seat."

Mulder crossed warily and sat, feeling strangely disoriented to be
occupying Scully's usual chair. Carpenter, usurper of his usual spot,
turned expectantly to Skinner and continued to glower. He was a short,
squat man, with thinning gray hair and bushy eyebrows, and though his
rigid, by-the-book style clashed with Mulder's maverick tendencies,
they'd always been able to put aside their personalities in deference to
the work. Mulder had no clue as to what could possibly have the man so
irate. He settled back into the chair with arms crossed loosely, knowing
that he was communicating insolence but unable to stop.

Skinner leaned forward, arms braced on the desktop. "Agent Mulder, I
called you up here in hopes that we can resolve a problem that SAC
Carpenter brought to my attention.  I understand you've completed the
consult for VCS?"

Mulder nodded coolly. "Yes sir."

"You took exception to several aspects of the existing profile, and
revised it?"

"Yes, sir."

Skinner's jaw clenched at his agent's sudden reticence. "You turned that
revised profile in to SAC Carpenter yesterday?"

Mulder's hold on his temper slipped. "Last night, just before I left.
Would you please cut to the chase, sir, and give me a hint as to what
this pop quiz is all about?"

Skinner bristled at the insubordinate reply. "SAC Carpenter is less than
satisfied..."

"*Less than satisfied?* It's useless!" Carpenter spat, unable to contain
himself any longer. "My team has been on pins and needles awaiting
Mulder's profile, for the divine oracle himself to speak! We've kept
things on hold, hoping for new insights, a new direction. What we got
was a gigantic waste of our time!"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "I gave you my best take on the UNSUB. I can't
help the fact that it contradicts yours, or that people don't enjoy
being told they were wrong."

Carpenter's face turned beet red and he sputtered, nearly pre-verbal
with rage. Skinner sent him a quelling stare, then looked back at
Mulder.

"Agent Mulder, I've read the profile. SAC Carpenter isn't the only one
to be confused by the your conclusions."

Mulder's jaw dropped and he gaped blankly at his supervisor, surprise
short-circuiting his anger. "Sir, I... I'm not sure what I could
possibly say to that."

Skinner's gaze cut to Carpenter, then back to Mulder. "An explanation
would be nice," he replied. His tone carried no malice and Mulder
understood that it was Carpenter who had provoked his boss's anger.
Still, he could feel his hackles rise in response to Skinner's doubt.

"I'd be glad to. I'll stand behind any part of that profile."

Carpenter made a derisive sound deep in his throat as Skinner opened the
file before him. Mulder recognized the case number at the top of the
page and the familiar scrawl of his signature across the bottom. Skinner
adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

"The UNSUB is a single white male, between the ages of 25 and 40. He's a
white collar professional with an occupation that requires strict
attention to detail, such as an architect or an accountant. He lives
alone in an upscale condo or townhouse in a nice neighborhood, drives a
BMW. He's highly intelligent, but socially isolated from his peers. They
don't understand him and he makes no effort to enlighten them."

"I know the profession and intelligence level varies drastically from
the original profile but I'm convinced this guy isn't your garden
variety rapist," Mulder broke in, lunging forward.

Skinner held up his hand, palm out. "Let me continue."

Mulder grimaced, but sat back.

"His compulsion to rape and kill stems from an early childhood trauma,
the loss of a sister. She disappeared while in his care and was never
found. His father blamed him for it, abusing him both verbally and
physically. This has left the UNSUB with an extreme sense of guilt
coupled with underlying rage and feelings of inadequacy. He's set
himself on an endless quest for the missing sister, seeking but never
finding her in the women that he rapes and then brutally kills. He's
convinced himself that his sister is still alive somewhere, that she was
abducted by aliens and..."

Mulder lurched to his feet, eyes blazing. "What kind of sick joke is
this?"

"Exactly my question, Agent Mulder," Carpenter grated. "Why don't you
tell us why you didn't just decline this assignment rather than turning
it into one of your petty mind games!"

"That is NOT my profile!" Mulder snarled, stabbing a finger at the paper
for emphasis. "I don't know whose bright idea it was to have some fun at
Spooky's expense, but it won't work!" His eyes jumped back and forth
between Skinner and Carpenter while his breath puffed in short, rapid
bursts. A drop of sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades and
his muscles thrummed.

"Mulder, sit."

Skinner's command was not lacking compassion, but Mulder ignored it. A
muscle in Skinner's cheek twitched in agitation but he only stood and
tilted the paper so that Mulder could read it.

"Mulder, SAC Carpenter SAW you put this in his box last night. And your
signature is right there at the bottom."

Ears ringing and spots dancing across his line of vision, Mulder
snatched the profile from Skinner's fingers and ripped it in half. "And
I'm telling you I didn't write any of that section about the UNSUB's
sister! You'd have to be blind and stupid not to see that it's a blatant
description of me! Do you think I'm crazy?"

"He wouldn't be the first," Carpenter sneered. "Or the last."

Mulder exploded. He spun on his heel, buried his fingers in the lapels
of Carpenter's jacket, and hauled the man to his feet before Skinner
could blink.

"You're the one who wrote it, aren't you, Carpenter? Big, hotshot SAC of
VCS -- you can't find your ass with both hands, and you resent the hell
out of the fact that my profile showed you up! Did you really think I
wouldn't figure it out?" He punctuated each sentence with a
teeth-rattling shake until Carpenter's face turned pasty with fear.

Two large hands clamped onto Mulder's shoulders with a bruising grip and
Skinner's hot breath seared his ear. "Agent Mulder you are out of line!
Release him immediately and SIT DOWN!"

It penetrated the red haze in his mind and Mulder's hands immediately
went limp. Skinner deposited him in the chair with a none too gentle
shove and ran his hand over the beads of sweat on his brow.

"Are you all right?" he growled at Carpenter. When the SAC managed a
feeble nod, Skinner grasped him by the elbow and guided him to the door.
"I need to speak to Agent Mulder. Alone. I'll handle things from here."

Carpenter fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his
lips with shaking fingers. "I'm going to OPR with this, Walt. That man
has no place in the Bureau and it's about time someone did something
about it."

Skinner's face could have been carved from granite. "I said I would
handle this, Pete. Go cool off."

Carpenter jerked his arm from Skinner's grasp and stalked out of the
office. Skinner exchanged a meaningful glance with Kim before firmly
shutting the door.

Mulder was slumped, head cradled in his hands. Skinner silently observed
the nervous bouncing of the man's knee, the periodic clench and release
of the fingers wound in his hair. He walked over to lean on the front of
his desk, but after a moment's consideration sat in the vacant chair.

"Mulder, what in the hell did you think you were doing just now?"

Rather than furious, Skinner's voice was amazingly gentle. Mulder
cautiously dropped his hands and squinted up at him.

"I didn't write that profile."

"You admitted that the first section was yours. Do you deny that's your
signature?"

"I would never have written that stuff. I think I know what I have and
haven't done, don't you?"

Skinner heard admission in the absence of denial. The incident with the
field report Mulder had accused him of taking flashed through his mind.
By the abrupt tightening of Mulder's mouth, Skinner recognized that he
remembered too.

"Mulder, I want you to take some time."

Mulder's face went slack with disbelief, then dark with anger. "You
don't believe me, do you? You believe that son of a bitch Carpenter, you
think I did write that profile! Why does everyone suddenly think I'm
going off the deep end?"

"You've been under a lot of stress, Mulder. There's no shame in taking a
little time to regroup," Skinner replied, filing away Mulder's comment
for future consideration. "Besides, it will buy me a chance to fix
things with Carpenter. The last thing you need is to be dragged in front
of a review board for..."

Mulder stood, his entire body trembling with rage. "Oh, you're going to
clean up my mess for me, huh Walt? Because we're such buddies, right?
Certainly not because you have any respect for me or my work. Well, I
have two words for you, Skinner. KISS OFF."

He'd stormed across the room and out the door before Skinner could wipe
the look of shock from his face.


Continued in part 7

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Wed, 14 Jun 2000 00:57:03 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (7 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (7 of 21)
By Dawn


The X-Files Office
Friday, March 24
10:57 a.m.


By 11:00, Scully had passed curious and reached concerned.
Impromptu meetings with Skinner rarely lasted longer than fifteen or
twenty minutes, and the fact that he'd called in only Mulder contributed
to her uneasiness. She read all her email, typed up a final autopsy
report, and made coffee. Finally unable to stand the suspense, she
picked up the phone, intending to call Kim. A shadow falling across the
open doorway stilled the motion.

"It's about time, Mulder! What did... Sir?"

Skinner stepped into the office, his eyes skimming across Mulder's
vacant desk before coming to rest on Scully.

"Good morning, Agent Scully," he greeted gravely.

"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, I thought you were Mulder." Scully tucked
a strand of hair nervously behind her ear. Her neck protested the angle
required to view her boss, so she stood and folded her arms.

"Actually it's Agent Mulder I'm looking for. Do you expect him back
soon?" Skinner asked, walking over to stare at the "I Want to Believe"
poster.

Scully frowned and gave a small shake of her head. "I don't understand,
sir. He was supposed to be meeting with *you*."

Skinner spun back around, forehead creased. "Scully, that meeting ended
almost an hour ago. Do you mean to tell me that he didn't come back
here?"

"I haven't seen or heard from him since he got Kim's phone call and went
upstairs," Scully replied sharply. "What happened, sir? What exactly was
that meeting about?"

Skinner hesitated, jaw tight, then motioned for Scully to sit down. He
pushed aside a stack of papers and a pile of sunflower seed shells to
perch on the corner of Mulder's desk, evading Scully's questioning gaze
as he gathered his thoughts.

"Sir, if Agent Mulder is AWOL I'd like to see if I can track him down,"
Scully said tersely. She'd taken a seat as Skinner indicated, but
remained rigidly poised on the edge.

"I understand your concern, Scully, but we need to talk," Skinner
replied firmly. "I need for you to tell me what is going on with Mulder,
because frankly, I haven't a clue."

As if he'd waved a magic wand, Scully's face went blank. Her expressive
blue eyes cut away to the laptop on the corner of her desk, and she ran
one finger over the keys. "Sir, I don't know what you mean. Is Agent
Mulder in some kind of trouble?"

Skinner let out an explosive burst of air and shook his head. "You are a
terrible liar, Scully. Always have been." When she scowled and opened
her mouth to retort he cut her off. "He practically assaulted SAC
Carpenter in my office this morning. It's going to take every ounce of
my rather questionable diplomatic skills and some smooth talking to
convince Carpenter not to take it to OPR. We're talking a major
headache, Scully. I think I deserve to know just what precipitated the
need to pull his butt out of the fire this time."

Scully licked her lips. "He attacked Carpenter? Mulder's always been
able to work with him just fine. They aren't exactly buddies, but..."

"I won't say Carpenter didn't do his part in provoking him," Skinner
admitted. "But Mulder's reaction was way out of line, Scully. Even for
Mulder."

Scully absorbed Skinner's words, chewing on her lip. She studied his
face for a long moment, then sighed. "Sir, could you please explain
exactly what went on before Mulder attacked Carpenter? Why did you call
the meeting in the first place?"

Skinner leaned forward. "Carpenter came to me this morning with Mulder's
profile, breathing fire. There were some things in it that didn't make
sense." Skinner stopped, and scrubbed his face with both hands. "That's
a gross understatement. Scully, there were things in that profile that
had absolutely no bearing on the case."

"Sir, we both know that Agent Mulder's theories, while initially
appearing impossible or even bizarre, frequently prove to be..."

"Scully, he was profiling himself," Skinner interrupted sharply.

Scully stared at him, her lips parting in shock and the color leaving
her cheeks. "What?"

His voice gentled. "The profile started out normally, even added some
insights that the team had missed. Then the description of the UNSUB
degenerated into a narration of Mulder's own childhood. Sister
disappearing while in his care, blame and abuse from the parents --
Mulder even said the UNSUB thought his sister had been abducted by
aliens! Carpenter was furious, he's convinced that Mulder was playing
some kind of joke."

Scully shivered, suddenly chilled. "How did Mulder respond?"

Skinner snorted. "He went ballistic! Said he never wrote that part and
accused the VCS agents of trying to make him look bad out of petty
resentment over his being called in to consult. He and Carpenter
exchanged some hard words and the next thing I knew he had the man by
the lapels and was trying to shake the teeth from his head!"

Scully pressed a fist to her lips, blinking hard. Her fear and anxiety
over Mulder's behavior, till now rationalized and kept in check, surged
forward. Her throat constricted, her stomach ached, and she was
painfully aware of Skinner's piercing gaze.

"Scully," he said kindly. "You must know by now that I count both you
and Mulder as friends. Talk to me. Is he having difficulty coping with
his sister's death?"

Scully met his probing gaze without flinching. "I didn't think so, at
first. He seemed so relieved to finally know the truth. To have closure
after so many years of searching and wondering. He said he was free."
Scully's voice caught.

Skinner proceeded cautiously, afraid she might shut him out. "You said
at first. What about now?"

A flicker of anguish crossed her face and her eyes dropped. "I... You
should ask Mulder about this, Sir. I don't feel right discussing it
behind his back."

"And you and I both know he's not going to talk to me," Skinner replied.
"This goes beyond watching your partner's back, Scully. If Mulder isn't
fit for duty..."

"He's not really talking to me, either!" Scully said shortly. She
slumped back into the chair. "I don't know what to tell you. He's
irritable, restless, moody, and he's not sleeping due to some pretty
intense nightmares. But it's more than that. I've seen Mulder
emotionally wrung out -- after a particularly bad case or when he's
profiling. This..." She trailed off, with a slight jerk of her head.

Skinner studied her for a moment. "Mulder said something in my office
that stuck with me. He asked why everyone seemed to think he was going
off the deep end."

Scully closed her eyes.

"The misunderstanding with the file," Skinner continued quietly. "When
he accused me of taking it from his desk? Have there been similar
incidents, Scully?"

Scully didn't speak, just dipped her head.

Skinner sighed heavily and pushed upright. He ran a hand across his jaw
and considered the bowed, auburn head. "I told him to take some time,
Scully. Strictly informal, I didn't even mention the Employee Assistance
Program. But I'll be honest with you -- he needs to see someone. And I
won't hesitate to offer that as a bargaining chip if it will get
Carpenter off Mulder's back."

Scully raised her head, her features composed. "I understand, sir."

Skinner lay his hand on her shoulder very briefly before moving to the
door. "Feel free to take the rest of the day. And Scully? When you find
Mulder, could you try to convince him I'm on his side?"

Scully listened to Skinner's footfalls march down the hallway before
releasing her tears. "First I have to convince him I am."


The Bench
Friday
1:33 p.m.


She recognized the outline of his body long before she could see his
face and nearly wept with relief. Slowing the frantic stuttering of her
steps, she sucked in a deliberate draught of air, brushed her fingers
over her cheeks, and tamed a wayward lock of hair. Moving at a more
leisurely pace, she approached the bench.

"Is this seat taken?"

"No. But I'll warn you -- the guy you're sitting next to is rumored to
be more than a few bricks short of the load."

Not a trace of humor in the words. Mulder continued to stare at the
water, a bitter twist to his lips. Scully eased herself down and
wriggled her fingers between his.

"Then I'm glad I'm here. He once told me I had the ones he was missing."

It was possibly the single correct response. The resentment melted from
Mulder's face and he gave her a wry smile. "Ah, Scully. Why in the hell
do you stick around?"

The corners of Scully's mouth turned up. "Symbiosis, Mulder. Guess
you've got a few of my bricks, as well." She leaned her head against the
cushion of his shoulder. "I was worried."

Mulder shifted, his arm coming around to pull her more snugly into his
side. "I'm sorry."

"I checked your place and mine. I even went back to the Bureau in hopes
of finding you in the office." She struggled to keep her tone neutral.

"I had some thinking to do. I didn't realize I'd been gone that long."
Mulder's fingers combed through her hair, tickling her scalp.

"Skinner came looking for you."

The pliable flesh beneath her cheek hardened and Mulder's hand dropped.
"What did he tell you?"

Scully pulled back so that she could see his eyes. The wariness and
suspicion broke her heart. "That he asked you to take some time off. And
that he's on your side."

Mulder removed his arm from her shoulders leaving her to shiver from the
sudden absence of warmth. "Skinner didn't believe me. Do you?"

*Oh God, Mulder, please don't ask me that.*

"I believe that you would never intentionally put something like that in
a profile," Scully hedged.

It didn't work. Mulder jerked backward and crossed his arms defensively
in front of him, a physical barrier to her closeness.

"Don't patronize me, Scully! Do you believe I'm responsible for putting
that stuff in the profile?"

Scully stared at him, silently pleading for a reprieve that never came.
Finally she ducked her head. "I think you're having trouble dealing with
Samantha's death, Mulder. Something's been wrong for weeks now -- the
nightmares, the mood swings, your inability to account for certain
actions. I think deep down inside, you know it too."

Mulder glared at her but she met his eyes and refused to back down. The
outrage slowly seeped from his face and he curled forward and braced his
elbows on his knees. Scully watched him dry wash trembling hands as his
toe scuffed the dirt beneath the bench. When at last he spoke, his voice
was bewildered and barely broke a whisper.

"It can't be true, Scully. I don't remember doing any of those things."

She moved to kneel between his knees, stilling his hands with her own.
"Mulder, you've raced through a life-changing experience at eighty miles
an hour, never once hitting the brakes. I think your brain may be trying
to tell you it's time for a pit stop."

"What are you saying, Scully?" he asked softly.

"Don't fight Skinner on this. Use the time he's given you to take a
breath, to regroup. And I know you don't want to hear this, love, but
you need to talk to someone."

Mulder's fingers clamped over her own, only loosening when Scully winced
involuntarily. "You want me to see a shrink? God, you do think I'm in
bad shape!" He tried to chuckle but the sound was jagged like shards of
glass.

Scully untangled one hand to lay it on his cheek, her thumb stroking
across soft skin. "Mulder, you're a psychologist. You of all people
should know there's no shame in admitting you need a little help sorting
things out in your head."

Mulder pressed his hand over hers, nuzzling her palm. "Babe, it's
*because* I'm a psychologist that I know what a bunch of pretentious
quacks most headshrinkers are."

The combination of his lips brushing her palm and the dry humor in his
reply lifted the dark cloud that had dogged her steps since the
conversation with Skinner.

"Hmm. Point taken," Scully said, smiling up at him. Sobering, she added,
"You could make an appointment with Karen, Mulder. She's very good."
Scully laughed under her breath. "I certainly have thrown some doozies
her way."

Mulder gazed into her eyes for a long moment. After casting a quick look
around the nearly deserted area, he tugged gently on her hands.
"C'mere."

Never one for public displays of affection, Scully reluctantly allowed
herself to be drawn into his lap. "Mulderrrr."

"Shh. Consider this physical therapy," Mulder murmured, tucking her head
beneath his chin.

As they sat in comfortable silence, her body gradually relaxed against
his. Scully frowned a little at the rapid flutter of his heart, though
the hand running up and down her back was steady. Firmly telling Dr.
Scully to take a hike, she sighed contentedly. The rumble of Mulder's
voice was unexpected, the meaning behind his words even more so.

"I'm scared, Scully."

She tightened her arms around his waist; pressed a kiss to the hollow of
his throat.

"Me too. But it's going to be all right, love. I promise."

But a little corner of her mind wondered.


Continued in part 8

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Wed, 14 Jun 2000 00:59:13 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (8 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (8 of 21)
By Dawn


Walnut Woods Apartments
Sunday, March 26
12:51 p.m.


"We're early," Mulder said reproachfully as he turned off the engine. He
tipped his thumb toward the sign on the rental office door that read
"Out to Lunch. Back at 1:00." "Ten minutes, Scully. I could've seen ten
more minutes of the Yankees."

Scully turned in her seat and lifted an eyebrow. "It's just one game,
Mulder. You act like I dragged you away from the World Series!"

"No, it takes experimental brain surgery to accomplish that," Mulder
growled, slumping down behind the wheel with arms folded and lip
extended.

"Guess maybe I'm a bit overanxious," Scully offered, hoping to avoid an
argument. "This is important to me."

To her relief, Mulder's petulant expression faded and his mouth curved.
"I know, babe. It's important to me too."

She couldn't help herself. "Is it? Because I know this hasn't been an
easy decision for you, Mulder. I would never want to push you into
taking this step if you aren't ready."

Mulder turned to face her, pulling his right leg up onto the seat. He
framed her face in his palms and searched her eyes as if they contained
the answers to Life's greatest mysteries. Scully caught her breath at
the love he made no attempt to conceal.

"Scully, you are the best thing to come into my pathetic, screwed up,
solitary existence. I'd have to be crazy not to be ready for this." The
full meaning of his words struck him, and Mulder grimaced. "How 'bout we
strike that last part? You get the idea."

Scully covered his hands, holding them in place as she pressed a kiss to
each palm. "You are not crazy, Mulder, just a little off balance. You're
going to be fine."

Mulder touched his forehead to hers. "Yeah, I've heard that before,
babe. Right about the time they were fitting me for the jacket with the
really long sleeves."

"That's not funny."

"You're telling me."

Scully pulled away to glare and Mulder tried to affect a suitably
repentant expression. Evidently he failed miserably, because she snorted
and rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible."

He grinned roguishly. "That may be, Scully. But you've got to know I
wouldn't give up the New York Yankees for just any broad."

"Gee thanks, Mulder. You sure know how to sweet talk a girl," she
replied sarcastically, then smirked. "Guess I'll just have to make it up
to you."

Mulder looked interested. "Ooo, Scully! Do you take requests?"

A white sedan pulled up to the office, discharging a silver haired woman
in a cranberry suit who unlocked the front door and took down the sign.
Scully indicated the bare door with a nod of her head.

"Give 'em to me later, ace. Time to go sign the lease."

Mulder followed her to the door, popping sunflower seeds and grumbling
under his breath. A small brass bell jangled, announcing their arrival,
and the woman looked up from her desk with a bright smile. A transitory
line creased her forehead when she saw Mulder and Scully, smoothing as
she rose and moved around the desk.

"Hello, Mr. Mulder and...Ms. Scully -- is that right?" She extended a
thin, wrinkled hand.

Scully accepted the press of cool fingers. "Yes, that's correct. It's
nice to see you again, Mrs. Groman."

Handshakes out of the way, Mrs. Groman continued to smile, eyes darting
between their faces and an expectant lift to her brows. Mulder shoved
both hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, indicating that he
expected Scully to do the talking. She cleared her throat.

"We have a one o'clock appointment," she prompted.

Mrs. Groman's face twisted in puzzlement. "An appointment? Whatever for,
dear?"

Scully's brows drew together and she took a half step forward, peering
over the woman's shoulder at an open day planner on the blotter.

"To sign our lease, of course," she answered a bit impatiently.

"Your lease? But..." Mrs. Groman broke off, turning to Mulder in
confusion. "Surely you told her, Mr. Mulder?"

Now it was Mulder who looked baffled. "Told her? Told her what?"

Mrs. Groman stared at him as if he'd grown an additional head.
Attempting to cover her discomfiture, she circled around the desk and
scooped up the appointment book. She held it so that both Mulder and
Scully had an unobstructed view. A heavy line ran through their names,
penned in flowery cursive in the 1 p.m. time slot.

"I canceled today's appointment when I voided the preliminary
agreement."

"What? Why on earth would you void the agreement?" Scully demanded.

"Well, because...because Mr. Mulder asked me to!" Mrs. Groman
spluttered, turning her head to pin Mulder with a baleful glare. "He
came in last week and said you'd changed your minds. I assumed he spoke
for you both. Obviously I was in error."

Scully struggled against a rush of anger, staring questioningly at
Mulder, who flushed.

"I did no such thing."

Mrs. Groman's mouth dropped open and her eyes narrowed. "You most
certainly did! It was last Tuesday. I remember because I had to leave
early for a doctor's appointment. You walked in just as I was closing
up. You were very apologetic, said you both were experiencing second
thoughts and decided to postpone moving."

Mulder clenched his jaw, glancing over to Scully. "Scully, she's wrong,
I never..."

Scully bit down hard on her lip and turned her face from him, but not
before he recognized the raw hurt. It tore something deep inside him,
and his confusion turned instantly to rage. He rounded on Mrs. Groman,
eyes blazing.

"I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing! Did someone
pay you to say those things? Is that it? Was he smoking a cigarette?
Huh? Was he?"

"Mulder, stop it!"

Scully's voice cut through the pounding in his skull. For the first time
he saw that Mrs. Groman had shrunk back from him, her eyes wide and her
arms pulled defensively against her body. Ashamed, he stepped backwards.

"She's lying, Scully," he said weakly, running trembling fingers through
his hair. "I swear to you, I would never back out of this."

"You told me there had been a death in your family," Mrs. Groman spoke
up, her voice shrill. "You said you'd just buried your sister."

An invisible fist slammed into his stomach. Mulder staggered backward
several more steps, the back of one hand pressed to his mouth. His feet
tangled together so that he nearly fell, but he righted himself, spun,
and stumbled out the door.

Scully kept her eyes trained on the beige carpet, blinking rapidly to
clear the moisture that insisted on blurring her vision. A terrible
silence descended over the office, broken only by Mrs. Groman's harsh
breathing. After what seemed an eternity, the woman nervously cleared
her throat. Scully tilted her chin up, expression painstakingly
composed.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Groman. Mulder has been under a tremendous strain
lately and he's not himself."

Mrs. Groman shakily lowered herself into her chair, face pale as milk.
"Your friend needs help, Ms. Scully. He appears to be very unstable. I'd
be extremely careful if I were you."

Scully shook her head. "You don't understand, he's just upset. Mulder
would never hurt me, or anyone else. I *know* him."

Mrs. Groman gave her a pitying smile. "I'm sure you think you do, dear.
But that man has a very volatile temper. Please, just keep in mind what
I've said."

Somehow Scully got her numb feet to carry her across the room and out
the door. She sucked in deep gulps of fresh air and turned her face up
to the warm sunshine. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her chest felt
tight. Mulder was nowhere in sight.

Tears threatened again and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to stave
them off. As hard as she tried to dismiss this latest incident as minor,
just another indication of Mulder's fragile emotional state, the
sensible voice in the back of her mind wouldn't allow it.

*I'd be very careful if I were you.*

Scully shuddered and strode rapidly toward the car, as if by doing so
she could somehow escape the echo of Mrs. Gorman's words. She'd known
Fox Mulder for seven years, and in all that time she'd never considered
him to be a violent man. Never. Oh sure, he could bluster like a pro --
she'd seen him slam the odd suspect up against a wall, shove his gun
under Cancerman's chin... But she'd always known it was mostly for show.
She never doubted his self-control, his ability to hold his temper in
check.

Until now.

The man in the rental office, the one who'd physically intimidated an
older woman, was a stranger. Fury had completely eclipsed his natural
sensibility and restraint. And that scared her more than she cared to
admit.

Scully opened the car door, nearly shrieking in surprise when the
slumped figure in the passenger seat lifted his head. She tightened her
grip on the door until her knuckles turned white, tamping down the
slight twinge of fear.

*Get a grip, Dana. This is Mulder, remember?*

The blatant misery in his eyes eliminated her uneasiness but increased
the ache in her gut. Mulder pressed his keys into her palm.

"You drive, huh Scully? I don't think..." His voice caught and he just
shook his head, evading her eyes.

Scully curled her fingers around the ring, shut the door, and walked
around to the driver's side. Once inside, she sat motionless, her feet
absurdly far from the pedals. She ran her hands around the smooth, warm
plastic of the steering wheel, her mind dull and her thoughts sluggish.

"Say something," Mulder said quietly.

Her throat constricted. "I think we should go home."

Silence, then a nearly undetectable dip of his head. "Okay."

Scully busied herself with adjusting the seat and mirrors, focusing on
the mechanics of each task with single-minded intensity. Mulder remained
very still, face turned toward the window and hands limp in his lap. It
was when she checked over her shoulder before pulling out of the parking
space that movement caught her eye. She froze, one hand on the wheel,
one propped on the seatback, and watched his throat tightening and
releasing convulsively.

She shifted back into park and turned to lay her hand on his shoulder.
"Mulder."

"I'm screwing it all up, Scully," he rasped. "Just like I knew I would,
sooner or later. I'm losing you, and I don't even understand how or
why."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! What are you talking about? What makes
you think you're losing me?" Scully said sternly, inching across the
seat until she was pressed along his side.

Mulder's eyes were so dark, so haunted. "I saw your face, Scully. I hurt
you. You can't deny it. And the hell of it is, a big part of me still
can't accept that I did it." He shook his head. "Why, Scully? I wanted
this, want to be with you. Am I so messed up that I'd subconsciously
sabotage my one chance for happiness?"

She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair. "I'm not an
expert, Mulder. I can't tell you what might or might not be going on in
that complicated brain of yours. I know you're confused right now, but
there's one thing you can be sure of -- I am *not* going anywhere."

A shiver ran through his body. "What if I told you to?"

"What?"

Mulder tilted his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. "I just
scared the shit out of a little old lady, Scully," he said tersely. "Add
that to the fact that I don't seem to know what the hell I'm doing from
one moment to the next and it doesn't seem like I'm the healthiest
person to be around right now. Maybe there's a point to this little
fiasco, maybe you should...should..."

"No."

Every ounce of the Dana Scully spirit and determination was packed into
that one little word. Mulder looked down into eyes snapping with
outrage, and it was like finding his compass after being hopelessly
lost.

"You are a complete idiot, Mulder, but I love you. And I'm not going to
let you punish yourself out of an overdeveloped sense of guilt and a
misguided need to protect me. I am *not* leaving you. Now get it through
your thick skull and don't mention it again."

Her tirade coaxed a feeble spark to his eyes, but when he gazed back out
the window it died.

"Guess we won't be moving in together, babe. Even if they had another
vacant apartment, I doubt Mrs. Gorman would offer it to us."

Scully scooted back over to the steering wheel and shrugged. "Her loss,
Mulder. There are plenty of other apartments out there, when the time is
right." She looked at him slyly, out the corner of her eye. "Maybe we'll
even find one with a built-in shadowy informant."

Mulder's lips twitched. "Convenient."

Scully's soft chuckle died down to a smile. "Let's go home, Mulder.
After all, I still have those ten minutes to make up for."

He nodded, turning back toward the window as Scully put the engine back
into gear. When he was certain she'd become preoccupied with driving, he
let the smile slide from his lips. Scully talked a good game, but he'd
recognized the fear in her eyes. Recognized it, because it mirrored his
own.


Continued in part 9

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Wed, 14 Jun 2000 01:01:24 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (9 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (9 of 21)
By Dawn


The X-Files Office
Tuesday, March 28
11:45 a.m.


Exactly ten number 2, yellow stalactites dangled from the ceiling above
Mulder's desk. Scully stared, undecided whether to remove them or add to
their number. The office felt unnaturally quiet and still without
Mulder, as if his presence were an electrical charge that kept things
humming. Ironic that she found herself missing him, when just days ago
his edginess had driven her to distraction.

But that was Mulder -- a walking contradiction. Arrogant and
self-assured on the job, yet self-deprecating and unassuming in private.
Suspicious and paranoid of strangers, but nave and trusting with
victims. Willing to embrace the bizarre and implausible, but unable to
acknowledge the validity of God or organized religion.

Not to mention the man had the dubious ability to inspire feelings of
profound love and intense rage. Simultaneously.

Still staring blankly at the pencils, Scully nearly knocked over her
coffee in surprise at the sound of a throat clearing. Skinner stood in
the doorway like a little boy waiting to be invited in to play.

"Agent Scully? May I have a minute of your time?"

"Of course, sir," she answered formally, then couldn't resist adding,
"Two trips to the basement in less than a week. I'm not sure whether to
be flattered or worried."

Skinner actually grinned. "Go with the first option, Scully. Trust me --
you'll know when you need to worry." He sobered. "I really just wanted
to ask how Mulder is doing."

Scully's smile became wooden. "Taking it easy at home and hating every
minute of it. How are negotiations with Carpenter?"

Skinner grimaced. "Let's just say that Mulder is going to really owe me
for this one. Pete Carpenter is not an unreasonable man, when his temper
isn't doing his thinking. He's agreed not to take the incident before
OPR, but only with the assurance that Mulder will see one of the EAP
counselors."

"Not a problem," Scully said quietly. "He has an appointment with Karen
Kossoff this afternoon."

Skinner's eyebrows shot upward. "You've got to be kidding. How did you
manage that?"

Scully's eyes eluded his and she rolled her tongue against the inside of
her cheek. Abruptly, mercilessly, tears welled in her eyes and clogged
her throat. Terrified of losing control, she forced herself to breathe
slowly and deeply.

"He's scared," she admitted. "There was another...mishap that left him
pretty shaken. He's not thrilled about talking to Karen, but he's
desperate."

Skinner eyed her shrewdly. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"That wouldn't be my first choice, no," Scully replied ruefully.

"Karen is an excellent psychologist," Skinner continued, showing no
offense at her reluctance to elaborate. "Whatever brought Mulder to this
point, I'm please to hear he's willing to get help."

Sully sighed. "Karen probably has a better chance than most, but I'll be
honest with you, sir. Mulder possesses a strong disdain for
psychologists and a wealth of built-in defense mechanisms. No one is
going to help him unless he decides to allow it."

Skinner frowned. "I thought you said he was scared. That he was
desperate enough to do just that."

Scully shrugged, her face troubled. "You know the old saying, sir.
Better the devil you know than the one you don't. As frightened as
Mulder is over what's been happening to him, digging for the root of the
problem holds its own set of fears."

"I see what you mean." Skinner's gaze turned distant. "I was in pretty
rough shape when I got home from 'Nam -- nightmares, panic attacks,
depression. But whenever my parents tried to gently suggest I get
professional help I became furious. I was trapped in a dark place, but
to change that I knew I'd have to relive the very events that sent me
there." He snorted. "Not an attractive proposition."

Moved by his candor, Scully leaned closer. "So what happened? What
finally convinced you to get help?"

Skinner's jaw thrust forward and a small muscle in his cheek twitched.

"I'm sorry," Scully said quickly, "I didn't mean to..."

"No. No, it's all right." He paused. "I had an extremely vivid flashback
to when the Viet Cong ambushed my unit. When I regained my senses, I had
a gun pressed to my mother's head." He pressed a fist to his lips, then
held it up with thumb and index finger nearly touching. "I came this
close to killing my own mother. When I looked down into her eyes, saw
that she was terrified -- of ME..." He shook his head. "I had no choice.
I couldn't risk it happening again."

Scully's teeth worried her lip, blinking. "He gets so out of control,"
she whispered, almost to herself. "I've never seen him like this."

Skinner's voice was very, very gentle. "Scully, has he..."

Her eyes flew wide open. "NO! Mulder would never do anything to hurt me!
Never."

"But something happened," he prompted softly.

"We went to sign our lease, for the new apartment," Scully said, staring
at a spot somewhere over Skinner's left shoulder. "The woman who showed
us the apartment, Mrs. Groman, said she'd cancelled the preliminary
agreement. She said Mulder had come in last week to tell her we'd
changed our minds."

"But Mulder denied it."

Scully's lip trembled and a few wayward tears trickled down her cheek.
"He started yelling at her, accusing her of being in league with
Spender. For a moment I thought he was actually going to put his hands
on her. The poor woman was terrified."

"What snapped him out of it?"

"Me. I yelled at him to stop and he did," Scully said, using her thumb
to brush the moisture from her face. "When he realized what he was
doing, saw Mrs. Groman cowering away from him, Mulder was devastated."

Skinner blew out a long gust of air, his brow furrowed. "There's been no
trouble since?" Scully shook her head, her expression guarded. "Then I'd
suggest that..."

The phone rang and Scully lifted it with two fingers. "Scully."

"Where is it?"

The naked anger in Mulder's tone stung like a slap. Scully frowned,
turning her body away from Skinner and cupping her hand around the
mouthpiece.

"Where is what?"

"This is beneath you, Scully. I know your feelings on the matter but you
had no right to take it. Now where did you put it?"

His words practically thrummed with nervous tension. With effort, Scully
resisted the urge to react offensively. Instead she pitched her voice
low and soothing.

"Mulder, slow down. I don't understand what you're talking about. What
is it you think I've taken?"

"Sam's diary. I've been over this apartment a dozen times and I can't
find it anywhere. Last night it was on the bedside table and now it's
vanished." Mulder sucked in a slow breath of air and when he resumed
speaking she could hear tears in his voice. "I know you're trying to
help, but this isn't the way. That book is the last link to my sister,
all I have left. Just tell me where it is, okay?"

"Mulder, I'd love to tell you where it is, but I *don't know.* I haven't
even seen her diary, but it must be around somewhere. Why don't you take
a break and go to your appointment with Karen and then..."

"I do not need to take a break, I need to find that book," Mulder
growled.  And I'm not going to the damn session with Karen unless I do!"

The slam of receiver meeting cradle left her ear ringing in protest.
Scully stared at the phone, astonished, then quickly redialed Mulder's
number. Four rings, then the answering machine picked up.

"Mulder? Mulder, pick up the phone!"

When she received nothing but dead air in response, Scully slowly hung
up. She could feel the ponderous weight of Skinner's stare on the back
of her neck. Ignoring it, she shut down her computer and collected her
purse, the routine comforting.

"I'm taking a long lunch," she told her boss stiffly. "I'll be back as
soon as I can."

"Scully... Maybe I should go with you," Skinner suggested, motionless
except for the dark eyes that followed her every move.

"NO!" The reply burst from her lips, razor-edged, before she caught
herself and padded the corners. "No, sir. Thank you for your concern,
but that would only raise Mulder's paranoia. I can handle this alone."

The lines around Skinner's eyes and mouth betrayed his doubts. "Are you
*sure* about that, Scully?"

She lifted her head, shoulders squared. "Yes, sir. I'm positive."

Once in the car, however, Scully's resolve crumbled. Mulder would be
angry that she'd left work -- he'd undoubtedly interpret her visit as
checking up on him. The last thing she wanted was to provoke a
full-blown fight, and she could tell over the phone that he was spoiling
for one. Lately his natural stubbornness and paranoia seemed magnified
tenfold, and she couldn't help feeling she was headed straight into a
no-win situation. Scully chuckled humorlessly. But she was just
hardheaded enough to give it a try.

Mr. Pendleton, owner of the apartment above Mulder's, had taken his
usual post at the window. Scully returned his wave distractedly, unable
to conjure up a smile for the elderly man. When she reached Mulder's
door she hesitated only a moment before using her key. Maybe if she
caught him off balance she'd bypass his defenses.

Scully stepped inside and froze, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
It looked as if a tornado had touched down in Mulder's living room, and
it must have been an F5. Books, videos, knick-knacks, and photo albums
-- in short, the entire contents of the packing boxes -- were strewn
carelessly across the floor. Totally focused on finding the diary, he'd
disregarded any attempt to preserve order.

She was still gaping in surprise when he barreled out of the bedroom,
his expression thunderous. He jerked to a halt and his eyes narrowed.

"Why aren't you at work? Afraid I might run off and terrorize a little
old lady?" he sneered.

So much for circumventing his defenses.

"I'm here because you were obviously very upset about the diary. I
thought I could help you look for it," she replied mildly, walking over
to a scattering of paperbacks and assembling them into a pile.

While she stacked she watched him from the corner of her eye. Hair damp
with sweat, respiration rapid, hands trembling -- he was the picture of
agitation. There would be no hope for rational discussion if she
couldn't get him to calm down.

"Nice try, Scully. It still doesn't convince me you don't have it," he
replied.

"Mulder, I didn't... Never mind. When was the last time you saw it?
Think hard."

"I *told* you already -- it was on the nightstand when I went to bed
last night. Which, I might remind you, was while you were still in here
reading a medical journal. What did you do, wait until I was asleep,
then come in and take it?"

"Why are you so convinced that I took it?" Scully asked, temper rising
in spite of her good intentions. "What evidence do you have?"

Mulder braced his hands on his hips and scowled. "I know *I* didn't move
it, Scully. And there sure as hell wasn't anyone else here!"

Scully straightened and shook her head. "Mulder! You are a law
enforcement officer! Would you try for a conviction with that kind of
circumstantial evidence?"

Mulder's lip curled and he began to pace back and forth. "Sometimes, if
the person is guilty as sin, circumstantial is enough."

Even armored with the knowledge that something was wrong, that he wasn't
himself, Scully reeled from the venom in his words. She tried to cover
it by collecting another stack of books, bending so that her hair veiled
the hurt on her face.

"Why would I take the diary, Mulder? Evidence is just part of what's
necessary for a conviction, after all. What's my motive supposed to be?"

Mulder picked up his basketball, bounced it twice and set it down, then
moved on to briefly finger a paperweight on the desk before abandoning
it for a photo album. He delivered his answer amidst the restless
movements, never stopping long enough to look Scully in the eye.

"A warped desire to protect me? You've told me to stop looking for the
men who experimented on Sam, to just let it go. You always try to
distract me from reading it. Did you think I didn't hear you the other
night when you said you wished I'd never found it?"

"Sometimes, Mulder. I said *sometimes* I wished you'd never found the
diary. If you'll recall, I'd just brought you down from a nightmare."
Scully bit back further argument, sensing futility. "I'm sure it must be
here somewhere. It's probably in one of these piles. Let me drive you to
see Karen and then..."

She never sensed him approach until he was looming over her. A sneakered
foot swung unexpectedly into view and the books she'd just organized
into a neat pile went flying in six different directions. Mulder's hand
curled around her wrist and yanked her upright until her startled face
was inches from his own.

"I am NOT going to see Karen!" he roared. "How many times do I have to
say it? Do you think I'm stupid now, as well as crazy? Is that it?
Because I'm not, Scully. I know exactly what you're trying to do and..."

Shock gave way to pain and Scully's face contorted, tears filling her
eyes and an involuntary hiss escaping her lips. Mulder reacted as if
burned, dropping her arm and lurching back a step. She automatically
kneaded the sore flesh until she saw the horror on his face.

"Scully, I... Are you all right, did I hurt you?" he babbled, reaching
once again toward the abused wrist.

She couldn't help flinching. He quickly pulled back his hand, but not
before spying the bracelet of livid red marks left by his long fingers.

"Oh my God. I can't believe I did that," he whispered raggedly.

Scully tried to grasp his hand, hastening to reassure him. "Mulder, I'm
fine. I'm a redhead, I bruise if you look at me hard enough."

Mulder squirmed away from her touch, shaking his head. "I tried to tell
you, Scully," he moaned. "I tried, but you wouldn't listen, and now I've
done it. The one thing I always swore I'd never do, not in a million
years. I've hurt you."

Scully's head shook in counterpoint. "No, Mulder, it wasn't like that.
You didn't do it deliberately! It was an accident. Now come over to the
couch and..."

"NO! I want you to leave before I do something worse," Mulder insisted,
his voice high with panic. "I don't understand what's happening to me,
and I won't risk it spilling over onto you!"

"Mulder, I'm not afraid of you! I know you would never..."

"You know nothing, damn it!" Mulder snarled, picking up .the paperweight
and dashing it to the ground. Solid marble, it weathered the abuse but
gave a loud bang that vibrated through the flooring. He tugged on his
hair with shaky fingers. "Please leave," he repeated with exaggerated
patience.

Scully's lashes fluttered vainly against her tears. "No, Mulder. I've
tried to tell you, but *you* won't listen. I'm not leaving."

Mulder's body went rigid and his hands curled into fists. For a long
moment they engaged in a silent battle of wills, eyes locked. Mulder was
the first to crack.

"Fine. Then I will."

He crossed the room, yanked open the door and fled down the hallway.
Scully, on the other hand, found she couldn't move.


Continued in part 10

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Wed, 14 Jun 2000 01:05:07 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (10 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (10 of 21)
By Dawn


Ronald Reagan International Airport
Thursday, March 30
5:23 p.m.



Grey wound his way through kisses, hugs, and handshakes, the duffel
strap digging into his shoulder and worry for Fox gouging his heart. He
caught sight of a lone, trenchcoated figure waiting near a newsstand,
the fluorescent lights glinting off a pair of wire rimmed glasses and a
bald head. He shifted his bag to a more comfortable position and swerved
in that direction, stomach churning with both eagerness and dread.
Skinner's expression did nothing to reassure him.

"Grey. How was the flight?"

"Frankly, Walt, it sucked. I've spent the last hour breathing canned
air, listening to somebody's kid scream bloody murder, and worrying
about my brother. So I'd appreciate it if you would cut to the chase and
tell me what's going on."

Skinner stared at him quizzically for a moment, rubbing the back of his
neck and shaking his head ruefully. "I get the message. You know,
sometimes the resemblance between you two is uncanny." He sighed deeply.
"There's been no new developments in the search for Scully, but
preliminary labs on the blood sample don't look good."

Grey licked his lips. "The blood on the knife?"

Skinner nodded and motioned for them to start walking. "Both from the
knife and some flecks found on the floor of Mulder's living room. Couple
that with the fact that the knife came from your brother's kitchen and
you have the beginnings of a solid case against him."

Grey's eyes narrowed and he stopped walking. "What are you saying, Walt?
Where is Fox?"

Skinner stared out the concourse window at a taxiing plane, then back at
Grey. "They took him into custody this morning, Grey, on a forty-eight
hour hold. I should have told you up front, but I didn't like breaking
the news over the phone."

Grey exploded, dumping his duffel on the ground and pacing, oblivious to
passing travelers. "I can't believe this! They don't even have a body,
Walt! How can you let them get away with this? Why haven't you...?"

"I'm doing the best I can, Grey!" Skinner grated, teeth clenched.
"You've been here ten minutes, you don't know the whole story. Now get
hold of yourself, before someone calls security."

Grey jerked to a standstill, running his fingers through his hair and
sucking in a long, slow breath. He looked up, face contrite but hazel
eyes still smoldering. "I'm sorry, Walt. I'm sure you're doing
everything you can. And you're right, I haven't been here."

Skinner frowned at the undertone of guilt in the words but simply
gestured to Grey's bag. "Let's go. You need to hear it all before you
see him."

By the time they hit the highway, he'd filled Grey in on Mulder's odd
behavior over the previous two weeks. Grey listened intently, only
interrupting briefly to tell of the phone call he'd made at Dana's
request and his brother's assurances that he would cope with his
problems alone. He stared out the car window, face a blank mask while
Skinner recounted Scully's story of the cancelled lease and the tense,
one-sided phone call Mulder made to the basement office.

"Scully said she was taking a long lunch," he concluded grimly. "She was
plainly upset but wouldn't let me come with her. Told me it would only
upset Mulder further, and she could manage him better alone."

Thick silence for several long moments before Grey spoke. "That's the
last time you saw her?" he asked quietly, eyes still locked on the
passing traffic.

"Yes. That was Tuesday noon. I didn't give it much thought when she
never came back to work, just figured she was engaged in damage
control," Skinner admitted, navigating around an elderly man in a
Cadillac who refused to top forty-five miles an hour. "When neither of
them showed up for a meeting on Wednesday morning and I received no
answer at Scully's apartment, I called Mulder. He was pretty fuzzy at
first -- he'd obviously had too much to drink and overslept, had a hell
of a hangover. Once it sank in that Scully hadn't reported to work he
sobered up fast. I met him at her place and we conducted a thorough
search."

"But you didn't find anything," Grey stated dully.

"No signs of a struggle. Not to mention no dishes in the sink, no wet
towels in the bathroom, and the bed hadn't been slept in," Skinner said.
"In short, it didn't appear she made it home Tuesday night.

Grey's brow furrowed. "Wait a minute, they weren't together on Tuesday
night? And Fox had been drinking?"

"He said they'd had a...disagreement," Skinner supplied dryly. "He left
her in his apartment sometime around 1 p.m. and when he came back at 3
she was gone."

Grey scrubbed his palm across the stubble on his jaw. "Must've been one
hell of a disagreement if he went on a bender and spent the night
alone," he mused. "When did the knife turn up?"

"Very early this morning. Your brother has been like a man possessed.
I've never seen him like this, not even when..."

"When Dana was abducted," Grey murmured.

Skinner nodded, a brusque dip of his head. "His behavior has been
erratic enough these past few weeks, this just put him over the edge. I
don't think he's eaten anything but sunflower seeds and coffee and he's
damn near alienated every other agent on the case. About 3 this morning
I finally pulled rank and insisted he go home and catch a few hours
sleep. He was in no condition to drive, and I figured the only way he'd
do as he was told would be if I took him home myself and sat on him."

Skinner's fingers tightened on the wheel. "His apartment -- well, I've
seen less chaos after a grenade detonated. It looked as if he'd been
searching for something, and pretty frantically, but he just got nasty
when I asked about it. Whatever had been packed for the move was all
over the floor and every piece of furniture.

"He flat out refused to sleep in the bedroom, so I started clearing off
the couch. He mumbled something about a drink of water and disappeared
into the kitchen. After a few minutes had passed, and he didn't come
back, I went to see what he was doing." Skinner huffed quietly. "To tell
you the truth, I was afraid he'd ditched me. Instead, I found him
standing in front of the refrigerator, the door wide open and the knife
in his hand, just... staring at it with a shell-shocked look on his
face. I had to call his name three times before he responded. Said he
found it just lying on the shelf next to a carton of milk."

Grey made a small sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat.
"You called in other agents?" he asked curtly.

A streetlight flashed yellow, then red and Skinner eased the car to a
stop before turning toward him with a face like stone. "I called in
forensics, yes. That piece of evidence turned your brother's apartment
into a crime scene."

Grey watched a woman walk four dogs across the street, his fingers
tapping a staccato beat on the armrest. "You're right, it was
unavoidable. But, jeez Walt, did you have to involve the D.C. cops too?
I thought the Bureau took care of its own!"

"For your information, I didn't call them. Mulder's upstairs neighbor
did shortly after forensics arrived," Skinner ground out. "He was
concerned about the ruckus -- especially after the commotion he'd
overheard the previous afternoon. By the time the local boys reached
Mulder's door they'd already gotten an earful."

Grey's eyes darted to his face. "This neighbor -- he heard Fox and Dana
fighting?"

"Actually, it's worse than that. Evidently, sound carries right through
the ventilation system in Mulder's building and the old man, Mr.
Pendleton, isn't shy about listening in. He spends most of the day in
front of his window and he's got quite a soft spot for Scully. He told
the police that when Scully arrived she looked upset, and that he heard
Mulder yelling at her. He says Scully was trying to calm Mulder down
when he heard a loud thud, like something heavy falling. After that it
was quiet until Mulder burst out of the building and took off running
like the devil was on his heels."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and his head tipped onto the seatback. "Shit."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Skinner deadpanned.

The light turned green while he was still contemplating Grey's pinched
expression and how to break the really bad news. The impatient driver
behind him, a young man who could not have been a day over twelve,
honked stridently, eliciting a muttered curse from Skinner and a spasm
of surprise from Grey. He pressed the gas pedal and they rode in silence
for several minutes until Grey heaved a sigh.

"What aren't you telling me, Walt? It's written all over your face. Fox
is in bad shape, isn't he?"

His timing was incredible. As if in reply, Skinner signaled and turned
right, following the signs for Georgetown Memorial rather than heading
for the police station. Grey hissed but said nothing while Skinner
navigated through the lot, located a space, and parked. Killing the
engine, Skinner squinted at the building through the glare of the
setting sun.

"At first I think he was in shock, too numb to fully comprehend the
implications of the knife's location. All he could think about was the
blood, potentially Scully's blood, and what it might mean. He was
frantic, ready to charge in ten directions at once, but I managed to
talk him down enough to wait for forensics to get a better picture of
the situation. He was adamant about two things -- that the knife had not
been in his refrigerator yesterday morning and that he had no idea how
it just appeared."

Skinner shoved his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose between
thumb and forefinger. "He was undeniably distraught, but holding it
together until the local boys showed up. They immediately called in
homicide, and things went straight to hell from there." He flashed Grey
a wry grin. "No offense."

Grey stretched his lips into a reciprocation he could barely feel. "None
taken. Go on."

Skinner's smile evaporated. "The detective in charge, Cooper Johnson, is
a ruthless son of a bitch. I've dealt with him before, and there's no
love lost between us. He and his partner, Benton, took Mulder aside and
started grilling him two minutes after they arrived. I was busy with the
forensic people in the kitchen and didn't notice what was going on. If I
had I would never have allowed it."

Grey touched his arm briefly, shook his head. "It's okay, Walt. Just
tell me."

Skinner ground his teeth until Grey was certain he would hear one snap.
"I'm not exactly sure what Johnson said, but I know his methods well
enough to believe it was aimed to get a rise out of your brother. And it
worked. Next thing I knew Benton had Mulder on the floor in cuffs and
Johnson was nursing a split lip. Mulder was out of control, screaming
obscenities at Johnson that would make a marine blush. They insisted on
hauling him down to the station, and considering he'd struck Johnson I
didn't have a leg to stand on."

"But he's not at the police station," Grey said quietly. "What
happened?"

"According to Johnson and Benton he became increasingly agitated as they
were taking him in. I left another agent in charge and followed as soon
as I could, but by the time I got there he was..." Skinner trailed off,
turning to stare at Grey with troubled eyes. "He was incoherent, Grey.
He just kept pacing back and forth in the cell and screaming for Scully.
I tried to talk to him, to get him to calm down but it was like he
couldn't even hear me. I made the mistake of saying her name, hoping it
would reach him somehow and he'd respond." Skinner laughed bitterly. "He
responded all right -- by trying to put his fist through a cinderblock
wall. He broke two fingers. All I could think was, 'My God, this is just
like when he was hearing voices.'"

"So they brought him to the hospital to set his fingers. But that's not
why he's here now, is it?" Grey asked.

Skinner shook his head. "They had to restrain him just to get a look at
the damage. He didn't want the doctor or nurses anywhere near him, kept
screaming that they were all in league with the cigarette-smoking man
and trying to poison him. The doctor finally sedated the hell out of
him, set the fingers, and shipped him up to the psych ward for
observation." He drew a hand down his face and around to cup the back of
his neck. "And then I called you."

Grey nodded, his face very pale. "I can't believe this is happening.
Everything was going so well, I was supposed to be coming up tomorrow
night to help Fox and Dana move into their new place. Now she's missing,
maybe even..." His voice trembled and he took a deep breath. "And Fox is
in a padded room, accused of her murder? I mean, how did this happen,
Walt? How could everything go sour so quickly?"

Skinner ducked his head, fingers still curled tightly around the
steering wheel. "I don't know, Grey. I wish I did. I knew that something
was wrong, that Mulder wasn't himself, but I didn't think he'd..."

"Fox would NEVER hurt Dana," Grey growled fiercely. "I don't care if you
found her blood on his knife. And I damn well don't care what kind of
reports he's written, how many things he's forgotten, or if he fought
with her. He loves Dana more than his own life. I refuse to accept that
he's responsible for her disappearance."

Skinner tilted his head in acknowledgement, but his face was dubious.
"Let's go. Maybe he'll respond to you."

He reached for the door handle but Grey's fingers clamped onto his arm,
stilling the motion. "Walt? Do you think he did it?"

Skinner kept his face averted while he carefully chose his answer. "I
think it looks bad, Grey. Very bad. And if your brother isn't guilty
then we damn well better find out who is."

"You really think they can nail him for this?" Grey demanded unsteadily.
"Walt, do you...do you really think Dana is dead?"

Skinner's bicep tensed and he swiveled to look Grey in the eye. "I don't
know. But if she is, I'm afraid the D.C. police will be the least of our
worries where your brother is concerned."


Continued in part 11