Blood Ties Chapter 8
(Blood Ties Series)
by Dawn




Georgetown Memorial
Thursday, March 30
6:26 p.m.


Grey stared, stomach churning, at the figure huddled in the corner. Clad
in washed-out gray coveralls from the D.C. jail, dark head pillowed on
knees drawn tightly to his chest, Fox rocked slowly but incessantly.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Grey tore his eyes from the monitor and
fixed the doctor with a baleful glare.

"I want to see him. Right now."

The doctor, Samuels, pursed his lips and shook his head, never raising
his gaze from the chart in his pudgy hands. "I really don't think that
would be a good idea, Mr. McKenzie. We had to sedate Mr. Mulder a second
time and he's just now settling down. I'd hate to see him riled up
again, and with the Haldol he'll barely be lucid anyway."

"Mr. Mulder -- hey, look at me when I'm talking to you!" Grey growled,
snatching the folder from the startled man's unresisting fingers. "Mr.
Mulder is trying to deal with an extremely traumatic set of
circumstances. Something he'll hardly be able to do if you keep pumping
him full of drugs."

Samuels shuffled backward, running a hand over the perspiration on his
bald scalp and huffing indignantly. "The patient repeatedly pounded his
fists into the wall," he sniffed. "It was either 'pump him full of
drugs' as you so eloquently put it, or risk reinjuring his hand."

Grey lunged forward, using his superior height to loom over the man.
"That *patient* happens to be my brother," he snarled, thrusting the
chart into Samuels' face. "I'm the only living blood relative he has,
and if you don't let me in there right now I'll..."

Skinner's restraining hand on his arm cut through the anger and he
abruptly realized that the smaller man was cowering in apprehension.

"Dr. Samuels, Mr. McKenzie has just flown in from Raleigh to be with his
brother," Skinner said reasonably. "I should think his presence would be
calming to Agent Mulder, not disturbing."

Samuels threw Grey a nervous glance before bobbing his head. "Very well.
But only Mr. McKenzie. You wait out here."

Skinner inclined his head and the rigid set to Grey's shoulders
softened. He followed Samuels impatiently around the corner to the door,
shuffling his feet while the little man pulled out a card key and swiped
it through the electronic lock. The indicator flashed from red to green,
there was a soft snick, and Samuels pushed the door open with a
resentful scowl.

Grey walked into the middle of the small room and froze, barely
registering the sound of the lock engaging behind him. He observed his
brother for several minutes, hands clenched at his sides. He'd been so
focused on gaining access to Fox, he hadn't given much thought to what
came next. He noticed that while his brother hadn't ceased rocking, the
motion had slowed significantly. Obviously the Haldol was taking its
toll, just as Samuels predicted.

"Fox," he called softly, afraid of startling his brother. "Fox, it's
Grey." He took a cautious step forward, then two more.

No reaction, and the rocking didn't miss a beat. Grey's eyes cut
uneasily to the video camera in the far corner, and he imagined he could
see Skinner's tense, concerned face on the other end. He took a deep
breath, and moved close enough to crouch down at Fox's side. Keeping his
voice low and soothing, he rested one hand lightly on his brother's
head.

"Fox. Come on, little brother. Is this any way to greet someone who just
traveled a couple hundred miles to see you?"

The swaying motion faltered, then ceased, and Fox slowly raised his
head. His face was haggard, marred by sweat and dried tear tracks; his
eyes so dilated that only a thin hazel ring remained. He scanned Grey's
face and his brows drew together.

"Grey? You're here?"

Grey formed his lips into a smile he didn't feel, his fingers brushing
back a damp lock of hair before retreating to his lap. "I'm here."

Grinding the heels of both hands into his eyes, his brother shook his
head. "Shoulda called. Didn' need to come. No par'ment an' no Scully."

It took Grey a moment to work out that in his confused state Fox thought
he'd come to help him move. He groped for a response, wanting
desperately to glean information from his brother, afraid of upsetting
him, and ever mindful of hidden eyes observing his every move.

"I'm not here for the move, little brother," he murmured. "I came
because I heard *you* needed me."

Fox gaped at him, mouth slightly open, before his face crumpled. Not
even the thick cotton of drugs could blunt the raw despair in his voice.

"Scully's gone. 'S gone an' there's blood an' they think..." His voice
dropped to a whisper. "They think *I* killed her."

Steel bands tightened around Grey's throat, but he squeezed the words
past them. "There's no proof she's dead, Fox, they don't even have a
body. You shouldn't..."

But his brother kept talking in the same haunted monotone. "Found blood,
Scully's blood. On my knife. *My* knife." His eyes pierced Grey's.
"How'd it get on my knife? Can't remember." He dropped his head and
resumed rocking, sporadic shudders passing through his body.

Rattled by the bizarre behavior, Grey's own voice sharpened. "You have
to pull yourself together, for Dana. If she comes back and finds you
like this, she'll..."

It was like talking to a brick wall. Fox had withdrawn into himself, and
try as he might Grey couldn't seem to follow. His brother shook his
head, rocking faster.

"Not coming back. Ever. Blood. Can't remember but they say I did an' I
think..." This time when he picked his head up from his knees there was
resignation in his eyes and tears on his cheeks. His lips moved
soundlessly.

"Fox?"

"Maybe they're right."

Grey stared at him, stunned, for a long moment before lurching to his
feet and spinning to glare at the video camera. "Walt, get Samuels the
hell out of there right now," he hissed, running trembling fingers
through his hair.

He turned back and watched his brother, fighting the rage that crashed
over him like a tidal wave. Fox was swaying again and muttering to
himself in an unintelligible slur. Licking his lips and wishing for a
drink, Grey resumed his seat next to his brother.

"I know you're hurting. But I need you to tell me why you think you
could have killed Dana. What would make you say that, little brother?
Did something happen between you?"

Fox tipped his head back until it connected with the padded wall. "Hurt
'er. Knew sooner or later I would." So resigned, so full of
self-loathing.

Grey winced, proceeding with caution. "You hurt her? How did you hurt
her, Fox?"

One tear, then another spilled down his cheek. "Grabbed her." His voice
caught and he added roughly. "Bruises, all 'round her wrist. My
fingers."

Grey's eyes slipped shut and he forced them open. "You were arguing?"

A nod.

"Grabbing her wrist during an argument doesn't constitute murder," he
pointed out gently. "You love Dana and I don't believe you would ever
intentionally cause her harm. Do you really believe you could have
stabbed her with a knife?"

His brother twined the fingers of his good hand into his hair and tugged
viciously, shaking his head. "I DON'T KNOW! Don' unnerstan' what's been
happening t' me. People keep tellin' me I've done things, an' I don'
remember doin' 'em. I..." He shivered. "What 'f I did an' don' remember?"

Grey ached at the horror and confusion. "Oh, Fox."

The shivering increased and his brother's face contorted in a futile
attempt to stave off tears. "Scully," he moaned. "Need Scully."

Sinking back against the wall Grey pulled him into his arms and rocked,
not knowing what else to do. "Don't you dare give up on her, Fox," he
murmured fiercely. "We're going to find out what happened to her, you
hear me? I won't accept that you hurt her, and I won't let you believe
it either."

He had no idea how long he sat like that, rocking and murmuring
reassurances while Fox shuddered uncontrollably. By the time he'd
slipped into a heavy, drug-induced slumber, Grey's back was screaming in
protest and his left foot had gone numb. He eased his brother carefully
down to the floor and straightened up with a soft grunt of discomfort.
He was still gazing at Fox's face, peaceful with temporary oblivion,
when the door clicked and swung inward. Skinner stood in the opening,
hands shoved in his pockets, and tipped his head toward the anteroom.

"I hate to leave him just lying here on the floor," Grey said
hesitantly.

Skinner glanced at the man in question and though his eyes remained
grave, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Doesn't appear to be
bothering him." When Grey still hovered he added. "Come on. I'm sure
they'll move him to a bed now that he's settled down."

Grey allowed Skinner to steer him out the door, through the observation
room, and into the corridor. After panning his eyes the length of the
hallway, he turned to Skinner with a raised eyebrow.

"Where's the doc?"

Skinner offered him a tight grin. "You told me to get him the hell out
of here. I did."

Grey massaged the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, looking
apologetic. "Sorry, I was a bit blunt, Walt, but Fox shocked me when he
said what he did. I didn't want Samuels to see it as some kind of
confession."

"I think anything Mulder says would fall under doctor-patient
confidentiality," Skinner remarked. "Problem is, I'm not so sure I trust
Dr. Samuels."

Grey sighed wearily and leaned against the wall. "Walt, we have to get
him out of here. He's already to the point of thinking he could actually
have harmed Dana and..." He broke off, eyes narrowing when Skinner
shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Walt? Are you with me on this? Because
Fox doesn't need any more people doubting him."

Skinner grit his teeth. "I've read testimonies from the apartment
manager and Mulder's neighbor, and I've witnessed his volatile behavior
first-hand. Can you be so certain that he's innocent?"

Grey pushed himself off the wall and thrust his face into Skinner's,
quivering with fury. "Yes. I can. I know my brother, Walt. In the last
year I've played ball with him, gotten drunk with him, risked my life
with him, and spent more hours than I care to admit just shooting the
breeze. He is incapable of hurting Dana, no matter what the drugs..."

His mouth dropped open and his eyes turned blank, an expression Skinner
found eerily similar to Mulder's whenever he made an intuitive leap. As
he'd learned to do with his agent, he stepped back and waited Grey out,
allowing the man time to process whatever epiphany he'd just
experienced. When Grey's eyes snapped back to his, he gestured for him
to continue.

"You were saying?"

"Walt, has anyone run a tox screen on Fox's blood?"

It certainly wasn't what he'd expected, but Skinner rallied. "I'm not
certain. I would guess they drew blood here when he was admitted, but
I'm sure it was just a routine CBC. Why?"

Grey started pacing, his hands planted on his hips. "I don't know why I
never thought of it before -- mood swings, irritability, not able to
account for his own actions... I spent some time in Narcotics, Walt, and
those are all classic symptoms of a substance abuse problem."

Skinner's eyebrows shot upward. "What are you saying? That Mulder has
been using drugs?"

Grey glared at him. "Not willingly."

"You think someone has been drugging him?"

"It's been done before."

Skinner grimaced. "He's been under such an emotional strain -- the
LaPierre case, your sister. In the face of all he's gone through, the
odd behavior didn't seem that unreasonable."

"Convenient, don't you think?" Grey muttered. "I want a sample of Fox's
blood, and some of the blood from the knife. You can run your own
through the Bureau labs, if you like, but I think I know exactly what
Fox would do and I intend to follow his instincts."

Skinner's expression showed first bafflement, then surprise. "You've met
Moe, Larry and Curly?"

Grey grinned. "They invited Fox and me over one of the last times I was
in town. Treated us to cheese steaks and every crazy conspiracy theory
in their impressive collection."

Skinner squinted at him. "You really think those bozos can come up with
something the Bureau would miss?"

Grey hesitated, running his thumb back and forth over his lower lip.
"Walt, tell me this. What has the Bureau had to say about Fox's
involvement in Dana's disappearance?"

Skinner averted his eyes, mouth twisted. "Mulder doesn't have many
supporters in the upper echelon. And the ones who actively dislike him,
who haven't forgiven him for leaving VCS..." He shook his head grimly.
"I've heard rumblings already. They want to crucify him."

Grey shot him a humorless smile. "Think I'll place my trust in the three
stooges if it's all the same to you." He looked up and down the hallway
again, frowning. "What did you do with Samuels anyway?"

Skinner showed his teeth. "I just reminded him that his patient was a
key player in a murder investigation, and anything he had to say was
classified. He's waiting for us in his office."

Grey smirked and extended his arm. "I like the way you operate. After
you, Assistant Director Skinner, sir. I'll follow your lead."

"If only you could teach your brother that trick," Skinner growled,
heading down the corridor.

Grey paused, peering at the monitor through the open doorway. Fox had
curled into a fetal position, arms wrapped tightly around his torso for
comfort. Clenching his hands into fists, Grey jogged to catch up.


Continued in part 12

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 00:00:34 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (12 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (12 of 21)
By Dawn


Headquarters for the Lone Gunmen
Thursday, March 30
10:16 p.m.


"Who is it?"

Grey shifted his weight back and forth between feet, the only way to
keep from kicking the door in front of him.

"Grey McKenzie."

Dead silence. In his mind's eye he pictured the three, huddled in a
paranoid meeting of the board to discuss the enigma of his presence.
When nearly half a minute ticked by without a response he curled his
fingers into a fist and hammered on the door.

"Come on! You remember me! I'm..."

Eight rapid machine gun clicks and the door cracked cautiously open to
reveal the little one -- Frohike.

"Mulder's brother. We know who you are. The question is, what are you
doing here this late without Mulder?"

Grey's temper flared. "Sorry. I wanted to bring him but they wouldn't
spring him from the psych ward. Now will you let me in? I don't have
time for this bullshit."

Frohike opened the door wider and stepped back. "You're Mulder's brother
all right," he muttered as Grey shouldered past.

The grunge, Langly, looked up from a computer and squinted through coke
bottle lenses. "Hey, dude. You're looking kind of rough."

Byers, the Frick to Langly's Frack, politely extended a hand and a
tentative smile. "Hello, Mr. McKenzie. Did I hear you say something's
wrong with Mulder?"

Grey shook his hand cursorily. "Look, it's Grey and I need your help --
more importantly, Fox needs your help. So y'all need to decide here and
now if you trust me. Otherwise I won't waste my time."

If the circumstances hadn't been so dire, he would have found the
cryptic looks that flew between them comical. As it was, he remembered
his brother's broken confession and shoved his fists into his pockets.

"We don't know you well enough to trust you," Frohike finally spoke up.
"But Mulder does, and that's good enough for us."

The coiled spring in his gut unwound a couple of turns and Grey felt
weak with relief. Before he could say anything, Frohike continued.

"We already know about Scully. Mulder put us on the case right after he
figured out she was missing. I wish I could say that we've made
progress, but..."

"So far it's as if she's vanished without a trace," Byers said gravely.
"No evidence, no witnesses..."

"Yeah, and zero leads," Langly chimed in.

Frohike's eyes narrowed. "What did you mean when you said
Mulder was in a psych ward? Was that for real?"

Grey rubbed the back of his neck, wishing disjointedly that it was
Kristen's fingers kneading the tense muscles instead of his own. The
realization that she had no idea he was in town, or the purpose of his
visit, gave him a detached, surreal sensation.

"I hate to say this, but you boys are out of the loop," he replied.
"Early this morning Fox discovered one of his knives in the fridge. It
had blood on it, and preliminary findings suggest it's Dana's."

Byers looked stunned and Frohike shocked speechless. Only
Langly managed a response. "Man, Mulder must be freaking."

"He was already in a precarious emotional state when he asked us for
help," Byers said. "This must have pushed him over the edge."

"It's worse than that," Grey said grimly. "The police took him into
custody. The fact that it was *his* knife in *his* refrigerator, coupled
with the testimony of a neighbor who heard them fighting has Fox
convicted in their eyes. Even without a body."

"Have they formally charged him?" Byers pressed.

Grey shook his head. "Way I heard it from Walt they had him on a
twenty-four hour hold, hoping he'd crack. And he did -- just not the way
they were thinking."

Frohike stepped forward. "What can we do?"

Grey pulled two small vials from his pocket. "I need y'all to take a
look at some blood samples -- one from Fox and one from the knife. I
need to know if the blood really is Dana's. And if there's anything --
ANYTHING --out of the ordinary with either sample."

"We'll give it our complete attention," Byers assured him, taking
possession of the vials. "But it might help if you shared what you're
hoping to find."

"Why Mulder's blood?" Langly piped up.

"You three see him pretty regularly," Grey countered. "Have you noticed
anything strange about his behavior recently?"

This time the looks exchanged were decidedly uneasy. "Define strange,"
Frohike replied.

Half of him admired their loyalty, the other half just wanted to beat
the stuffing out of them. "Strange. As in unusual. Moody, maybe, or just
plain wired? Irritable? Impatient?"

Langly snorted. "Are you kidding? When has Mulder ever been patient?
Anyway, it's not exactly strange that he'd be moody considering the
stuff he's had us digging up about your sister..."

Frohike turned on him. "Would you shut up, you bonehead?" he hissed.
"Mulder told us a million times that information was to be kept strictly
between him and us."

"Take a powder, Hickey, I was just answering his question," Langly
snapped. "I really don't think..."

"That's the problem, Ringo, you don't think! You just put your mouth in
gear and..."

"Gentlemen," Byers injected nervously. "This is not productive. We..."

"SHUT UP!" Grey roared.

Huh. Silence really was golden.

Grey scrubbed wearily at his eyes and tried to bring his anger under
control. "I just left my brother in a room with padded walls, sedated
into oblivion. But before I did he told me he's afraid he might have
murdered the woman he loves. Now I really don't want him sharing that
with the D.C. cops -- I'm sure you understand why. So I want you to come
clean with what he's been up to. Now."

"It's like Langly said, we've been checking into the information on your
sister," Frohike said. "Records for April Air Force Base, the hospital
where she was treated, anything to shed some light on what was done to
her and why."

"He didn't want Scully to know," Byers added. "He didn't come right out
and say it, but I don't think she approved of him pursuing the matter.
And in answer to your previous question, yes, he's been extremely moody
-- upbeat and positive one moment, irritable and morose the next."

"Did he really say he thinks he killed Scully?" Frohike asked quietly.

Grey looked at him sharply, and was surprised by the raw emotion in the
little man's eyes. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, he did."

"The dude is seriously messed up in the head," Langly remarked. "He'd
never hurt Scully."

"Never," Frohike agreed. "It isn't in him."

"Well something is, and I need to find out what," Grey said. "I need you
to do a full screening on Fox's blood. Look for any drugs, and not just
the common ones. I think someone has set Fox up to take a fall, and I
need proof."

"We'll get right on it," Byers promised, moving toward the back of the
room where a microscope and other lab equipment resided.

"You think Scully is really dead?" Langly asked, dropping his head to
study the keyboard.

"No," Grey said tersely. "But I think that could change at any time."

Frohike escorted him back to the door, throwing seven of the deadbolts
but pausing with his hand on the eighth. "You haven't really said how
bad it is," he said, gaze piercing. "Even if we do find the information
you need, is Mulder going to snap out of this?"

With the gentle expression of concern, it all caught up with Grey -- the
fear for Dana, worry for his brother, and bone breaking exhaustion. He
shoved his fingers through his unruly hair and swallowed back tears.

"I don't know, Frohike. They say our tether to sanity is a fragile cord.
If that's true, I'd guess Fox's has always been more delicate than most.
Right now it's stretched to the breaking point."

Frohike considered his words. "Call us first thing in the morning," he
said. "We'll work through the night."

Grey nodded. "Thanks."

Frohike released the last lock and shrugged. "Mulder and Scully are more
than just friends. We'll do whatever it takes."

Grey slid behind the wheel of his brother's sedan but couldn't seem to
make his fingers turn the key. He gazed sightlessly out the window, but
it was Fox's face that swam into view, and Fox's voice that echoed in
his mind.

It was during an impromptu visit he'd made to D.C. one weekend in
February. The weather had turned unseasonably warm and they'd taken full
advantage of the respite, playing pickup basketball games at a park near
Fox's apartment for most of the afternoon. Dana was shopping with her
mother and not due back until dinner, so they'd parked themselves on a
bench in the warm sunshine, tired, sweaty and sipping bottled water.

The conversation, originally light and superficial, had taken a dark
turn when Grey couldn't stop himself from mentioning that the previous
week had marked the four year anniversary of Kate's death. Fox had
expressed his sympathy, of course, and then fallen painfully silent.

"What's eating you?" Grey had asked, nudging him in the ribs with an
elbow. "Still bugged that I played so much better than you today?"

Astonishingly, his brother hadn't taken the bait. He'd merely lifted one
shoulder with a self-deprecating little smile and answered that he was
just thinking.

Recognizing the deep waters beneath the surface, Grey had pressed for
more. "Give it up, little brother," he'd said, ducking his head to read
Fox's expression. "I can see something's bothering you."

Another shrug. "Sometimes when I hear you talk about Kate, it all
becomes just a little too real," he'd finally answered.

Grey had frowned, baffled. "That my wife is dead?"

His brother shook his head, and looked away. Immediately, Grey
understood.

"That it could happen to you."

Fox had practically flinched and smiled ruefully. "Ridiculous, isn't it?
Scully and I are FBI agents, we put our lives on the line every day. In
my head I'm always aware of the fact that I could lose her at any time.
I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that possibility." He'd taken a long
gulp of water and swiped at the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

"Go on," Grey had urged.

His brother had leaned forward, bouncing the basketball between his
legs, the rhythmic thwacks punctuating his sentences. "I accept that I
could lose her, but I don't allow myself to look past it. To think about
what comes after, how it would impact my life."

"It's not a pleasant subject to consider," Grey had murmured. "But I
think you need to try."

"Maybe I can't," Fox had said, so softly that Grey had strained to
decipher the words. "Maybe my life doesn't exist past Scully."

Grey had bristled at the weak reply. "Don't talk that way! You think I
didn't want to curl up and die when Kate did? Every day I'd struggle to
come up with a reason to get out of bed. You go on, Fox. If only because
you know they'd want you to."

Fox had absorbed his diatribe and deftly guided the conversation to
safer ground -- a crazy story about zombies raised from the dead. Grey
now realized that his brother had never conceded the point, merely
avoided further discussion.

*Maybe my life doesn't exist past Scully*

He'd never expected those words to come back and haunt them both. He had
an uneasy feeling that, despite his protests to the contrary, Fox just
might be right.

Grey had the car in gear and moving before realizing he had no idea
where he was heading. Fox and Dana's apartments were considered crime
scenes, and he'd brushed off Walt's offer for lodging, unwilling to
entertain the idea of sleep. Now, body leaden and eyes gritty, he could
think of little else.

He pulled to the curb in front of Kristen's townhouse, shut off the
engine, and stared guiltily at the muted glow spilling from the front
porch light. It was nearly midnight and Kristen, the consummate morning
person, was usually asleep by ten on a weeknight. After engaging in a
heated debate with himself, he opened the door and walked slowly across
the lawn. His shoes had barely made contact with the cement, hand
halfway extended toward the bell, when the door flew open and he was
enfolded in Kristen's embrace.
The tears he'd successfully staved off earlier in the evening bubbled up
and he buried his face in the soft crook of her neck.

"I'm sorry... Fox..."

It was all he could manage to choke out, but she shushed him, one hand
rubbing soothingly over the taught muscles of his back, the other
tangled in his hair.

"Shhh. It's okay, sweetheart, I know. A.D. Skinner called me after you
left him. Come inside, you need to sleep."

Grey let her draw him into the sanctuary of her house and tuck him into
the comfort of her bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


Continued in part 13

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 00:03:09 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (13 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (13 of 21)
By Dawn


Georgetown Memorial
Friday, March 31
8:16 a.m.


"You don't even have a body, Johnson! Why can't you...?"

"Your brother assaulted a police officer, McKenzie. Now I don't know how
you good ol' boys in Raleigh do things, but here in D.C. we consider
that a serious crime." Johnson's voice was smooth, his expression
self-satisfied.

Grey's entire body tensed and he could feel the blood heat his face. He
sensed Skinner poised at his shoulder, ready to intervene in case he
should be foolish enough to take Johnson's bait. Forcing the anger down
he folded his arms and deliberately exaggerated his normally moderate
accent.

"That's real good, Cooper. Is that how you got my brother to take a
swing at you?"

Johnson's smirk melted into a scowl and now Benton was the one prepared
to step into the fray. "Make all the accusations you like. I could have
Agent Mulder's badge for what he did." His lip curled in a sneer. "I'm
real worried about Agent Scully. With a temper like that, who knows what
he might have done to her?"

"He was drugged, Johnson," Skinner interjected, moving forward until his
shoulder brushed Grey's in a united front. "You saw the toxicology
results."

Johnson snorted. "Run by a bogus lab."

"*Confirmed* by the Bureau labs," Skinner growled. "An unidentified
narcotic substance. One that would cause mood swings, paranoia,
edginess, irritability..."

"And a high not unlike cocaine," Johnson added. "Who's to say he didn't
take it voluntarily, for the buzz?"

Grey's fingers curled slowly into fists. "My brother is an FBI agent,
and a damn good one. He does not take drugs."

Skinner stretched his arm in front of Grey in a quelling gesture. "Get
to the point, Johnson. You and I both know that your evidence against
Mulder is circumstantial, at best. Without a body you don't have a
prayer of getting an indictment. Now I suggest you cut him loose and
allow us to take him home - unless you intend to pursue that trumped up
charge of assault."

Johnson's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you insinuating...?"

"Coop. Let them have him," Benton broke in. "The guy's a nutcase and
we'll know right where to pick him up once we find the body."

Johnson exchanged a long glance with his partner before shrugging.
"Fine. Take him. But you'd better make sure he doesn't take any
unexpected trips out of town."

"Darn. Guess that means we'll have to cancel that vacation to Tahiti,"
Grey drawled.

Johnson muttered something under his breath but Benson deftly steered
him down the hall. Skinner watched them disappear into the elevator
before turning on Grey.

"I never thought I'd meet Mulder's equal in the smartass department," he
muttered. "Looks like I was wrong."

Grey flashed him a cheeky grin. "Why thank you, Walt."

"Have you talked to Samuels yet?"

"Yeah. We exchanged words right before Mutt and Jeff showed up."

Skinner's eyebrows knit together. "Exchanged words? Jeez, Grey is it
your mission in life to piss everyone off?"

"Nope, just a side benefit." Grey sighed. "He didn't want to release Fox
into my custody. I insisted. He stormed off to sulk and fill out the
paperwork."

"Why didn't he want to release him? If he has legitimate concerns..."

"I think I know what's best for my own brother!" Grey snapped, spinning
around and stalking down the corridor.

He only traveled about five paces before his feet slowed, then stopped,
and his shoulders slumped. "Coming?"

Skinner joined him without speaking and they continued toward Samuel's
office.

"Samuels said Fox is clinically depressed, very possibly suicidal," Grey
blurted after several seconds. "I showed him the toxicology results, but
he's not convinced that simply flushing the drug from Fox's system will
cure the depression. He wanted to keep him under observation and put him
on anti-depressants."

Skinner glanced away, jaw thrust out. "You shouldn't even be telling me
this. It could end his career with the Bureau."

"You think I don't realize that? It's part of the reason I insisted on
taking Fox home."

"And the other part?"

They were close enough to Samuels' office to see him seated at his desk,
glowering over some paperwork. He looked up and gestured for them to
wait outside, denying the courtesy of a chair. Grey propped his hands
against the wall and dropped his head to stare at his feet.

"Over the last year I think I've gotten a pretty good handle on what
makes my brother tick, Walt. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that
Bill Mulder - I refuse to call him Dad - did a number on Fox after
Samantha was taken. He...inundated Fox with guilt, and though I think Dana
and I have healed some of those wounds, the scars will never completely
disappear. No matter how much we try to convince him otherwise, there
will always be a little voice deep down inside of him whispering he's
not worthy of our love. Or, worse yet, that he brings misery on those
who love him."

Grey turned and pressed his back against the wall, pinning Skinner with
blazing eyes. "Dana is missing. For all we know she could be dead. That
loss alone is enough to fray Fox's tether to sanity, but to make matters
worse, he's has already begun to doubt himself. To fear he's
responsible. Confine him in a place like this, with nothing to do but
think, and there won't be enough anti-depressants in the world to stop
him from plunging into the abyss."

Skinner rubbed his jaw, absorbing Grey's words. "What if you can't
handle him?"

Grey's mouth curved. "He's my little brother, Walt. I'll handle him."

Samuels chose that moment to bustle out of his office, muttering under
his breath. "Paperwork is done. I'll unlock his door and you're free to
take him home."

Grey refrained from responding to the clear note of disapproval in the
doctor's tone, following him mutely down a long row of carbon copy
doors. Samuels pulled the card key from his pocket, then hesitated.

"If you have any trouble with your brother or find you've changed your
mind..."

*You'll be the last one I call* Grey thought sardonically. Aloud he
simply said, "I have your number, Dr. Samuels. Now could I please see
Fox?"

Samuels inclined his head in acquiescence but his sour expression
betrayed him. A quick pass of his card through the lock and he retreated
to his office without a backward glance. Grey stole a quick look at
Skinner before slowly pushing the door open.

It was a small room, little more than a cubicle, the bed and a chair the
only pieces of furniture. A single, barred window took up most of one
wall and from where he stood Grey could just make out the black asphalt
of the parking lot through the glass. Fox had positioned the chair in
front of the window, and was currently seated in it. He didn't turn his
head or acknowledge their presence.

"Hey, little brother. You ready to go home?"

The minute the words left his lips Grey winced. Going "home" was not an
option right now. He'd accepted Skinner's offer to put them up in his
condo.

His brother didn't answer, so Grey walked slowly over to stand beside
the chair. Fox's head rested limply against the cushion, his hands
folded neatly in his lap. Grey cursed under his breath.

"What's wrong?" Skinner asked quietly.

"When I called Samuels this morning I asked him to stop the Haldol,"
Grey replied sotto voice. "Either he wasn't listening, or I was too
late. He's still stoned."

"'S lots of those at our new place," Mulder said dreamily. "Right
ou'side the bedroom winnow. 'S why we picked it. Scully loves cherry
trees." He tripped a bit on her name, blinking.

Confused, Grey mimicked his gaze, panning across the rows of parked cars
to the far end of the lot. A lone cherry tree stood on the parkway,
resplendent in pale pink blossoms. He crouched down and placed one hand
on the wrist of his brother's uninjured hand.

"Fox. Let's get out of here."

Fox's eyes wandered slowly from the window to lock onto his face. "You
taking me home?"

Grey straightened and tugged on his brother's wrist. "Not exactly. Walt
said we could stay at his place for now."

Fox let himself be drawn to his feet but the blank expression on his
face turned desperate. "No...I... I wanna go to Scully's."

Grey's throat constricted in anguish at the lost, little boy quality of
that voice. Skinner sensed him struggling for composure and moved
forward to grasp Mulder's other arm.

"You can't stay there right now, Mulder. It's considered... The police are
still going through Scully's things for clues to her whereabouts."

The tiny bit of animation seeped out of Mulder's face. He retreated
inward, shoulders slumped and head bowed. "'Kay."

He remained uncommunicative the entire way home, allowing Grey to buckle
him into the front seat of his own car like a small child, ignoring
attempts to draw him into conversation in favor of staring out the
window. He was half-asleep by the time they reached Crystal City, his
head pressed against the glass and his eyes little more than slits. Grey
followed Skinner into the underground garage, pulling into the spare
parking space he indicated, and then hopped out to remove an overnight
bag from the trunk.

He gazed through the back window at his brother's motionless silhouette,
chewing his lip. Skinner locked his own vehicle and watched Grey for a
moment before jingling his keys to catch his attention.

"It's too late now to worry if you did the right thing," he said
gruffly. "We'll get him settled and let him sleep off the drugs. Then
maybe he'll be lucid enough to help us figure out what's going on."

Grey cocked his head, an amused quirk to his lips. "How did you know I
was second guessing myself?"

Skinner snorted, lifting the gym bag from his fingers. "I've worked with
your brother for seven years, Grey. I've seen that expression more often
than I'd care to admit."

Getting Mulder up to Skinner's condo was like commanding a robot. He
walked when told to walk and waited mutely for the elevator to reach
Skinner's floor, incurious of his surroundings. When Skinner unlocked
his door and ushered them inside, he stood submissively in the center of
the room as if awaiting further instructions. Grey looked at Skinner
helplessly.

"Guest bathroom's at the top of the stairs," Skinner said quietly,
returning the gym bag. "Why don't you see if you can get him to shower
and change out of that coverall." He grinned tightly. "I'll see that
Johnson gets it."

Grey nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Come on, Fox," he called,
starting up the stairs.

Mulder, staring vacantly out the sliding glass doors to the balcony,
didn't twitch.

"Fox?"

When it became apparent that his brother wasn't responding, Grey sighed
heavily and retraced his steps. He grasped Mulder's elbow and lead him
up the stairs, all the while talking to him in a low, soothing voice.

Skinner watched them until they disappeared into the bathroom, then went
into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He busied himself with
measuring and pouring, trying hard not to think about Scully, the blood
encrusted knife, Grey's distress, and Mulder's empty eyes. His
concentration was so deep that Grey's abrupt appearance in the doorway
nearly startled him into dropping the glass carafe. Cursing under his
breath, he set the pot carefully in place just as the first brown drips
emerged.

"You should know better than to sneak up on someone like that!" he
groused, turning on Grey with an irritated scowl.

"Sorry," Grey said insincerely. "Fox is in the shower. He's thirsty so I
told him I'd bring up a drink." He shuffled his feet. "Shower must be
helping. He seems a little better."

Skinner reached into the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water,
tossing it underhanded so that Grey caught it neatly by the neck. "How
about you?"

Grey lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I'll wait for the
coffee."

Skinner leaned a hip against the counter, scrutinizing him. "That's not
what I meant."

Grey's face twisted in confusion, then smoothed. He offered a
self-deprecating little smile. "I'm all right, Walt. It's Fox who's the
basket case."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. And with Scully gone you're bearing
the brunt of it. So I repeat, how about you?"

The smile faltered and Grey raked a hand through his hair. "I... I'm
scared for him. It's like a big piece of him is missing along with Dana.
If we don't find her, or if she's..." His eyes ducked and fled from
Skinner's and he swallowed hard. "I got mad at him once. We...we were
talking about Kate's death and Fox said something that upset me. He
said, 'Maybe my life doesn't exist past Scully.' I was angry, furious
that he would somehow perceive his loss to be greater than mine. But
now..."

"Now?" Skinner prompted gently.

Grey traced the beads of moisture on the bottle in his hands. "Now I
wonder if he wasn't right. I loved Kate, she was the center of my life.
But Dana - Walt, Dana *is* Fox's life. I have my parents, my sisters.
But Fox..."

"He has *you*, Grey," Skinner said firmly. "And me, and those three
geeky friends. Whatever happens, we will get him through it." He grit
his teeth. "But I refuse to give up on Scully. I fully intend to find
her and bring her home, safe and sound."

Grey slowly nodded, some of the lines smoothing from his brow. "Yeah. Me
too. Thanks, Walt."

Skinner cocked his head. "Shower's stopped. You'd better get him his
water."

Grey flashed him a grin and loped up the stairs. He rapped twice on the
bathroom door. "Fox? I've got some water."

No answer. In fact, no sounds of any kind penetrated the door. Grey's
heart gave a lurch and he rapped his knuckles a little harder on the
smooth wood.

"Fox? I'm coming in."

The knob turned half an inch to the right - and stopped. Panicked, Grey
rattled the handle back and forth, pounding on the door with his fist.

"Open the door! Damn it, Fox, you open this door right now!"

Skinner sprinted up the stairs, attracted by the shouting. "What is it?"

"He's locked the door and he's not answering," Grey ground out, still
hammering impotently.

Skinner didn't hesitate. "Move," he growled, shouldering Grey aside.

Three bone crushing jolts with his shoulder and the flimsy wood gave way
in a rush of steam. Grey and Skinner crowded into the open doorway and
froze.

Mulder stood in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around his slim hips
while rivulets of water from his wet hair tricked down his chest and
back. His attention was centered on something clutched in his hands.
Oblivious to their presence, he turned it endlessly over and over
between his palms, mesmerized.

All the air left Grey's lungs in a rush and he heard Skinner's sharp
hiss of alarm. The object of Fox's intense concentration was a gun.


Continued in part 14

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 00:05:23 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (14 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (14 of 21)
By Dawn


Crystal City
Friday, March 31
10:03 a.m.


"Fox, I brought you a drink," Grey said calmly, extending the plastic
bottle. "I'll put that away for you and you can get dressed."

No response, not even a flicker of acknowledgement. Grey licked his lips
and took a half step into the bathroom, setting the water bottle down on
the counter. His senses felt hyper-attuned -- the pungent aroma of soap
and shampoo, the damp caress of humid air, and the monotonous drone of
the fan competing to draw his eyes from their lock on his brother's
blank face. He attempted to clear the panic from his throat.

"Why don't you give me the gun?"

Smoothly, effortlessly, with the ease of a lover, Mulder's finger
wrapped itself around the trigger and he shook his head slowly back and
forth. Grey's fear kicked into overdrive and his tone turned sharply
from request to demand.

"Fox, give me the gun, damn it!"

His impatience served only to drive his brother back several steps until
his spine hit the wall and the gun swung up defensively. Hazel eyes, no
longer blank but desperate, darted between Grey and Skinner.

"I can't. I...I have to think. I just...I have to figure things out."

Grey wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or relieved by the evident
improvement in his brother's lucidity -- Fox's speech was sluggish but
clear. He held up both hands, palms out and adjusted his voice to a more
soothing timbre.

"Easy, Fox. It's all right. We understand, and we just want to help
you."

Mulder dropped his head, his voice so low they could barely make out his
words, rich with anguish. "No. You want to stop me."

Grey's voice shook with a mixture of anger and grief. "No shit,
Sherlock. You think I want to watch my only brother blow his brains out
on the bathroom floor?"

Mulder's head snapped up and his lip trembled. "I can't do it," he
moaned. "Not without her."

"Yes you can. I know how much it hurts, but..."

"You don't know!" Mulder cut in raggedly. "How could you? Kate *died*,
you didn't murder her!" His legs buckled and he slid to the floor,
jerking the gun up and pressing the muzzle viciously against his temple.
"I'm so sorry, Scully," he whispered. "It should have been me."

He squeezed his eyes shut and his finger twitched.

"No!"

"Agent Mulder!"

Grey's hiss and Skinner's quiet command melded, freezing Mulder's index
finger. His eyes popped open and the gun actually pulled back a bit,
leaving behind an angry circle of red flesh.

"Agent Mulder, despite your past history of leaping before you look, you
*will* listen to me now," Skinner plunged on, briefly casting a look at
Grey. Mulder didn't answer, but Skinner accepted his paralysis as
encouragement to continue.


"You have been drugged. Do you understand me? Your bloodstream was
riddled with a narcotic resembling cocaine. At the very least it
accounts for your uncharacteristic behavior these last few weeks. On the
other hand, the implications could be significantly more far reaching."

Mulder's left hand scrubbed wearily at his eyes and the gun dropped a
little further toward his lap. "Drugged? I don't... How?"

"We don't know. But you can be sure we're going to find out," Grey spoke
up, ignoring Skinner's scowl.

Mulder's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before his face twisted
in remorse. "So I was drugged. All the more reason to believe I...I
could have..."

"Think, Mulder. Why were they drugging you?" Skinner said urgently. "If
they'd wanted you dead, you would be. Instead they gave you something to
mess with your head, to confuse you. Why would they do that, Agent
Mulder?"

Mulder blinked. "How would I...I don't know."

 "Come on, profile them!" Skinner pressed. "What would they accomplish?"

The gun fell to Mulder's lap and he ground the heel of his hand into his
forehead. "Uh...Make me look crazy, I guess." For just an instant the
real Mulder peered out of the haunted eyes and his mouth turned up in a
sardonic grin. "Crazier than usual, anyway."

Skinner couldn't spare a glance at Grey, but silently rejoiced. Mulder's
intricate mind was beginning to cut through the fog of drugs and
despair. He very slowly and deliberately walked to Mulder's side and
squatted.

"Given all that, Mulder, don't you find the absence of Scully's body
more than a little suspicious?" he asked shrewdly.

He saw Mulder make the connection, mouth dropping open and eyes widening
in shock. Mulder's gaze jumped from his face to Grey's and back again
and he began to shiver uncontrollably.

"You really don't think I killed her?" he asked pleadingly. "You think
they took her?"

Skinner traded a long look with Grey before answering. "I'm not sure,
Mulder. But I think you owe it to Scully to find out. Now give me the
gun."

Mulder's fingers tightened possessively on the weapon. He stared down
into his lap for what seemed an eternity before slowly placing the gun
into Skinner's beckoning fingers. His head sank back against the tile,
tears glistening under the harsh lights.

Skinner stood and pressed a hand briefly to Mulder's shoulder. "You need
to sleep," he said quietly. "Once your body has had a chance to purge
itself of the drugs, we'll plan our next move."

He slipped the gun under his belt at the small of his back, moving over
to where Grey remained frozen in the doorway. "Relax," he murmured. "He
needs you to stay calm."

He was totally unprepared when Grey yanked him into the hallway, face
dark with fury.

"What in the hell were you doing with a weapon in your bathroom, Walt?"
he hissed. "I did a check for razor blades but it never crossed my mind
you might be keeping a *gun* in with the spare toilet paper!"

Skinner gaped at him. "What?"

"I told you the doc said he was suicidal! Why in God's name didn't you
tell me there was a gun in there? He was millimeters from pulling that
trigger!"

Succumbing to the stress and Grey's hostility, Skinner's temper flared.
"Why in God's name would I keep a gun in my bathroom? Besides being
asinine, it'd rust! The only gun here is my service weapon, and that's
locked in my desk drawer."

Grey shook his head stubbornly. "He must have gotten it from somewhere
around here! Mine's locked in the car and guns don't just appear out of
thin air."

Skinner watched Mulder's slumped form during his brother's diatribe, his
own anger building. An object on the bathroom floor, tucked in a corner
near the sink, caught his eye. He reached back and retrieved the gun
from his waistband, studying it with narrowed eyes.

"Walt? Are you listening to me?" Grey snapped.

Skinner looked up. "I think this is your brother's gun, Grey. I remember
this gouge in the grip -- it used to be his service weapon before he got
his Sig."

Grey's indignation faded to confusion. "That makes no sense, how could
he...?"

"That gym bag was in Mulder's trunk, wasn't it? Did you look through it
before you brought it up?" Skinner asked gently.

All the color drained from Grey's face. "Oh, my God," he muttered, one
hand fumbling for the wall before he sagged against it. "I never even...
How could I have overlooked something like that?"

"Only your brother would have a gun in his gym bag," Skinner replied
dryly. "Especially considering he carries two on his person. You can't
blame yourself."

Grey was not mollified. "I was more than ready to blame you."

Skinner glanced over his shoulder to where Mulder still sprawled on the
floor, weeping. He took Grey by the shoulders and forcibly turned him
around to face his brother.

"You'd better get him into some clothes and calm him down," he said
tersely. "Coffee will be waiting."

Grey seemed about to argue until his eyes rested on his brother. He gave
a curt nod, gathered up the water bottle, and rejoined Mulder without
further comment. Skinner looked on for a moment while Grey knelt beside
his brother, talking softly. When he saw Mulder nod and extend a shaky
hand for the water he retreated to the kitchen where he promptly broke
into a cold sweat.

He'd always excelled at delaying his body's physical reaction to stress.
Nice to know he hadn't lost his edge.

He'd graduated to a second cup of coffee, this one laced with a shot of
brandy, when Grey finally wandered into the kitchen looking nearly as
shell-shocked as his brother.

"He's asleep in your spare bedroom," he muttered, crossing to where
Skinner sat at the small wooden table.

He sank into a chair, propped his arms on the oak top, and buried his
face in them. Skinner considered him silently for a moment before mixing
up a second mug and placing it near Grey's left elbow.

"I'm sorry, Walt. You didn't deserve that." Grey's voice, muffled but
contrite, evaporated any residual resentment Skinner might have
harbored.

"Hey," he called gruffly. When Grey lifted his head he shoved the mug
closer. "This world is only big enough to contain one Mulder's guilt and
your brother got there first. Shake it off and stop beating yourself
up."

Grey dry washed his face and picked up the mug, smoothing one finger
around the rim. "That was way too close, Walt."

Skinner tipped back in his chair, one hand massaging the muscles between
his shoulder and his neck. "Yeah. You aren't the only one kicking his
own backside. We should have seen that coming."

Grey took a sip from his mug, spluttering a little in surprise. "That's
quite the Mr. Coffee you've got there, Walt."

Skinner shrugged. "You looked like you could use a shot. God knows, I
needed mine."

Grey grinned, then looked piercingly into Skinner's face. "In the
bathroom -- I couldn't reach Fox, but you handled him like a pro."

Skinner snorted, pulling one hand down the side of his face and cupping
his chin. "Don't feel bad. I've had seven years practice at trying to
manage Fox Mulder. 'Bout time I got it right." When Grey's scrutiny
didn't relent, he sighed. "You said it yourself, Grey. The man's life
has become irrevocably entwined with Scully's. He needs a purpose, a
reason to keep going. He won't do it for you or me. But he'll do it for
her."

Grey took a larger slug of the coffee. "Does this mean you accept his
innocence? Because yesterday you weren't sure what you believed."

Skinner stood and took his mug to the sink, rinsing it carefully and
depositing it into the dish drainer. Snagging a towel to dry his hands,
he turned back to face Grey.

"Yesterday I had my doubts as to your brother's sanity."

Grey lifted an eyebrow. "And today you don't? That was you in the
bathroom just now, wasn't it, Walt? Not one of the shapeshifters Fox
keeps telling me about?"

Skinner rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I'm accountable for my own
actions! I..." He broke off, sagging back against the counter.

Grey leaned forward, alarmed. "Walt? You all right?"

Skinner waved him to silence, eyes narrowing in concentration. "It never
even occurred to me that he could be telling the truth," he muttered,
more to himself than to Grey. "But if they were drugging him, trying to
set him up, why not pull out all the stops?"

Grey shoved his chair back impatiently and stood, setting the mug down
with a thud. "Would you cut the Spooky Mulder imitation and tell me
what's going on?"

Skinner pulled himself back from wherever he'd gone. "Your brother's
behavior these past several weeks -- Scully and I both assumed it was a
result of the emotional stress surrounding the LaPierre case and
learning the truth about your sister. But what if his apparent breakdown
-- all of it -- was engineered?"

"What do you mean?"

"We already know he's been drugged, and that the substance used
interfered with his sleeping, gave him wild mood swings, and increased
his natural paranoia. But what if they didn't stop there? All the
instances where Mulder appeared to be unaware of his own actions -- what
if he really *didn't* do those things?"

Grey's face twisted in puzzlement. "But in some cases people actually
witnessed..." He gaped at Skinner's triumphant nod. "A *shapeshifter*? You
actually *buy* that theory?"

Skinner chuffed a small laugh. "Your brother would tell us that when
conventional means fail to offer an explanation we should turn to the
implausible. Maybe he's finally opened me to extreme possibilities."

Grey ran his fingers through hair curled from the bathroom's humidity.
"You're saying they're gaslighting him."

Skinner nodded gravely. "And they've been doing a damn fine job.
Mulder's increasingly volatile behavior, Scully's disappearance, the
knife -- as you said, he was millimeters from pulling the trigger. At
the very least he'd wind up in a padded room, safely out of their way.
Up till now, we've not only believed the lie, we've unwittingly helped
Mulder embrace it."

Grey swallowed, a dry click in his throat. "And now?"

Skinner met his gaze grimly. "Now we fight back."


Continued in part 15

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 00:07:25 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (15 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (15 of 21)
By Dawn


Crystal City
Friday, March 31
3:52 p.m.


Grey paused in the doorway, eyes lingering on the figure draped across
the bed. Slumber had erased anxiety and sorrow from Fox's features,
leaving him rumpled and flushed in a loose tangle of limbs and blankets.
Grey's lips curved in affection, but his heart twisted painfully. A
temporary respite, and all too brief. Fox would soon wake to the reality
of Dana's absence and tortured doubts regarding his role in it. Best to
let him escape that fate for as long as possible.

He left the door open a crack and headed down the stairs. Soft,
conspiratorial murmuring captured his attention as he rounded the
corner. Four heads, as different from each other as night differs from
day, bent over a set of papers spread across the coffee table. The
marine, the rock star, the CPA, and the gnome, Grey thought, snickering
to himself. If only Fox were in a position to appreciate the delicious
irony of it all.

Skinner looked up, light from the windows glinting off his glasses. "How
is he?"

Three additional pairs of eyes locked onto him before he could open his
mouth. Rather than irritation, Grey felt gratitude at their obvious
concern.

"He's still out like a light. Didn't move a muscle when I came in the
room. Shouldn't the Haldol have worn off by now?"

"According to his medical records they gave him a pretty heavy dose last
night, followed by a smaller one this morning," Byers spoke up. "Added
to the fact that he hadn't really slept the forty-eight hours
previously, I don't think his reaction is unreasonable."

Grey's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "His medical records? How in
the heck did you get ahold of those?"

Byers looked sheepish, Langly incredulous, and Frohike wounded.

"Never mind," Grey sighed, taking a spot at Frohike's elbow. "What have
you got?"

"Further analysis of the drug found in Mulder's blood," Byers said,
gesturing to some kind of graph that meant nothing to Grey's untrained
eye. "We had a reliable colleague in the pharmaceutical industry run
some tests. This is a gas chromatograph of the substance. Each peak is a
separate compound, or component of the drug. The result is a...a
fingerprint, if you will."

Grey squinted at the page. Skinner shifted his feet restlessly and
cleared his throat.

"I take it there is some significance to this data that I'm missing?" he
asked irritably.

Langly produced a similar strip of paper. "This is the chromatograph for
cocaine."

Grey's eyes leap-frogged between the two charts and he frowned. "They're
very close, but they aren't the same, are they?"

"This peak is missing on Mulder's sample," Skinner agreed, pointing to a
spot on the graph. "It's been replaced by that one. What is it?"

"Don't ask me, man," Langly replied, shaking his shaggy head. "It
doesn't match up with any known compound."

Skinner glared at him. "What do you mean, 'it doesn't match up'?"

"Just what he said," Frohike chimed in. "It's unknown. In fact, our
friend said he's never run across anything like it. It's synthetic
--Mother Nature's got nothing to do with it."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Are you telling me that this expert of
yours couldn't identify an ingredient in the drug that Fox was given?"
Grey demanded, feeling the pounding in his head rise along with his
blood pressure.

Byers regarded him gravely. "Not only the compound -- the drug itself
doesn't match up with any known narcotic. Our pharmacist ran it through
the database where he works. Twice."

Horror, fear, rage -- the emotions bubbled up from deep inside Grey and
he had to move. Shoving his hands into his pockets he stalked over to
the window and back, repeating the path over and over as he muttered
under his breath.

"I don't believe this. I just do not believe any of this."

Skinner pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I
guess that settles any doubts about who's behind all this. Was your
expert able to tell what the long term affects on Mulder might be? Is it
addictive?"

"He couldn't really draw any conclusions," Frohike answered, glancing
uneasily at Grey. "He said that given Mulder's symptoms he was probably
ingesting it on a fairly regular basis. But it's a wild card, there's no
telling how Mulder will respond to deprivation, and we aren't even sure
how long he's been on it."

"So we're flying blind," Skinner said grimly. He looked over to where
Grey was still pacing and muttering. "You made the right call, you know.
Leaving him in the hands of our friend Samuels -- who doesn't have the
faintest idea about any of this -- would be disastrous for Mulder."

Grey paused in front of the doors to the balcony, his expression still
dark with anger. "Didn't feel like such a great decision when Fox had a
gun to his head, Walt."

Frohike, Langly, and Byers looked at each other but said nothing.
Skinner, unwilling to relive that particular scenario, plunged ahead.

"What about the blood on the knife?"

Frohike's worry transformed into an expression not unlike a rat
regarding a slab of cheese. "Now *that's* something we never expected.
That blood was on Mulder's knife?"

"On Mulder's knife, just lying in his refrigerator," Skinner confirmed
impatiently. "What's so unexpected? Is it Scully's blood or isn't it?"

"A staff meeting and I wasn't invited? I'm hurt."

Mulder's voice startled them all, five heads snapping up in perfect
unison. His hair stuck out in wayward spikes, a crease from the pillow
marked his pale cheek, and one hand clutched the railing for support.
Yet his shadowed eyes regarded them with sharp clarity.

"Hey you," Grey greeted, unable to mask the wariness in his voice. "How
are you feeling?"

"How do I look?" his brother retorted.

"Like hell, dude," Langly spoke up with brutal honesty.

"I rest my case," Mulder growled. He waved his hand. "Don't let me stop
you. I want to hear this."

Frohike looked questioningly at Skinner, who shrugged. "He's got just as
much right to hear it as we do. More."

"Gee thanks," Mulder said sarcastically. "Spill it, Hickey. Did the
blood belong to Scully?"

Frohike sucked in a deep breath of air before answering. "PCR says yes.
It's Scully's blood."

Mulder's eyes slid shut and he swallowed hard. His hand involuntarily
tightened in a white knuckled grip on the banister. "I thought so," he
murmured.

"Hold on, there's more," Frohike said quickly. "It's Scully's blood all
right, but it isn't recent."

Mulder scowled, but Grey beat him to the punchline. "Isn't *recent*?
What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's only been missing for 72
hours!"

 Mulder turned the railing loose and walked over to the table. "What he
said."

"Let me explain," Byers said diplomatically. "Thanks to some of the
toxic substances you and Scully have been exposed to during your work on
the X-Files -- the black oil, that giant mushroom -- you've acquired
certain markers in your blood."

"Tell me about it! Every time one of us winds up in a hospital we have
to go through the whole song and dance with the doctor. They don't make
those medical alert bracelets for our particular condition," Mulder
replied dryly.

"Then you can understand our surprise when we looked at the data from
the blood sample and realized that although the tests confirmed it was
Scully's, none of those markers were present," Byers replied.

Skinner leaned forward. "What?"

"We double and triple checked the results," Frohike confirmed, his voice
raising in excitement. "That blood sample was clean, no indication that
Scully was ever exposed to the black cancer. Don't you see what that
means? That blood was deliberately planted on the knife and they used an
old sample -- at least two years old, in fact."

"Then Fox couldn't have been responsible for Dana's disappearance," Grey
said quickly, looking to his brother. "And it's a good bet she's not
dead, either."

To everyone's surprise, Mulder turned away. The hand that rose to comb
idly through his hair trembled.

"Fox?"

"I want to believe that." His voice was husky with emotion. "But I don't
know... I don't know what's real anymore."

Grey laid one hand on his brother's shoulder. "Then trust in me. Because
I believe in you, Fox. And I know you would never hurt Dana."

Mulder lifted his head, his face carefully shuttered. "I need proof. I
need Scully."

Skinner cleared his throat. "I think we should start looking harder for
witnesses. You've been under surveillance, and they've had access to
your apartment. Not to mention the fact that a woman -- and a trained
FBI agent, at that -- doesn't just disappear without a trace. Someone
must have seen something."

Mulder frowned. "Detective Johnson..."

"Detective Johnson had you tried and convicted three minutes after he
stepped through your door," Skinner broke in tersely. "I'd rather
conduct a more open-minded investigation."

"Let us do a little digging," Frohike said as Byers shuffled papers back
into a semblance of order and stuffed them in a folder. "We might be
able to come up with something."

Skinner's mouth became a thin line of disapproval. "You'd better be
discreet. Johnson gets wind of you poking your noses into this and
there'll be hell to pay."

Once again Frohike looked hurt. "Please, Assistant Director Skinner.
You're looking at the picture of discretion."

Mulder snorted, shaking his head and walking over to the coat tree near
the front door when his friend glared at him. He passed each of the
gunmen their coats as Skinner released the deadbolt and opened the door.

"I... Thanks, guys," he mumbled uncomfortably.

"De nada," Frohike said, lagging behind as the other two stepped into
the hallway. He scanned Mulder's face intently, looking less than
satisfied by what he saw.

Mulder averted his eyes, rummaging through the pockets of his own coat
as a convenient excuse to break the contact. Frohike's eyes softened and
he glanced over Mulder's shoulder at Grey, who tipped his chin in a
nearly imperceptible nod. Appeased, Frohike hastened to join Byers and
Langly, who were already arguing over the car keys.

Skinner shut and locked the door, leaning against it with a gusty sigh.
"Why do I get the feeling I'll regret letting them loose on an
unsuspecting public?"

Grey grinned. "You really think you had a choice? Hate to disappoint
you, Walt, but those three do not see you as their commanding officer."

"Something I've grown used to," Skinner muttered darkly.

Grey's quiet laughter faded as his eyes sought and found his brother,
standing motionless before the sliding glass balcony door. As he
watched, Fox's attention remained fixed on the city while his hand moved
mechanically toward his mouth. Squinting, Grey could just make out a
tiny sunflower seed sandwiched between his fingertips. Peripherally, he
saw Skinner follow his gaze, stiffen, and then dart forward.

"STOP!"

The command, uttered in true drill sergeant fashion, coincided with
Skinner's hand arcing sharply to meet Mulder's arm. The crack of flesh
on flesh sounded like a gunshot in the abrupt stillness that followed.
Shock widened Mulder's eyes and he stumbled back two paces, the chosen
seed flying across the room while a small bag of them tumbled to the
carpet. Cursing under his breath, he rounded on his boss.

"What did you do that for?"

Skinner stole a look at Grey's incredulous face before scrutinizing
Mulder. "Did you eat any of those? Any at all?"

"How could I? You just knocked them all over the floor!" Mulder snapped
sarcastically. "All you had to do was ask nicely, I'd have shared."

Skinner ignored the jibe. "You've been drugged, Mulder, most likely
through something you've ingested. Something they knew you'd be certain
to consume but that Scully wouldn't touch. Now you tell me -- what do
you think that might be?"

Mulder's jaw went slack and his eyes dropped to the scattering of seeds,
dark splotches against the tan carpet. Skinner squatted and carefully
scooped them back into the plastic bag, then slipped them into his
pocket.

"I'll have the lab take a look at these," he said grimly. "Until then I
suggest you curb your habit."

Mulder blinked, still unnerved. "What made you... How did you come up
with that?"

Skinner shrugged, eyes distant. "Something about seeing you just now,
ready to put one in your mouth. I remembered there were shells on your
desk when I came down to talk to Scully, the day she disappeared. And
you were popping them like crazy in your apartment, just before Johnson
and Benton arrived. It all clicked into place."

"Where do you buy them?" Grey asked quietly. "A grocery store?"

Mulder shook his head dazedly. "I almost always get them from the same
place. A magazine vendor I pass on the way to work."

"I'll need to know exactly which one," Skinner pressed. "If these test
out the way I'm expecting..."

The strident buzz of the doorbell briefly startled him, but then he
rolled his eyes. "That's got to be your crazy friends, Mulder. Probably
forgot something." He jabbed the button without using the intercom.
"Maybe they can run a few of these seeds past their mysterious friend."

Mulder wandered over to the couch and collapsed on it, flinging one arm
over his eyes. Grey made as if to join him but paused, shoving his hands
into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. Skinner answered the
tentative rap on the door by flinging it wide.

"All right, what did you..."

His stomach plunged. Maggie and Bill Scully stood in the opening.

Maggie's lips curved half-heartedly. "Hello, Walter. I hope you don't
mind this intrusion."

Skinner grappled with his surprise, pasting on a reassuring smile. "Of
course not. Please come in."

"I just had to come, I needed to hear from you what progress has been
made toward finding Dana," she continued apologetically as he ushered
them inside.

Bill shook his hand politely though his eyes narrowed when he saw Grey
standing in the middle of the room. It was when he spied the figure
behind Grey, however, that the veneer of civility vanished. At the sound
of Maggie's voice Mulder had bolted to his feet and now stood rigidly
beside the couch, distress twisting his features. Bill glared at him, a
flush creeping slowly above his collar and reddening his face.

"And while we're at it," he snarled. "I'd like to know what that son of
a bitch is doing in your living room."


Continued in part 16

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 00:09:46 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (16 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (16 of 21)
By Dawn


Crystal City
Friday, March 31
4:45 p.m.


"Bill!" Maggie warned, placing a restraining hand on his muscular
forearm.

Bill shrugged it off, stalking across the room until only the coffee
table separated him from Mulder. "I thought he was supposed to be in
jail," he growled at Skinner. His hands molded into fists and he leaned
in until his nose nearly brushed Mulder's. "What did you do to her, you
little shit? Where's Dana?"

Mulder flinched and Grey lunged forward, certain his brother would
refuse to defend himself should Bill take a swing. Maggie got there
first.

"William Scully, you hold your tongue! I told you when you insisted on
coming that I wouldn't tolerate any of your foolishness. Now either sit
down and be quiet or go wait in the car."

Bill's incredulity quickly turned to sullen acquiescence. With a parting
sneer at Mulder he dropped into a chair and laced his arms defiantly
across his chest. Maggie's eyes shifted from her son to the object of
his wrath and her face softened.

"Hello, Fox. How are you, sweetheart?"

Mulder ducked his head, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry, Maggie," he
replied hoarsely. "I'm so, so sorry."

Maggie's eyes traveled appraisingly over him before she turned around.
"Grey, Walter, why don't you take Bill out to the kitchen for something
to drink. I'd like to speak to Fox alone for a moment."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "Now just a minute, Mom, there's no reason why..."

Maggie regarded him with a dangerously raised eyebrow, silencing his
protest. Grey nearly choked on a laugh as Bill's mouth snapped shut and
he stomped after Skinner. No doubt as to where Dana had acquired "The
Look." His amusement evaporated at the sight of his brother's anguished
face, but Maggie's reassuring nod sent him after the others.

Maggie waited until Grey had disappeared into the kitchen to skirt the
coffee table and stand before the man trying desperately to avoid her
gaze. Mulder's teeth worried his bottom lip and the breath hitched
suspiciously in his lungs with each inhalation.

"Fox," Maggie murmured. "Look at me."

She knew this man, knew that his intense love for her daughter was
equaled only by his capacity for self-recrimination. In fact, for the
first three months of their acquaintance, it was the only side of Fox
Mulder she'd been allowed to see. Maggie could still recall her shock
after finally meeting the man Dana had described as "the most brilliant
mind I've ever encountered." One look in his expressive eyes had told
her everything she needed to know. Fox Mulder didn't act the part of an
agent searching for his partner. Fox Mulder was a man desperately
seeking the woman he loved.

Pity it had taken Fox and Dana six years to come to their senses and
catch up with her.

Mulder gave a sharp jerk of his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
"I can't. I can't look at you," he whispered.

"Why not?" The question was soft as a caress. When the silence grew long
and unwieldy, Maggie pressed, "Fox?"

"Because I can't bear to see the disappointment in your face. And it
will be there, once you understand what I've done."

Maggie's eyes glinted determinedly and she shifted so that he had to
either look at her or keep his eyes shut. "You can't honestly think I'd
blame you for this. I talked to Walter last night, Fox, he told me you
might have been drugged. Is that true?"

"Yes. But it doesn't make any difference."

For a moment she could only stare, aghast. "How can you say that? If you
were under the influence of some chemical, you can hardly be held
responsible."

"But I am! I am responsible."

Mulder's voice cracked and he walked over to gaze out the glass doors.
He focused on the street below, bright patches of color that were
automobiles and pedestrians blurring together as he struggled to slow
his breathing. Her presence at his back, so much like Scully and yet
not, threatened to sever his already tenuous hold on composure.

"Fox, I don't understand. Please, talk to me."

But for the use of his name it could have been Scully's voice, gently
conspiring to break down his barriers. The line between grief and ire
blurred and he spun to face her.

"You got angry with Bill just now for accusing me of hurting Sc...Dana.
But he was closer to the truth than you realize. I AM responsible for
whatever has happened to her -- whether I held a knife or not. I've been
investigating things, poking my nose into places that were certain to
cause trouble. Dana begged me to stop, to leave it alone, but I wouldn't
listen to her. I told her it was personal, that it didn't have anything
to do with her, but it did..."
He swallowed hard, pressing the back of one hand to his trembling lips.
"It does. My life inevitably touches those closest to me and I knew
that." His voice sank to a whisper. "I knew that and I kept going
anyway."

Maggie had listened impassively to his speech, her expression
indiscernible. When his skittering eyes finally settled on her face, she
spoke.

"Fox, you cannot hold yourself accountable for the actions of evil men.
I don't know the nature of your investigation and frankly, I don't care.
Nothing you could have done justifies what they've done to you and
Dana."

Mulder shook his head violently. "No! You don't understand! *My* actions
are what can't be justified. This is exactly the reason why she
shouldn't be with me in the first place. My blind pursuit of the truth
is what got her taken the first time and I've done it again!" His face
crumbled, his mouth moving impotently as he comprehended his own words.
"Oh, God, I've done it again," he choked.

Shock momentarily immobilized Maggie as she watched the rock she'd
leaned on during Dana's previous disappearance shatter into tiny pieces.
The slight quiver of Mulder's lip spread to full body tremors as the
tears he'd tried so hard to suppress spilled relentlessly down his
cheeks. Empty arms that ached for her daughter reacted automatically and
without hesitation.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, taking a half step forward to enfold him
in her embrace, one hand guiding his head to the solace of her shoulder.

As with so much in his life, he denied himself the comfort for long,
stiffening and pulling away to swipe at swollen eyes with his sleeve.
After many long lunches with Dana, Maggie understood far more about the
inner workings of Fox Mulder than he would ever imagine -- which
undoubtedly was a good thing. So she allowed him the chance to distance
himself before placing a firm hand on his arm.

"People always saw Missy as the strong-willed child, Fox, but I'm sure
you've discovered by now that Dana has her own core of steel. She's with
you because she loves you, and by your side is exactly where she wants
to be. And neither you, nor I, nor the monsters who've taken her could
possibly convince her otherwise. *You will find her.* And Dana will hold
on until you do."

Mulder searched her face like a starving man searches for a crumb of
bread. "How can you be so certain?"

The corners of Maggie's mouth turned up in a sad smile. "I have the
strength of my beliefs, Fox. In Dana, and in you."

His stunned brain was still attempting to process her words as she
pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and liberated Bill from exile in the
kitchen. Mulder peripherally registered Maggie's hushed discourse with
Skinner and Grey followed by Bill's grumbling goodbye.

While Skinner shut the door and hovered uncertainly, Grey walked over to
flop onto the couch. He watched the emotions sift across his brother's
face, then heaved an exaggerated sigh.

"Congratulate us, Fox. Walt and I just spent ten minutes alone with Bill
Scully and never laid a finger on him."

"Not for lack of motivation," Skinner muttered.

Their banter did the trick, penetrating the darkness that had wrapped
itself around his heart. Mulder made no move to join them, but his mouth
quirked.

"Good thing you behaved yourselves. Maggie wouldn't hesitate to kick
both your butts."

"No question where Dana gets her fire," Grey agreed, clasping his
fingers behind his neck and leaning back into the cushions. "You'd have
to be crazy to mess with that woman."

The hint of amusement blossomed into a full-blown smile. "She raised
four kids, essentially on her own since her husband was at sea most of
the time. And they weren't exactly little angels, either. Scully always
says..."

The smile winked out of existence, the subsequent silence a void that no
one quite knew how to fill. Skinner finally cleared his throat and
collected the file folder the Gunmen had left on the coffee table.

"I should check in with the team and deliver this to the lab. We need to
confirm these results on the blood sample if we're going to get Johnson
off your back," he said, tapping the folder against his leg. "I want to
get some people to canvass the neighborhood, see if we can turn up
someone who might have seen something."

Mulder scowled, taking a step as if to follow. "*I* should be the one
out there, it's my neighborhood. I know all the hangouts, I could..."

"Mulder, no."

Skinner's hand came up, palm out, to cut off the flow of words. "You are
a suspect in Scully's disappearance. Johnson will be watching you like a
hawk, just waiting for you to slip up. He's not going to objectively
consider any evidence if you had a part in gathering it."

Mulder paced several steps to the right, then back again, one hand
raking through his hair. "She's been missing 72 hours now, God knows
what they're doing to her. What do you expect, that I'll just sit here
and do nothing?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I expect."

Skinner's reply, clipped and dangerous, stilled his restless feet.
Mulder glared, body rigid and chest heaving.

"This isn't an X-File, Agent Mulder, and you aren't running this
investigation," Skinner grated. "Your badge means nothing now, you have
no authority and no rights in this arena."

Mulder's eyes went black and for a moment Grey was certain he would
launch himself at his boss. "This is *Scully* we're talking about,
Skinner. I have every right."

Skinner's demeanor softened and he inclined his head. "I know that. And
I know what staying out of this must be putting you through."

"You don't," Mulder spat, turning away. "You have no idea."

"But the fact remains that I can't allow you to assume an active role,"
Skinner persisted. "It wouldn't be in Scully's best interest, Mulder.
Deep down inside you know that."

When his agent didn't respond, Skinner retrieved his coat from the rack
and slipped it on. He exchanged a long look with Grey before opening the
door.

"I'll be back in couple of hours. There are take out menus in the
kitchen. Whatever you decide, just order enough for me too."

When Mulder continued to show him his back he sighed, nodded to Grey,
then stepped out the door. Grey let his brother sulk for several long
minutes before standing with a small groan.

"I'm starving. How about we check out Walt's favorite pizza place?"

"Whatever you want," Mulder muttered without turning around.

"You're the one who hasn't eaten," Grey pointed out. "What do YOU want?"

Mulder laughed, an unpleasant sound. "Doesn't seem to matter, does it?
Not to good ol' 'Walt' anyway."

"Good ol' Walt helped me pull your butt out of a padded cell," Grey
snapped. "Maybe it's time you dropped the spoiled child routine and
showed a little gratitude."

"I'd be grateful if he'd drop the assistant director bullshit and let me
do what I need to do," his brother growled.

"What you need to do is just what Walt said, Fox. Stay put and let the
agents on Dana's case ask the questions. I'm sorry, I know you don't
want to hear this, but he's right. Your participation in this case could
jeopardize Dana's life."

Wide, wounded eyes locked onto his face. "I would never take risks with
Scully's life!"

The agony in the words defused Grey's anger. "Then let Walt handle
things. No one wants to find Dana more than he does."

Mulder shook his head and turned back to the window. "He doesn't even
come close," he murmured. "Go ahead. Pizza is fine."

Grey hesitated, then continued to the kitchen. Forehead pressed to the
cool glass, Mulder watched dusk fall and lights pop on in the buildings
and passing cars. Across the busy street, a lone woman with bright
copper hair strode briskly down the sidewalk, a briefcase clutched in
one hand. His heart lurched, then fluttered wildly until she paused
beneath a streetlight and lifted her hand to flag a cab. The golden
spill of light clearly illuminated her features, so different from those
his eager gaze sought. Mulder blinked back a rush of tears as his lips
silently formed her name.

*Scully.*

Grey's voice drifted from the kitchen, low and comforting even in the
simple act of ordering dinner. Suddenly unwilling to be alone, Mulder
pushed himself away from the doors, intending to join his brother. His
distracted gaze brushed over an isolated figure lounging in a doorway
across the street and snapped back with unwavering intensity. The man
chose that moment to move, shifting his weight and stretching as if to
relieve muscles cramped from too long in one position.

Rage, like an enormous beast, trampled all reason and logic. Mulder cast
about frantically for a weapon before realizing that Skinner and Grey
had locked away anything he might use to harm himself. Cursing, he
charged across the room and fumbled with the deadbolt, his fingers less
than cooperative.

"Fox?" Grey appeared in the kitchen doorway, bewildered and alarmed by
his frantic scrabbling and swearing. "Fox, what are you doing?"

The lock finally gave and the door rocked back on its hinges, slamming
into the wall with a bang. Barefoot, clad only in a pair of sweats,
Mulder darted down the hallway and disappeared into the stairwell,
oblivious to Grey's desperate appeals for him to stop.


Continued in part 17

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 00:45:28 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord: (17 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (17 of 21)
By Dawn


Crystal City
Friday, March 31
6:12 p.m.


"Enjoying the view?"

Mulder had knotted his fist in Krycek's leather jacket and slammed him
up against the brick before the assassin knew what hit him. After
dashing from Skinner's apartment he'd regained enough of a cool head to
exit the building through a back door and circle around so as to
confront Krycek from behind. Once he felt the man wriggling in his grip,
however, all self-control evaporated. He let loose a stinging backhand
that rocked the double agent's head into the wall, followed by a punch
to the gut.

Krycek, however, refused to give up. Though still doubled over and
gasping for air, he rammed full force into Mulder, tumbling them both to
the pavement where they rolled and grappled like children in a
schoolyard brawl. Krycek's palm shoved his face into the cement, tiny
stones gouging his cheek like needles, as Mulder writhed and bucked in
an attempt to dislodge him. Though Krycek lacked an arm, Mulder's broken
hand and the lingering effects of the drug balanced the scales. He
hooked an elbow into the Russian's ribs and rolled, struggling to break
the man's grip.

"Police officer, freeze!"

At the barked command Krycek went limp.

"Turn him loose, Krycek," Grey growled.

Mulder scrambled out from beneath Krycek's now unresisting body, injured
hand cradled against his chest, panting. He glared down, face contorted,
and delivered a parting kick to the fleshy part of the assassin's thigh.

"Ow! Damn it, Mulder!" Krychek howled, following with a torrent of
Russian.

"Fox, knock it off," Grey admonished. He reached into his pocket for his
badge, flipping it open and displaying it to the group of gaping
onlookers. "I'm a police officer, folks, and there's nothing left here
to see. Move along."

When the small crowd had dispersed he scowled at Krycek and jerked his
head. "Get up." He kept the gun leveled on the Russian while darting
hasty looks at his brother. Now that the initial adrenaline surge had
worn off, Mulder's teeth were chattering. "Jeez, Fox! You don't even
have shoes on! Are you trying to catch pneumonia?"

Krycek hauled himself upright, leaning heavily against the wall. He
swiped at his bloody lip with the back of his hand and looked warily
from Grey to Mulder. "So what's it going to be, boys? You turning me in,
or are you going to hear what I have to say?"

"The only thing I want to hear is the sound of the lock on your cell,
you two-faced, lying sack of..." Krycek recoiled as Mulder lunged for
him, only to be pulled up short when Grey snagged the back of his
sweatshirt.

"Damn it, Fox, I said to knock it off! Let's take this inside before you
freeze to death. He's not going anywhere."

Mulder shrugged off his brother's hand but kept silent as they crossed
the street and took the elevator back up to Skinner's apartment. Once
enveloped in warmth, he began to shiver in earnest, reduced to hobbling
on feet turned to blocks of ice. Grey pushed open the door and motioned
Krycek inside, sparing a quick, assessing glance at his brother.

"Go take a shower, it'll warm you up," he suggested, brow creased in
concern.

"F...forget it! I...I'm n...not t...taking m...my eyes off that
b...bastard," Mulder snapped, arms curled tightly around his torso in a
futile effort to warm them.

"Fox, I'm not a rookie. I can manage him with one hand tied behind my
back -- no offense intended," he drawled, flashing Krycek a cheeky grin
and indicating he take a seat on the couch. "Besides, I get the feeling
he's here for a reason."

"And they say all Southerners are half-wits," Krycek sneered.

Grey lowered himself into the chair opposite, unperturbed. "Watch it,
Ratboy. I might just let my little brother have another go at you."

Mulder hesitated a moment longer, but a fresh wave of tremors sent him
climbing the stairs. Krycek's eyes followed until he disappeared, then
fixed coolly on Grey's face. A silent battle of wills ensued until the
assassin crumbled, his eyes skittering away to contemplate a gouge in
the coffee table.

"I'm going to warn you up front," Grey said, his voice very soft. "You
start messing with his head and I will personally modify your dental
records. We half-witted Southerners have an extremely low tolerance for
bullshit."

Krycek's eyes narrowed and he compressed his lips to a thin line of
annoyance. "What is it with you Mulders, anyway? Either your brother
uses me for a punching bag or you threaten to rearrange my teeth. I'm
getting pretty tired of it, let me tell you."

"Guess we just can't keep our hands off you," Grey replied, waggling his
eyebrows.

Krycek huffed and muttered another string of Russian epithets under his
breath. The faint patter of water on tile drifted down the stairs and
Grey released a long breath of air, shifting to a more comfortable
position. Krycek's eyes roved around the living room and his foot tapped
a staccato beat on the leg of the coffee table.

"The seeds are drugged." The statement, flat and unapologetic, startled
Grey.

He stared at Krycek and leaned forward with feigned calm. "We know -- or
had a pretty good idea. Skinner took some to the lab for confirmation.
Question is, how the hell did *you* know?"

Krycek grinned wolfishly. "Who do you think persuaded that street vendor
to stock our particular brand?"

Grey's face darkened and his finger, curled snugly around the trigger,
twitched. He caught himself, grimly shoving the anger to the back of his
mind, and shook his head ruefully. "I'm beginning to understand this
compulsion Fox has to beat the hell out of you, Krycek."

"So nice you two have something in common." Krycek reclined further into
the cushions, his feet crossed casually at the ankles.

"What did you do, threaten him?"

Krycek's brow contracted as he puzzled over Grey's question, then
smoothed in understanding. "The street vendor?" He shook his head.
"Violence might be unavoidable, but it's never the ideal solution," he
replied. "Mr. Ivanovich had a little problem -- he liked to bet on the
ponies. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it. The prospect of paying
off his sizable debts more than compensated for any twinges from his
guilty conscience."

Grey grit his teeth. "And if I were to go looking for Mr. Ivanovich? To
ask him to testify that Fox was deliberately set up to be drugged?"

Krycek's expression was bland. "Mr. Ivanovich was the victim of a brutal
attack this morning. He was robbed on the way to work, shot twice in the
chest. Died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. No witnesses to
the crime."

Grey clamped his teeth onto his lower lip, the gun hot and slick in his
sweaty palm. He studied Krycek carefully, noted the rapid fluttering of
pulse at his neck and the fine sheen of perspiration on his brow. For
all his bluster and bravado, the man was evidently not as sure of
himself as he tried to appear.

"You know much about this drug?" he asked curtly.

Krycek shrugged. "I'm no chemist. But I do keep my eyes and ears open.
Twice the adrenaline rush of cocaine, but with a lot of nasty side
effects -- paranoia and mood swings top the list. It's odorless,
colorless, and nearly tasteless, especially when delivered on something
salty like sunflower seeds. The body builds up a quick tolerance though,
starts craving higher and higher doses. Mulder been popping more seeds
than usual?"

Grey thought for a moment, then recalled Skinner's remark about his
brother's behavior just prior to talking with Johnson and Benton. "Yeah.
I think he was. But how...?"

"Vicious cycle. The withdrawal pangs let up whenever he hits the seeds,
so he subconsciously starts craving them."

"What can we expect, now that he's stopped ingesting it?" Much as he
loathed seeking advice from the enemy, Grey wanted to prepare himself
for what lay ahead.

Krycek's eyes unwittingly skipped to the stairs, then slid over to the
window. "He's been off it what -- about 36 hours? The first twelve to
eighteen are the worst, he must have been bouncing off the walls."

"No, he just put his fist through one," Grey muttered, massaging his
forehead. "That's how he broke his hand."

Krycek actually grimaced. "Doesn't really surprise me. I'm amazed he
didn't do worse."

"He might have, except he spent the night in a psych ward, stoned on..."
He bit back the words, chagrined that he'd given Krycek such a weapon.

The Russian didn't seem to notice. "At the risk of provoking an armed
man, I've got to say it was probably the best place for him. Two of the
test subjects committed suicide during withdrawal."

His blood turned to ice water, and Grey had to muster every ounce of
willpower to contain the shudder that broke out in gooseflesh. He licked
his lips and worked to keep his voice smooth.

"What about now?"

Another shrug. "He'll eventually burn himself out. Until then,
irritable, moody, unpredictable -- I'd keep a close eye on him."

"Thank you for the diagnosis, *Doctor* Krycek. I am feeling a definite
lack of impulse control right about now."

Krycek stiffened, his gregarious demeanor abruptly guarded. Mulder
descended the stairs and walked slowly over to the couch. Clad in a
fresh pair of sweats, hair damp from the shower, he seated himself
beside Krycek like a friend eager to catch up on old times. An illusion
shattered by the gun he pressed to the Russian's temple.

"How about we stop talking about me and start discussing you," he
suggested in a tone smooth as butter. "Why you were hanging out across
the street, for instance."

"Fox, what are you doing?" Grey hissed. "Put that down! Where did
you...?" He broke off in a moan. "Shit!"

Mulder bared his teeth. "Note to self, Bubba. When retrieving your
weapon to chase your crazy, barefoot brother across a busy street, don't
forget to lock the drawer."

"Put it down, Fox."

"I don't think so. Not until this rat bastard gives me some answers."

Grey shifted his weapon, training it on his brother. "You can't throw
your life away on this scum. I won't let you."

Mulder's eyes cut to Grey and returned to Krycek. "We've been here
before, huh, Krycek? Dj vu."

The assassin had regained his composure. "I'll give you answers, Mulder.
That's why I'm here."

Mulder's gaze attacked his face. "Scully?" he demanded, easing the
muzzle back from Krycek's skull.

"She's alive, and I know where she's being held. I can take you there."

"If you came to take us to Scully, why were you camped out across the
street?" Mulder persisted, suspicion coloring his voice.

"Waiting for Skinner to leave," Krycek replied. "I wasn't too keen on
spending another night cuffed to the balcony."

"And you thought I'd welcome you with open arms?" Mulder gibed.

Krycek's lip curled. "No, but I figured with the drugstore in your
bloodstream I'd be able to handle you. And I was counting on him" -- he
tilted his head toward Grey -- "to keep a cool head."

Grey chuckled coldly. "You should know better than that, Krycek. We
rednecks all have short fuses. Fox, put down the gun and let him talk.
If we don't like what he's got to say, I'll shoot him myself."

Krycek's eyes turned to saucers. "Look, I said I'd tell you what you
want to know! They've got her at a private research facility in
Virginia, but she won't be there much longer."

"They? Are you insinuating that you weren't involved?" Mulder asked,
lowering the gun until it nuzzled Krycek's ribs instead.

"You can believe what you like, but I wasn't there. Your buddy Smokey
had me picking up the leftover packages of seeds from Ivanovich. Tying
up loose ends."

"How...how did they take her?"

Krycek snorted. "From what I hear, with surprisingly little resistance.
She was so distracted, worrying about *you*, that she left her car
unlocked. One of our boys just slipped into the back seat and waited for
her."

Mulder winced. "Did he hurt her? Is she all right?"

"A bump on the head, nothing serious. She's their prize lab rat, Mulder.
They don't want to damage the merchandise -- not yet anyway."

When the color drained from his brother's face, Grey lunged to his feet.
"You'd better start working harder to stay alive, Krycek, and stop
having so much fun," he warned between clenched teeth. "Get to the point
and tell us exactly where to find her."

Krycek held up his hand, eyes shifting nervously between the two. "The
lab is in the middle of nowhere, just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. We'll
have to hike the last several miles, too easy to spot a car. Security
will be tight, but I know a few tricks to get us through."

"What did you mean when you said she wouldn't be there long?" Mulder
asked.

"I don't know what they've done to her, but they intend to transfer her
to another facility for long term observation. After all, she's dead,
right? In order to pull off the charade Scully has to disappear for
good. How could Smokey pass up such a golden opportunity?"

An annoying buzz filled Mulder's ears and a gray fog enveloped Krycek's
face. He didn't feel the gun slip from his limp fingers, didn't realize
he'd begun to hyperventilate. Then a warm, steady hand was guiding his
head between his knees and Grey's soothing voice broke through the white
noise in his head.

"Easy, Fox, slow it down. That's it."

He clutched at the words and he struggled to follow them. To empty his
mind of everything but the anchor of that voice and the task of
breathing. Don't think of Samantha's diary, of the times she'd welcomed
even death as a release from her suffering. Don't think of Scully,
marked for the same torture -- the faces changed, but the outcome...

*Scully*

A distant corner of his brain heard the apartment swing open, followed
by Skinner's outraged growl,

"What in the hell is going on here?"

Continued in part 18

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 00:47:23 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (18 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (18 of 21)
By Dawn


Crystal City
Friday, March 31
9:32 p.m.


"You've done a lot of talking, Krycek, but you still haven't explained
one thing," Skinner said, scrutinizing the assassin's face. "Why are you
helping us? Spender finds out and your life won't be worth a nickel."

Two empty, grease speckled pizza boxes littered the coffee table, and
everyone but Mulder was nursing a second beer.

"Spender doesn't own me. I do what needs to be done." Krycek's nose
wrinkled. "Sometimes that puts me in his camp. But always on *my*
terms."

"Nice try, Krycek. But why don't you just answer the question?" Mulder
had finally begun to run out of steam, and his words slurred with
fatigue. "There's never been any love lost between the two of us -- you
were perfectly willing to help Cancerman drug me. Why the sudden
willingness to help me now?"

 Krycek chuffed the ghost of a laugh and shook his head. "Help you? I
wouldn't waste my time. It's Scully I'm sticking my neck out for."

When three sets of eyebrows lifted in disbelief, Krycek sighed. "Look, I
was perfectly willing to sit it out while Smokey wrote Mulder a one way
ticket to the loony bin. And I kept my mouth shut when I heard he was
snatching Scully for more tests. But keeping her locked up indefinitely,
like some glorified lab rat..."

Mulder leaned forward, a shrewd glint driving the sleep from his eyes.
"If I didn't know better, Krycek, I'd say that you were carrying a torch
for Scully."

Krycek's lips thinned. "Shut up, Mulder. You don't understand anything
about me."

Mulder stared at him for a moment before sinking into the cushions, head
tipped back to contemplate the ceiling. His reply was wistful rather
than taunting. "I've spent the last seven years with her, Krycek. I
understand more than you know."

"You never said how things went at the Bureau, Walt," Grey drawled
softly.

"The analysis checked out. Our guys confirmed that the blood, though
Scully's, lacked any of the expected markers. In short -- an old
sample."

"Probably five or six years," Krycek muttered. "They've still got blood
and tissue samples from her original abduction."

"Not to mention ova," Mulder snarled.

"I stopped off and had a long talk with Johnson," Skinner continued,
breaking the uneasy silence.

Grey smirked. "A talk?"

Skinner gave him a predatory smile. "Well...I talked and he listened."

"Did he?"

Skinner sighed and massaged the tense muscles at the base of his neck.
"Mostly. I'm not saying he was happy about it, but the evidence is hard
to ignore. And there's the slight complication of a missing body."

"Lack of a corpse will screw up a murder investigation every time," Grey
agreed.

"Johnson should stay off our backs for now," Skinner said, ignoring the
sarcasm. "He's not convinced Mulder isn't responsible for Scully's
disappearance, at least in part, but he's agreed to broaden his focus."

"Just another reason to get Dana back as quickly as possible. Not that I
expect Johnson would apologize."

"I assume we wait until tomorrow night." Skinner looked to Krycek for
confirmation, the sour expression on his face revealing how he felt
about deferring to the Russian.

"I hate to risk waiting, but the chance of being spotted during daylight
is too high," Krycek agreed. "We can get into position, then start
walking as soon as dusk falls."

"How many miles will we have to walk?"

"Two -- maybe three. But it's rough terrain. The road comes straight
down the valley. We'll have to come in from the side, overland."

"You up for that, Fox?"

Grey's question went unanswered -- Mulder had succumbed to sleep, his
injured hand propped on a throw pillow and his face still turned up
toward the ceiling.

Krycek hunched forward and lowered his voice. "You do realize we should
leave him behind, don't you?"

The atmosphere in the room, which had taken on an almost convivial
quality over the course of dinner, became charged with tension.

"If anyone ought to be left behind, Krycek, it's you," Grey replied, his
voice ice. "I trust my brother. It's you I wouldn't turn my back on."

"This isn't a matter of trust. He," Krycek jerked his thumb in Skinner's
direction, "knows exactly what I'm talking about. Don't you?"

Grey turned accusing eyes on his friend, who ground his teeth and
glanced away. "Walt? You can't be serious!"

Skinner shook his head, eyebrows knit together. "I'm not foolish enough
to think he'd let us go after Scully without him. But if I could figure
out a way to keep him here, yes, I would."

"He has every right to be a part of this. He has a higher stake in this
rescue than anyone else in the room."

"He's also the highest liability," Skinner replied. "I'm sorry, Grey,
but you're thinking with your heart and not your head. He's physically
depleted and emotionally unstable. In any other situation Mulder would
be the first person I'd want at my back. But not this time."

"What are you saying, Walt?"

"Nothing. Like I said, I know your brother. Short of locking him up,
nothing's going to keep him from going after Scully. I just hope he can
keep it together."

"He'd walk through fire for Dana, Walt. He'll keep it together."

Skinner and Krycek traded a troubled look, but remained silent.


Crystal City
Saturday, April 1
2:39 a.m.


The half-imagined creak of a floorboard, an ephemeral shift in air
currents, and Grey came fully awake with his gun in hand. Without
conscious thought, as elemental as a magnet to steel, his eyes sought
out Krycek. The Russian, however, was still sleeping, his spine pressed
to the back of the couch and his arm curled protectively around his
middle. The slide of wood on ceramic brought Grey to his feet, brushing
aside the blanket and abandoning the soft depths of the recliner.

The light above the stove bathed the kitchen in an amber glow. Mulder
sat at the table, staring bemusedly at the picture of a lighthouse
hanging on the wall to his left. Grey sat across from him without
speaking, careful to lift the chair so that the legs wouldn't scrape
across the tile.

"All the times I've sat across from him and listened to him ream me for
disregarding procedure or losing another cell phone," Mulder murmured.
"It never occurred to me that he'd have a picture like that hanging in
his kitchen, or a handmade afghan draped over the back of his couch."

Grey's lips quirked in a poorly suppressed grin. "What were you
expecting -- grenades and combat boots?"

Mulder shrugged, but a tiny smile crept onto his face. "Would have
surprised me less."

"He was married for over fifteen years, Fox. Stands to reason Sharon
would have domesticated him at least a little bit."

He expected the grin to take root, but it slipped away as furtively as
it had come. Mulder spread his hands on the tabletop, then idly traced
the fourth finger on the left one.

"What was it like, being married to Kate?"

Grey had become accustomed to the sharp spark of pain that accompanied
Kate's name. Once nearly incapacitating, time had eased it to a dull
ache. His brother's question took him by surprise, however, and he
couldn't help flinching a little.

"Sorry," Mulder said quickly. "I didn't mean to..."

"No! No, it's all right. I don't mind answering."

Grey pondered a moment, a string of memories winding their way through
his thoughts like brightly colored beads. Kate on their wedding day,
simple yet radiant in the long white gown. Kate at the amusement park,
hands above her head and a mixture of giggles and screams bursting from
her lips as the rollercoaster plunged down the first, long hill. Kate in
front of the fireplace, the warm weight of her head on his shoulder and
the sweet smell of her hair in his nostrils.

"It was home. It didn't matter what horrors I had to endure during the
day -- and you know there are too many to number in our line of work.
She was my sanctuary from that, a safe place where I could leave it all
behind and find peace. I knew I could keep going, could get through just
about anything, because she was waiting for me. I thought as long as we
were together, nothing bad could touch us." He let out a long, slow
breath of air. "Obviously, I was wrong."

His brother didn't respond, just dipped his head and continued to study
his hands. Grey desperately wanted to offer solace, to reassure him that
they would find Dana and bring her home, but the words stuck in his
throat.

"I was engaged once."

Grey felt his mouth drop open, his eyes bug out, but couldn't seem to
make his face do anything else. Mulder darted a fleeting look at his
stunned face and then lowered his eyes, mouth curving upward in
something too sad to be called a smile.

"You never cease to amaze me, little brother. I never saw that one
coming."

Mulder's laugh was no more than a puff of air. "Scully says I keep
unfolding like a flower."

"How come you never mentioned this before?"

Pursed lips and a slight lift to one shoulder. "Don't like to talk about
it, I guess. Just one more failed relationship in my extensive
collection."

"What happened?"

Mulder chuckled bitterly. "She caught on to me, I guess."

"Don't give me that crap! I hate when you do that self-deprecating
shit," Grey growled. "What happened?"

"I was profiling at the time. I met Laurel in a bar one night when I was
trying to unwind after a bad case. She was an attorney, worked for a law
firm across town." He shook his head. "She was very beautiful."

"Go on."

"Looking back, I can see that it was a mistake from the beginning. I was
at loose ends, miserable in my job and lonely in my personal life. I
wanted that home, that safety you speak of. Laurel was bright,
attractive, and she made me laugh. Being a lawyer, we even shared the
same frustrations with the legal system. I thought I'd found everything
I could ever want or need."

When Grey waited silently, he continued. "I think asking her to marry me
was the desperate act of a drowning man. I was starting to come apart at
the seams, but Patterson wouldn't let me transfer out of the ISU. He
blocked my every attempt, heaped guilt on me for even thinking of
wasting my "God-given talent." Those were his words, not mine.

"I'm a bastard when I'm profiling, there's no other way to say it. Short
tempered and critical one moment, depressed and morose the next. It got
harder and harder to see the wins and not the losses. After one
particularly horrible case, a serial killer who raped and then strangled
little girls, I went on a crying jag that had Laurel ready to call the
men in the white coats. The guy was behind bars, headed for the gas
chamber, but I couldn't stop seeing the faces of those dead little
girls."

"That night was the beginning of the end, I think. As long as things
were neat and orderly, running on an even keel, Laurel was happy and
supportive. But she was never good at handling a mess. One day about a
week later I came home to find her ring and a note on the kitchen
counter. She'd taken a position with a firm in Chicago."

"Did you ever see her after that?" Grey asked quietly.

"She asked me to respect her decision and not contact her. I never did."

"I'm sorry. I know I don't have to tell you that Dana would never do
that to you."

Mulder smiled wistfully. "Scully is nothing like Laurel. Or Phoebe,
Diana, or any other woman I've known. It took me a while to believe she
was real. But knowing she is just makes the fear of losing her more
paralyzing."

He finally looked at Grey with the eyes of a drowning man. "She's made
me a better person, Grey. She fills all the holes and makes me complete.
She's my human credential. If Scully can love me, then I can believe
there's something of worth inside me somewhere." His voice cracked and
he blinked hard. "I have to find her."

Grey stretched one hand across the table until it enveloped his
brother's. He didn't speak the words. He didn't need to.


Continued in part 19

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 00:49:25 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (19 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (19 of 21)
By Dawn


Virginia
Saturday, April 1
7:19 p.m.


Grey plucked Skinner's elbow, speaking sotto voice. "Hold up a minute."

Skinner jerked his head in acknowledgement, placing his hand on Krycek's
forearm. "Stop."

Krycek turned, eyes narrowing. Mulder stood about ten yards back, hands
braced on his knees and breathing heavily while Grey held out a bottle
of water. The Russian glared at Skinner.

"I told you we never should have brought him. He's slowing us down, and
by the time we reach the lab he'll be useless."

Skinner didn't reply, just drew his gun and pinned Krycek with a
teeth-rattling stare. The assassin threw up his hand and spun on his
heel, lips moving in silent curses. A moment later Mulder and Grey
rejoined them -- one sweaty and panting, the other hiding worry. Krycek
flicked a venomous look over his shoulder and started up the next hill
at a brisk clip. Mulder grit his teeth and followed.

"Walt, I need to talk to you." Grey matched strides with Skinner about
ten feet behind where Krycek and Mulder were toiling up the incline.

"Talk then."

"Krycek insists we split into two groups once inside the facility."

Skinner shifted the nylon pack on his shoulders and grunted
acknowledgment. Up ahead, Mulder stumbled, wavered precariously for a
moment, and then regained his balance.
Grey sighed.

"I want you to go with Fox."

>From his reaction, it wasn't the request Skinner had expected. His
smooth, even gait faltered for a moment and his eyebrows nearly
disappeared beneath the black knit cap on his head.

"I assumed you'd want to stick with your brother." Grey shook his head.
"Mind telling me why?"

Grey stole a quick glance at Krycek and Mulder, still out of earshot.
"Two reasons. First, I can't bring myself to let Ratboy out of my sight.
Not even if he's with you."

"And second?"

"I think you're the only one who can rein my brother in, should the need
arise."

Skinner snorted softly, prompting Krycek to shoot him a warning glare.
"*Me*? Are you kidding? What makes you think he'd listen to me any more
than he'd listen to you?"

 Grey shrugged. "I'm his brother, Walt. You're his boss. No matter what
difficulties you two may have had in the past, Fox is accustomed to
seeing you as an authority figure. I'm just the guy he swaps dirty jokes
with and skunks in basketball."

Skinner looked at him shrewdly before reluctantly nodding. "I'm not sure
I accept your logic. But I'm willing to trust your instincts."

"Would you two shut up! We're here."

Krycek's voice seemed to float out of the darkness, probably because
he'd dropped to his belly in the weeds at the top of the rise. As one,
Skinner and Grey ducked and crawled the rest of the way until they could
peer at the golden eyes of the building nestled below.

"The front door is not only hooked into the alarm system, there's
extensive video feed to the control room and guard station," Krycek
murmured. "My card key will get us in the back door where there will be
fewer cameras. That's going to change as we approach the research wing,
though. They like to have front row seats at all times."

Mulder's breath hitched and his eyes turned black. "How do you have a
key to this place, Krycek? This on your top ten list of fun places to
spend a Saturday night?"

Krycek showed his teeth in a faux smile. "This isn't Scully's first
visit, Mulder. Who do you think brought her here when you were lying in
a hospital bed, dying of the black cancer?"

Mulder's lunge for the Russian's throat was aborted by Grey's firm grip
on his shoulder. "I warned you about having too much fun, Krycek," he
said quietly. "How 'bout you stop yapping and get us in there."

"Everybody better switch on their wires," Skinner suggested.

The Gunmen, after an extensive diatribe on trusting traitors, had
provided each of them with state of the art communication equipment.
Once the packs were flipped on and tested, Krycek again took the lead
for the trip across the valley.

"Keep single file, low to the ground," he said tersely.

"Can't believe I'm taking orders from Alex Krycek," Skinner muttered
under his breath.

Kyrcek's voice purred in his ear. "I heard that, *Walter*."

The trip down the steep incline turned out to be just as harrowing as
climbing it. Grey's calves ached from maintaining a slow and steady
pace, and more than once a loose stone or branch brought him perilously
close to tumbling down the slope. Mulder's face was pinched with
fatigue, his mouth held to a straight line of concentration. When they
finally reached the velvet shadows at the rear of the building, Grey
sighed.

"I need the three of you to keep back as I open the door," Krycek
instructed quietly. "The security guard will be alerted I'm entering the
building and he'll confirm my I.D. on the monitor. After a minute, when
he's gone back to watching the basketball game on television, I'll
motion you inside."

Skinner's jaw thrust forward. "So help me, Krycek, if this is a trap, if
you leave us hanging out here..."

Krycek's lip wrinkled. "If I wanted to take you I could have done it
last night, whether you left North Carolina to guard me or not. Just
keep quiet and wait for my cue."

They watched him run his card through the lock, the tiny crimson light
blinking for a moment before winking out. Krycek pulled the door wide
open and sauntered inside, making no attempt to conceal his face. Grey
saw him surreptitiously slip something between the catch and the frame,
so that when the door slid shut the little light remained a cheery
green.

For what seemed an eternity they huddled in the frigid darkness,
motionless, silent, and completely at Krycek's mercy. Just when Mulder
was certain they'd been betrayed, that Krycek would return with armed
men, the door eased open a crack and one by one they slipped inside.

Krycek stood directly beneath a dead surveillance camera. "These things
go out all the time, but someone will start checking eventually," he
murmured. "Someone needs to come with me to put the guard station out of
commission while the others go get Scully."

Grey didn't even glance at Skinner. "I'm with you, Krycek."

Mulder jerked in surprise but an inscrutable look from Skinner quelled
any protest he might have voiced.

"Remember where you're going?" Krycek asked tersely.

Satisfied by their nods, he led the way, occasionally stepping into open
doorways as a camera lens panned the corridor. When at last they came to
a junction of another hallway, Krycek paused and placed the card key
into Skinner's hand.

"Get into position and give us five minutes. We'll rendezvous at the
back door."

Grey kept to his heels as he took the left corridor while Skinner and
Mulder continued on the previous course, passing empty offices that
looked incredibly ordinary and unthreatening. Back at Skinner's
apartment, Krycek had likened the floor plan to the letter H. He and
Grey had just followed the crossbar to the security station, located at
the extreme northwest corner. Mulder and Skinner, on the other hand,
would find the research facilities at the northeast end. Close in
proximity, but inaccessible to each other, each team was on their own
should trouble arise.

At last Mulder and Skinner came to the double doors that separated the
in vivo labs from the rest of the complex. Here, theoretical met actual
-- via the use of live test subjects. Mulder's hand trembled as he lay
it against the cool glass.

"You okay?" Skinner asked, eyes roaming his agent's face.

Mulder's fingers caressed the smooth surface for a moment before his
hand dropped. "Not yet."

Three separate cameras scanned the area in front of the doors, making it
impossible to avoid detection. Mulder and Skinner waited, nerves
thrumming like overstretched rubber bands, while time passed like
molasses through a sieve. At any moment each expected to hear a claxon
sounding their intrusion, but the warning never came.

"Guards have been neutralized. Go."

 At Krycek's cue, Skinner passed the key through the slot and the door
clicked open.

This section of the building looked and smelled like a hospital, a sharp
tang of bleach and disinfectant in the air and the cold, colorless gleam
of sterile surfaces. What looked like operating theatres, stocked with
complicated equipment, lined each side of the corridor. Mulder shuddered
as he passed, each doorway a gaping mouth set to devour. At the very end
of the hallway four doors surrounded a nurse's station. Too late,
Skinner spied a thatch of blonde hair peeking above the tall counter.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The woman, dressed in nurse's whites with a stethoscope slung around her
neck, lunged to her feet while her index finger fumbled for a black
button on the counter. Skinner was at her side, gun pressed just under
her chin, as her finger hovered above the alarm.

"Take it easy. We aren't going to hurt you," he said, apparently not
realizing his statement was incongruous with his appearance.

Up close, bands of gray streaked her hair, and her demeanor remained
self-assured though indignant. "This is a private facility, you can't
just waltz in here and..."

"Where is Dana Scully?"

At Mulder's question, uttered in a low growl, her tirade broke off
midstream and her lips clamped tightly together.

"Mulder. Room 3."

Four numbered monitors lined the desktop beneath the counter but only
the third was turned on. Skinner gestured to the grainy, black and white
image of a figure huddled on a hospital bed.

Mulder bolted around the desk, snatching the card key from Skinner as
his eyes searched frantically for the correct room. When he reached the
door, time seemed to hitch and slide into slow motion. He vaguely
registered Skinner's gruff instructions to the nurse, the hum of a
heater kicking on, and the thumping of his own heart as he slid the card
through the reader and pushed the door cautiously open.

The red flame of her hair, spilled across the pillow, drew his eyes and
stole the moisture from his mouth. He swallowed, throat clicking, and
stumbled across the room on wooden legs. Scully's cheek looked gaunt and
as pale as the pillow beneath it, her mouth twisted into a frown. One
thin, blue-veined hand lay curled beneath her chin, the other wrapped
tightly around her cross. Mulder sucked in a gulp of air like a sob. One
trembling finger traced a lock of hair as it fell across her brow, then
stroked a gossamer touch down the back of a hand.

"Scully? Scully, it's me, wake up."

When she didn't move, not even a catch in the steady rhythm of her
respiration, Mulder felt panic rise in the back of his throat.

"Scully? Scully, you've got to help me get you out of here! Wake up!"

Vague images of being on the receiving end of such an exhortation
flickered through his brain. What did Scully do when she needed to jolt
him back to consciousness? Inspiration struck. He pinched her soft
earlobe ruthlessly between his fingers, grimacing.

Scully moaned and tried to retreat, one hand batting feebly at his arm
and her eyelids fluttering.

"Scully! Open your eyes, babe, you can do it." Mulder hated the tears in
his voice almost as much as his feeling of helplessness when she merely
mumbled unintelligibly and sank back into sleep.

"We need to get out of here."

Skinner's voice at his shoulder nearly wrenched a scream from Mulder's
throat. Evidently the man hadn't lost the art of moving on cat feet.

"Something's wrong, I can't get her to wake up. I think they drugged
her."

Skinner's thumb gently pried open one of Scully's eyelids. An abnormally
large pupil confirmed Mulder's diagnosis. Casting a nervous glance at
the camera over his shoulder, Skinner slipped an arm beneath Scully's
shoulders and hefted her upright.

"I'll carry her."

Scully's head flopped bonelessly and something twisted in Mulder's gut.

"NO! I can..."

"Mulder, you'll be lucky to make it back to the car without the addition
of over a hundred pounds dead weight," Skinner snapped. At the sight of
his agent's anguished face, he sighed. "It's not as if she'll notice
who's got her, Mulder. I'll take good care of her, I promise."


Mulder watched him carefully hoist Scully over his shoulder in a
fireman's carry. "Krycek, Grey, we've got her. On our way out," he said
quietly.

"Already in position." Grey's voice calmed his jangling nerves.

"Better hurry." Krycek. "Failsafe's going to kick in any minute."

"Understood." Mulder followed Skinner past the nurses' station toward
the glass doors. "What did you do with the nurse?"

"Cuffed, gagged, and locked in a utility closet," Skinner said curtly.
"Keep your eyes open and your gun..."

The shrill peal of an alarm bell cut short the rest. Skinner slipped his
own weapon from the small of his back and broke into a run, Mulder
puffing at his heels.

They slowed at the T-junction, eyes and ears sharply attuned for
trouble. Skinner started forward, only to slam back into Mulder as a
bullet whizzed past his shoulder and lodged in the cinderblock wall.

"Step out with your hands up," a deep voice ordered. "Don't try anything
funny or I'll shoot."

Skinner cursed softly under his breath between gulps of air. He looked
longingly toward the exit at the end of the hall, then at Mulder.

"On the count of three," Mulder said. "Don't worry about me, just keep
going. I'll be right behind you."

Skinner hesitated. Tightening his grip around Scully's legs, he nodded.
Mulder pressed his back to the wall, gun lifted in front of his face.

"One. Two. Three!"

As Mulder stepped into the open and dropped to a crouch, firing rapidly,
Skinner dashed across. He kept his body turned to shield Scully from
gunfire as much as possible, flinching as a bullet whined past his ear.
Halfway there the door swung wide and he saw Krycek beckoning furiously
for him to hurry.

The night air hit him like a slap in the face, drying the perspiration
that ran down his cheeks and dripped in his eyes. He spun around,
panting heavily, just as Grey yelled his brother's name and sprinted
back *into* the building.

"Go, go, go!" Krycek barked, pointing to the hills.

Skinner shifted Scully's limp form, cast a quick glance at the doorway,
and set off at a jog. Scaling the incline was a nightmare -- Scully's
weight threw him off balance and he couldn't watch his footing. Twice he
stumbled and nearly dropped her, gashing one knee on a rock and giving
his ankle a painful twist.

He tried to ignore the confusion that erupted from the receiver in his
ear -- Grey babbling reassurances, Krycek snapping orders, and Mulder
oddly silent. Once past the summit he found a dip in the terrain and
gently lowered Scully to the ground before collapsing, lungs straining
for air and muscles quivering with fatigue.

He was so preoccupied with ensuring Scully's comfort he nearly missed
the three figures that staggered over the rise about fifty yards from
his position.

"Over here, head east," he said, grateful for the ability to communicate
without shouting.

When they drew closer he could see that Mulder, though walking on his
own power, leaned heavily on his brother.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Mulder knelt beside Scully. His good hand, which had been clutching his
shoulder, brushed her forehead.

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine. What about you?" Skinner persisted, exasperation creeping
into his voice.

"I'm fine. Bullet just grazed my shoulder," Mulder replied absently.

Grey huffed. "You're bleeding like a stuck pig, Fox. We need to get a
bandage on it."

"Whatever you're going to do, make it fast," Krycek said. "If they get
to our car before we do it's all over."

"Stop being such a softie, Krycek," Grey jibed. "Your concern is getting
me all choked up."

"Somebody's got to stay in touch with reality," Krycek growled, but he
pulled a bottle of water from his pack and offered it to Mulder.

"He's right." Mulder's eyes never left Scully's face as Grey wrapped
gauze over the wound without bothering to cut away his sweater. "We've
come this far. I won't lose Scully now."

"We won't." Skinner watched Mulder finger an auburn curl, a muscle along
his jaw twitching. "That little operation has just been shut down.
Permanently."


Continued in part 20

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 00:51:10 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (20 of 21)
Source: xfc

Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (20 of 21)
By Dawn


Georgetown Memorial
Sunday, April 2
6:17 a.m.


Scully allowed herself to drift toward consciousness, no longer
compelled by fear to rush the process. She knew she was safe, though her
memory was as blurred and confused as if she were looking through
frosted glass. Vague recollections of waking while slung over someone's
shoulder, blood pounding in her head as she swayed dizzily back and
forth. The steady hum of an engine and the reassuring warmth of Mulder's
arms. Bright lights, strange voices, and the paralyzing fear she was
back in the testing place. Mulder's voice, the sound finally forming
into meaningful words, telling her she was safe.

The soft scrape of a chair leg and the rustle of clothing coaxed her to
work harder at opening heavy eyelids. The figure at her bedside leaned
forward -- dark hair, hazel eyes, and a wide grin. Scully blinked and
her answering smile faltered.

"Hey, darlin'. I know I'm not exactly what you were expecting, but you
could at least try to hide it."

"Sorry." She grimaced at the froggy croak and reached for the pitcher on
the tray table.

Grey beat her to it, filling a cup and steadying it in her shaky hand.
Scully drank slowly, studying him over the rim.

"Stitches," he volunteered before she could ask. "He's in another
treatment room down the hall. Once the doctor convinced him you were
just sedated and not likely to go into cardiac arrest, he let a nurse
talk him into having his arm stitched up. Provided I plant my butt in
this chair and swear not to take my eyes off you, of course."

She couldn't help grinning at that. "Of course." Her eyes narrowed. "Why
stitches? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. There was a minor complication as we were getting you out of
that building. A bullet grazed his shoulder but it's nothing serious."

"A minor complication? Nothing serious? You two certainly speak the same
language," Scully said dryly. "How is he -- really?"

Grey braced his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin.
"There's a lot you don't know, things that directly relate to Fox's
behavior before you were taken. He..."

"Was drugged." At Grey's dropped jaw she smiled grimly. "Spender likes
to expound on his role as the omnipotent orchestrator of our fate. He
took great delight in describing just how he set Mulder up for my
murder. I think he was trying to break my spirit." She huffed a little.
"He was doing a pretty good job."

"From this end too. Fox was starting to believe he'd fugued out and
stabbed you with one of his kitchen knives."

Scully closed her eyes and shook her head. "My God. I'd hoped Spender
was bluffing."

"Between the drug, the alleged gaps in his memory,  and a bloody knife
planted in his refrigerator, Fox was pretty confused. Fortunately, their
little plan backfired when the police took him into custody. His
symptoms started looking a little too much like narcotic withdrawal, and
a blood test confirmed it."

"And you brought him with you on a dangerous rescue attempt?" Scully's
voice rose and her eyebrows plunged.

Grey held up his hands. "Now you sound just like Krycek. He was
completely against letting Fox..."

"*Alex Krycek?* You took Alex 'I'd sell my own mother if I thought it
would benefit me' Krycek with you?" she screeched. "Are you crazy?"

"Well, actually we didn't take him with us. He led the way," Grey
admitted.

Scully stared at him, then let her head thump down onto the pillow. "I
get abducted and everyone loses touch with reality," she muttered.

"Hey, you're here, aren't you?" Grey pointed out in an aggrieved tone of
voice. He placed his hand over hers. "How are *you*, Dana?"

Now there was a question she really didn't care to answer. "I'm fine,
Grey. Just a little tired."

The curtain rattled and whooshed aside. "Okay, you're off the hook. You
can..."

Mulder's words trailed off as his eyes locked onto Scully's. Her lips
curved upward, his following suit just a heartbeat later. Grey glanced
back and forth between their faces and cleared his throat.

"I can't hear myself think over all this nonverbal communication. I'll
be down the hall at the pay phone, calling Kristen."

Scully held out her hand, her gaze sweeping over Mulder from head to toe
as she unconsciously took inventory. He dropped into the chair Grey
vacated, the left side of his body abnormally stiff, and laced his
fingers with hers.

"How many?"

"Hmm?" Mulder's dazed contemplation of her face turned into a squint.
"How many what?"

Scully indicated his arm with a tilt of her head. "What's the damage,
Rambo?"

"Very funny. Only six, and I probably could've gotten by with a few
butterfly bandages."

"Uh-huh. I'll bet. Mulder, it's completely beyond my understanding how
you could trust someone like Alex Krycek..."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! First of all, who says I trusted him?"
Mulder objected. "I accepted the information he offered -- information
that made it possible for us to be having this conversation right now. I
did not trust him, Scully. I *used* him."

Scully pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "Really? Where is he right
now?"

Mulder jerked his eyes from hers, his face flushing. "All right, so he
gave us the slip once we got here. Happy now?"

"No." Scully tightened her grip on his fingers but left the steel in her
voice. "It was a terrible risk, Mulder. If it had been a trap, if Krycek
was lying..."

"Scully, you're here!" Mulder caught himself before continuing, gentling
the anger from his tone. "You're alive -- a little dehydrated, a few
drugs swimming around in your veins, but essentially intact. It was a
risk I had to take and I..." He sighed. "I really don't want to talk
about Krycek. Okay?"

She sucked in a long, slow draught of air. Mulder's haggard face and her
own weariness conspired against her. "Okay. For now." Taking pity on
him, she added, "So when are you going to spring me?"

The lines in his face magically smoothed. "Soon as the I.V. runs out.
They couldn't find anything really wrong with you. You're a little
dehydrated and that was a pretty powerful sedative you'd been given."

"Easier to drug me insensible than put up with my constant attempts to
escape or drive them crazy trying," Scully said, pulling her eyes from
his face and staring out the window.

"Scully..."

"Don't ask me now, Mulder. Please."

In her peripheral vision she saw him stiffen, heard the breath rasp more
harshly in his chest. *He's angry* part of her brain observed
regretfully, while the other part snapped, *I have to deal with this in
my own way, not his.*

"Scully, I know I don't understand what the past few days have been like
for you. And I know after the way I've acted the last few weeks that I
have no right to ask you this. But let me help you. Don't shut me out."

She let her eyes slip shut and tried to calm a volatile mixture of
emotions. When she could finally bring herself to look at Mulder's face
his frustration was veiled by worry.

"Mulder, I know I need to talk about this. I just need a chance to gain
a little distance. When I do, I'll need to be someplace where I feel
safe, not surrounded by reminders of what they did. And I'll need to
feel your arms around me." She mustered a weak smile. "Think you can
handle that?"

"Yeah." The tenderness in his voice chipped at her fragile control. "I
can handle that."

"So, once the doctor is convinced I'm re-hydrated and coherent he'll
release me?" Scully plunged on.

"Yes. And speaking of someone who'd like to seriously impact *my* level
of coherency, I called your brother and your mom. They'll stop by your
place later this morning."

"Thanks. It'll be good to be home."

"Yeah." His fingers fidgeted with hers, stroking the back of her hand
one moment, brushing the palm the next. "Of course, it's technically
still a crime scene but I think Skinner's working on that. Still, it'll
probably be a mess considering the fact that both the police and the
Bureau searched it for evidence of your whereabouts."

"Mulder?"

"Fortunately, you were never officially dead, so at least you won't be
saddled with all *that* red tape. It's no picnic, let me tell you. I've
been through it twice and I can honestly say..."

"Mulder!" She sat up, mindful of the I.V., and laid her hand on his
cheek. "You're acting like a kid on his first date. What's going on?"

He gave her a deer in the headlights look, gnawing on his lip, then
placed his hand over hers. "Scully, I..." His eyes panned around the
room and outside to the lone occupant of the nurses' station. "I have
something to say to you, but it isn't easy for me."

She nodded, her brow furrowed, and dropped her hand. "All right."

Mulder stood and paced to the far wall before abruptly returning to
perch on the bed. "I've done some thinking over the last few days. Some
of it may have been a little incoherent," he said with a grimace, "but
most of it occurred while I was straight. And I've come to a decision."

Butterflies materialized in her stomach. Between his previous display of
nerves and the way he was studiously avoiding her eyes, Scully was
certain she didn't want to hear this decision. Who knew what crazy ideas
he'd talked himself into after the last few weeks?

"I know you're going to think this is an overreaction to what we've just
been through," Mulder continued as if reading her thoughts. "And on some
level I suppose it is. But I don't think that invalidates the essential
truth behind my decision and I hope... I hope when you really consider
it, you'll agree with me."

"Go on."

"Scully, I don't think we should just move in together."

*So this is what it means to be blindsided,* Scully thought, stunned.

She'd expected cold feet. She'd foreseen guilt and the inevitable push
as he tried to distance himself "for her own good" -- that was part of
the reason she dreaded telling him about her ordeal. She'd been prepared
to argue, cajole, reason, and kick butt.

What she'd never expected was the finality to his tone, the
determination in the set of his shoulders, or the steel in his eyes when
they finally returned to her face.

Or the pain that settled in her chest like a jagged stone.

"I told you I would never push you into something you aren't ready for,
Mulder. I meant it." Scully managed to keep her expression neutral but
cursed the slight tremor in her voice.

Mulder's lips parted and his forehead creased. When the epiphany struck,
his eyes widened and his fingers scrambled to reconnect with hers.

"Scully, no! That's not what I meant! Shit!" He chuckled, the sound
nervous and horrified. "I was trying to say I don't want to *just* be
roommates. That might have been enough for me once, but it isn't
anymore. I want you to be my wife, Scully. I want you to marry me."

Her heart swelled, dislodging the stone, and the sudden rush of relief
was dizzying. "What?"

"I know we'll never have what most people would consider a normal life.
And I'm not foolish enough to believe we can really stop the car. But
maybe we can slow it down a bit, Scully. Maybe we can at least enjoy the
view."

Scully blinked against the annoying tears that insisted on obscuring his
face. At least her voice cooperated. "Are you sure this is what you
want?"

Mulder's smile, beautiful and unrestrained, would have been answer
enough. "When we were in Key West, Rosa said that I was allowing the
fear of losing you to keep me from being with you. I don't think I truly
understood what she was trying to tell me until now. When I had to
accept the possibility of your death, I realized..." The words caught in
his throat and he pressed her hand to his lips as he struggled against
his own tears. "Scully, I realized that I was more afraid of a life
filled with regrets than the pain of letting you all the way in and then
losing you. This is what I want. Please, say yes."

 "Yes, Mulder. I'll marry you."

The smile turned into a goofy grin. "Yeah?"

Scully nodded, gasping when he hooked his hand behind her neck and
pulled her lips to his in a bruising kiss. When Mulder started to break
away, however, she dug her fingers into his sweater and tugged, coaxing
him into a more leisurely celebration. She'd forgotten her I.V. and the
nurse across the hall, and was well on the way to even overlooking that
they were in a hospital when a soft beep helped Scully regain her
senses.

Mulder's lips chased hers for a moment before he gave up with a soft
groan of frustration.

"I.V.'s run out, love," she said, pointing over her shoulder. "How about
you find the doctor so we can go home?"

"Yeah. Home sounds good."

Scully chuckled at the befuddled expression that came over his face
whenever his brain was short-circuited by certain southern portions of
his anatomy. Knowing the nurse would be less than pleased, she peeled
away the tape anchoring the I.V. needle and removed it, using a tissue
to staunch the flow of blood. She shifted her legs off the side of the
bed, mindful of the hospital gown, and let them dangle for a moment
before standing cautiously. The initial dizziness passed quickly and she
reached for the pile of her clothing on a nearby chair and tugged the
curtain shut for privacy.

She was fumbling with the gown's stubborn tie when her fingers brushed
the tiny scar at the base of her neck. The strings dropped from frozen
fingers and her heart pounded wildly. The pads of her fingers probed the
puckered skin once, then again and again as her whole body broke out in
gooseflesh.

She was still frantically examining the patch of skin when
Mulder returned.

"Doc's tied up with another patient, he'll be here as soon as he's done.
Scully?" Wide, terrified blue eyes, and his stomach did a slow roll.
"What's wrong?"

"The chip, Mulder. It isn't there."

He stepped close, his large hand gently moving her smaller one aside.
Scully pressed her trembling lips tightly together and dropped her head.
His fingers carefully traced the skin before he silently pulled her
shivering body into a fierce embrace.

Scully buried her face in his shoulder. "Why, Mulder? Why did they take
it out? Do they mean for me to die? Or did they replace it with
something I can't even begin to envision?"

Mulder pressed a kiss to her brow and stroked his fingers through her
hair. "I don't know, Scully. Krycek said something about them keeping
you for long term observation. Maybe that smoking bastard wasn't lying
when he told you he had the Holy Grail. Maybe he's given you his miracle
cure."

Scully knotted her fists into the back of sweater. "I want to believe,
Mulder."

He rested his chin on the crown of her head, voice thick. "Me too, babe.
Me too."


Concluded in part 21

From: Dawn <sunrise@avenew.com>
Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2000 00:52:51 -0500
Subject: xfc: NEW: Blood Ties 8: The Fragile Cord (21 of 21)
Source: xfc

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


Epilogue


Location Unknown
Sunday, April 2
6:46 p.m.


On the other side of the glass, twenty stories down, people went about
their tedious, every day lives in blessed ignorance. What to cook for
dinner, whether Johnny was going to pass trigonometry, and could Bob
really be fooling around with his pretty young secretary -- petty,
irrelevant concerns of a populace unwittingly poised on the cusp of an
apocalypse. Oblivious to those who'd dedicated their lives to preserve
the illusion.

He held the cigarette between wrinkled, yellowed fingers and flicked the
lighter, frowning at the tremors that plagued his hands. He sucked in a
long, satisfying hit of nicotine, mentally lifting his middle finger to
the doctors who insisted this indulgence was shortening his life. His
death, as his life, would be on his own terms.

A perfunctory knock on the door and he didn't bother turning to greet
the newcomer.

"Everything taken care of?"

"All records, equipment, and personnel were cleared from the facility
well in advance of the Feds arrival."

He detected the insolence coloring the reply but chose to ignore it.
"And our favorite agents?"

"She was checked out at the hospital and released early this morning.
Mulder took her home."

He didn't respond, just took a long, slow puff on the cigarette in his
hand and watched the colored traffic lights blinking on the street
below. The shuffle of feet and deepening in respiration signaled the
other's irritation and he let his lips curl just a bit in amusement.
This one's temper would inevitably be his undoing.

"Was there anything else?"

Tired of the game and his opponent, he turned around.

"Not now. You did well, Alex. I'll be in touch."

Krycek pulled open the door. "You know, one of your security goons
actually hit Mulder. A few inches to the right and your precious prime
directive would've been violated."

Another slow puff. "Fox Mulder only values that which he must suffer to
obtain. Everything is proceeding according to plan, Alex. Everything."

When Krycek was safely out the door he smiled.


The End


END NOTES: Well, if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed the ride!
As you can see, more will eventually follow. Many, many thanks goes to
my wonderful and talented team of betas: Donna, Vickie, Sally, Laurie,
and Nikki. Thanks for hanging in there, guys. It's been fun!