Cruel and Unusual Punishment
(Cruel and Unusual Punishment Series)
by P. C. Rasmussen

sclaimer: The characters of "The X-Files" and the rights 
belong to FOX network, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Chris 
Carter and not to me. I'm just borrowing them for a little 
while. 

Questions, comments, praise, flames, criticizm, etc. are 
very welcome at piacathrin@rasmussen.mail.dk. I'd like to 
know what you guys think of this. Whether you like it or 
not. Let me know. I live on feedback. 

Summary: This is Mulder-torture galore. Nothing for those 
with sensitive nerves. Definitely an NC-17 for unusual 
cruelty toward our fav Fed and adult situations, namely a 
rape of kinds. If you don't like that, don't read it. 
Everybody else, please send me comments on this one. 

CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT 
by Anna Krycek (aka P.C.Rasmussen) 

Special Agent Fox Mulder was sitting on his chair behind his 
desk, staring ahead of himself. Things had finally worked 
out okay. Scully was doing better and was back to work. 
Skinner had lightened up a bit after Blevins had been 
indited and subsequently killed. And things in general 
seemed to go much more smoothly. If only he could convince 
his sister to see him. If only he could find her again. He 
heaved a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. Scully looked 
up from her paper work and glanced over at him. "You okay?" 

"What?" he asked at the sound of her voice. "Oh, yeah. Just 
a little tired," he then said with a smile. 

She returned it in her own serene manner. "Why don't you go 
home and get some rest, then? I think you've deserved it." 

That made him chuckle. "Thanks, mommy." Stretching and 
finding himself aching with fatigue, he added a nod to that. 
"I think I'll do that. I'm worn thin." Scully's head tilted 
to one side and the smile made him shiver inwardly. She was 
so beautiful. He knew he felt like that because he had been 
so very close to losing her. He had basically been able to 
see her wasting away and it had torn at his heart to see her 
like that. 

"You look wasted. Go home. That's an order," she told him. 

He got out of his chair with a slight effort and nodded. He 
needed some sleep. She was right about that. "I'll see you 
tomorrow. Don't stay too late," he said, grabbed his coat 
and shrugged into it. 

"I won't. You just get some sleep. I expect you to be a 
whole lot more chipper tomorrow. Okay?" Scully eyed her 
partner in a new light... well... in a brighter light, than 
before. He had been willing to go out on the ledge for her. 
He was willing to die for her. She knew that. He would 
compromise himself, put himself in a situation he could not 
handle just to save her. And the realization of this had 
made her hold him in higher regard than ever. Their 
friendship was second to none. And briefly she wondered if 
it could become more. But thoughts like that were immoral. 

He stopped next to her chair and put a hand on her shoulder. 
"I promise. I'll be my old self tomorrow." With those words, 
he took off. 

* * * * * 

Unlike what he had believed when he left the office, he was 
able to sleep. He dropped down on his bed after shedding 
most of his clothes except for his boxer shorts and closed 
his eyes and moments later he was out cold. He slept 
uneasily, dreaming dreams of old events, things that had 
been painful and humiliating to him. Things he had 
experienced at the hands of one English woman he didn't like 
to think of too much. 

After a long time, he woke with a start, blinking up at the 
ceiling above him. He felt a little more rested, but also 
odd. At first, his mind still drowsy, he couldn't quite 
figure out why. Then there was a rattle and a tug when he 
tried to move his right hand and it hit him like a ton of 
bricks. He was handcuffed to the headboard of his own bed. 
"What the..." he mumbled, looking first at his right wrist 
then his left, wondering what he had missed here. Then he 
looked around the bed room. Nothing else seemed out of order 
and there was nobody in the room with him. Frowning, he 
tried to pull himself backward to sit up but found that his 
feet were somehow restrained as well. This was starting to 
be a little less than funny. He pulled at the restraint 
around his left foot and heard a rattle. How he could not 
have heard or felt these chains being applied to him was a 
mystery. He usually slept very lightly and awoke at the 
smallest sound. 

Again his eyes drifted toward the open door and the dark 
hallway beyond while his mind frantically tried to come up 
with an explanation for this situation. It reminded him of 
things he didn't want to remember. He again tugged at his 
right hand, testing the strength of both the cuff and the 
headboard, but both were unrelenting. A million options ran 
through his mind and in that connection, the faces of as 
many people paraded before his inner eye. Who could have 
done this to him? And why? 

"Ah, you're awake." 

The voice was nothing but a low purr, but he would recognize 
it anywhere. His head snapped around and he stared at his 
captor, his expression displaying all the disbelief in the 
world. This couldn't be. He shook his head, too dumb-founded 
to say anything at all. This wasn't right. Not at all. 
Standing there in the open door was Dana Scully, displaying 
a side of herself he had never, ever seen before. And for 
that matter, hadn't believed she possessed, either. She was 
dressed in a black velvet body stocking which accentuated 
her pale complexion graciously along with elbow-lengthed, 
black silk-gloves which clung to her arms as if they were 
painted on. And that was all she was wearing. Her hair was 
wild, teased up to become a mane around her head and her 
face was heavily painted. Ruby lipstick and dark-blue eye 
shadow along with eyeliner to underline the deepness of her 
eyes. Under normal circumstances he would have been turned 
on by this look like nothing before. This was a version of a 
dream come true. But the thought that this wasn't like 
Scully was prominent in his mind. And the look in her eyes 
scared him. It was feral, hungry and he had a pretty good 
idea what she was hungry for. "Scully?" he finally managed. 

Pursing her lips, she came closer, moving like a hungry cat 
stalking a mouse. Her hips swayed, her head was shoved 
forward a bit, her black-gloved hands slid restlessly up and 
down her sides, caressing herself. "Yes, Fox. It's Scully," 
she purred, smiling almost viciously. He stared at her, the 
majority of his consciousness hoping he would wake up any 
second now. This had to be a twisted dream. A fantasy, of 
course, but still twisted. He had never thought of his 
partner this way. That she would be into something that was 
so demeaning to him as bondage. Shaking his head, he stared 
at her. "What's going on here, Dana?" he almost whispered. 

She reached the bed and started down the length of it, 
heading toward the foot end. And all the while her eyes were 
running over his body, almost touchable in their intensity. 
"What do you think is going on here, Fox?" she countered, 
her eyes briefly meeting his before her hungry gaze once 
again started wandering down his body. He swallowed hard. 
His throat had gone dry. This was something that Phoebe 
Greene could have come up with. He would suspect other women 
of this, too. But not Dana Scully. Finally getting a grip on 
his surprise, he tried to work up a temper. "I'm not sure 
what this is about, Dana, but I don't like it, okay? Joke's 
over," he told her, managing to force an edge to his voice. 
He still hadn't regained his composure completely. 

She stopped at the middle of the foot end of the bed, 
looking up at him with a lascivious smile. "What joke's 
that, Fox?" she purred. "This is no joke. This is something 
I've been wanting to do for a long time." 

Now he was getting scared. If he read this right, this 
wasn't just bondage. And he had a pretty good sense of 
things like that after having had the dubious pleasure of 
Phoebe Greene's company in bed. She had been sadistic to put 
it mildly. "Dana, cut it out," he snapped. "I'm not into 
this thing, okay? I don't like it. And this isn't you." 

"Isn't it?" She eased forward, her hands on the bed spread 
between his feet, her tongue coming out to brush her lips. 
"What about all those videos you always watch? Don't you 
want to live them? Don't you want to be... carefree for just 
one night?" 

Her right hand slipped up on his left leg just above the 
shackle that held it in place and he jerked at the sensation 
of the silk on his skin. "This is not the kind of thing I 
watch," he snapped. He was more frightened than angry now. 
This wasn't going to be an easy one to get out of and the 
closer she got, the less likely it was that she would back 
off. Her hand slid up his shin to his knee, her left hand 
doing the same to his right leg. "Dana, stop it. This isn't 
funny." He knew what this would do to him. He also knew how 
he would feel during and after. And he knew how he would 
feel in the morning. The first time Phoebe had put him 
through this, it had taken him a week to be able to face 
others again. He had been certain that others could tell 
what they had done and he was utterly ashamed of it. Ashamed 
and bruised. It had been more painful than pleasant and he 
certainly wasn't into painful sex. 

Her hands climbed higher, coming to rest at the edge of his 
boxer shorts. Every single inch of muscle in his thighs was 
tight and his breath was rapid and superficial in 
presentiment of what she had in mind for him. "Oh, but it is 
funny," she countered in a deep purr. She eased forward, 
letting her hands slip up over his shorts to his stomach. 
"Relax and enjoy it, Fox. You may never have the chance 
again," she added, leaned down and sank her teeth into the 
tender skin of his stomach. And it was no nip. He yelped in 
pain and surprise, twisting to try and get away from her, 
but her teeth's vice-like grip on his skin made him stop the 
attempt. She wasn't biting hard enough to break the skin, 
but definitely hard enough to hurt him. 

"There's nothing to enjoy about this. Now, stop it, God damn 
it," he hissed through clenched teeth. 

Her teeth released his skin again and she raised her head to 
look at him. There was nothing relenting in her eyes. 
Nothing of the tenderness and warmth he had become 
accustomed to. "Stop it?" she asked. "I haven't even begun 
yet." To prove it, she lunged forward, coming face to face 
with him, one knee on either side of his hip. "You know, I 
thought you'd be a whole lot more into this, Fox. You 
disappoint me," she told him and rocked back a bit. Her lips 
parted and the tip of her tongue darted over her teeth while 
she eyed a potential target on his body. Then she eased down 
over his chest, painfully slow, until her lips were hovering 
right over his right nipple. He knew what she had in mind 
and moved, trying to get away from her, knowing full well 
that he couldn't. But she anticipated every move he made and 
followed him. When he tried to move again, she closed her 
teeth around the nipple, bitting down hard, drawing another 
yelp of pain from him. The tip of her tongue teased the 
nipple for a second, then she released it and clamped down 
on his left nipple. He yelped again, sweat breaking out all 
over his body. 

"Dana, please. Don't do this," he begged, hoping to appease 
her in some way by showing her his weak side. The fear he 
felt stemmed solely from his utter surprise in the 
situation. He had never ever thought that she would put him 
through something like this. Not Scully. But here she was, 
displaying every trade he had come to despise in a woman. 
She nipped the skin right below his left nipple, causing him 
to jerk. "Please," he begged more insistently. "Don't be 
such a wimp, Fox," she hissed against his skin. Her right 
hand snapped up to grab his chin and she held it firmly as 
she rose up to stare down at him. "I thought you had a 
little more spunk that this. A little more guts. But look at 
you now. You're begging. That's not very becoming." He 
stared up into those blue, blue eyes, afraid and angry and 
confused all at once. This couldn't be happening. It was 
virtually a rape. He could only hope that she wasn't going 
to go that far. But by the look in her eyes he knew she 
would. And that she would make him suffer every step of the 
way. Her vice-like grip on his chin ceased when she released 
him again. His fear of the next step she would take was 
heavily underlined when her right hand suddenly grabbed his 
crotch and squeezed the life out of him. And he couldn't 
even scream properly because she had clapped her left hand 
over his mouth. He writhed, trying to get away from the 
offending hand, aware only of the pulsing pain that was 
spreading through his abdomen. She held on for a moment, 
watching his face twist in pain, tears springing to his eyes 
and oozing out between tightly-shut lids, before releasing 
him again. He gasped for the breath that the pain had 
stolen, wishing he could die right then. At least he 
wouldn't have to see this through. Or maybe he could pass 
out? That would be a great alternative. If he was 
unresponsive, maybe she would leave him alone. 

A little chuckle escaped her as she sat down on his thighs, 
her hands almost lovingly caressing his abdomen. "I think 
I'll have to do something about this vocalization of your 
pleasure. We can't have the neighbors interrupting us, can 
we?" she said, reached into the front of her body stocking 
and pulled out two long pieces of cotton cloth, diminishing 
her breast size in the process. 

Shaking his head, he stared at her as she bundled one of 
them up and leaned forward. "No," he begged her. "Please, 
Dana. Don't do this to me." And that was the last he was 
able to say because she shoved the bundled-up piece of cloth 
into his mouth, forcing it in with a strength he wouldn't 
have thought she had. He gagged, almost chocking on it for a 
second, and that gave her the opportunity to tie the other 
one around his head, tying it hard behind his head. 

Pleased with her handiwork, she leaned back again. "There," 
she said with a nasty little smile. "That should keep you 
quiet." To compensate his loss of speech, he started 
thrashing. He tried to throw her off, tried to perhaps get 
her to fall to the floor so she would be angry enough to 
leave. He didn't care who found him like this. As long as it 
didn't go on. But any move he made was anticipated by her 
and she let him ride it out until he gave up. 

Patting his stomach, she smiled. "Are you done now?" Not 
waiting for a reply, she peeled one glove off, exposing what 
looked like artificial nails. And he knew how they could 
hurt. Especially if she had glued them on right. "One more 
stunt like this and they can pick your intestines off the 
floor tomorrow," she told him good-naturedly. To prove her 
point, she jabbed four razor-sharp nails into his chest, 
making him crumble up as much as the restraints allowed. 
"Don't even think about it, pretty boy," she hissed and 
racked her nails over his chest, leaving bleeding gashes 
behind. When that didn't stop his attempts to protect 
himself, her hand found his crotch again and dug nails into 
his balls. He screamed into the gag, the pain so nauseating 
he almost lost his dinner. And, considering the gag, that 
would have been catastrophical. "No more thrashing, okay?" 
she cooed, releasing his crotch again. 

He was definitely on the verge of tears. Not so much because 
of the pain. He had been there before and he had hated it. 
Phoebe Greene, whom he for some unexplainable reason could 
not resist even now, had taken him to Hell and back again. 
She had enjoyed every step of it. He had been embarrassed 
and in pain every step of the way. This was a one-way 
street. Both could not enjoy it. And he certainly didn't 
enjoy it. It didn't turn him on at all. On the contrary, he 
felt sick and low and lousy due to it. To have to relieve 
this had been one of his nightmares. But in his nightmares 
it had always been Phoebe doing this to him. The few times 
he had allowed his mind to wander toward his partner, they 
had been engulfed in sensual and soft love-making. Not this 
painful torture that Phoebe had called the best form of sex. 
Of course, it was only the best when she could demolish her 
partner's mental state and make it hard for him to walk the 
day after. There had been no vice-versa. But the pain was 
definitely not what made him want to cry although it was 
hard enough to bear. It was that his soft fantasies of Dana 
had been ripped to shreds by this devastating turn of 
events. 

She grabbed the edge of his boxer shorts and pulled them 
down. He attempted to speak, to make some kind of plea, but 
she was deaf to it. Her gloved left hand closed softly 
around his cock and caressed it with slow strokes of her 
thumb. "Come on. Come on," she cooed as if she were trying 
to lure an animal out of it's den. "Make me happy." 

It was with the utmost regret that he once again had to 
realize how little control he had over his body. His cock 
hardened in her hand and he was deadly afraid of the feral 
look in her eyes while she coaxed him to become bigger. The 
feelings of lust combined with the mind-shattering fear of 
the pain she could cause rippled through him. The fear, he 
knew, intensified his sexual drive, driving him toward an 
edge of no return. He moaned into the gag, not from lust but 
from fear and shame, trying to twist away from her, but her 
legs held him in place and he instantly stopped the attempt 
when she ran a nail along the underside of his cock. 
Glancing up at him, she smiled approvingly. "You're 
learning," she told him, noting the tears now freely 
streaming down his face. "Oh, stop blubbering, you baby," 
she added coldly, her previously soft grip hardening around 
his cock. He moaned in pain and fear, trying hard to retain 
his tears without much luck. She let her index finger run 
down the length of his erection until she hit the base. "I 
said stop blubbering," she snarled and jabbed a nail deep 
into the soft skin there. He jerked, trying to pull away, 
but again her grip on his cock hardened into a vice-like 
hold, causing him even more pain. It took all the 
self-control he could muster to not pull away again. When 
she was happy about his ability to stay still, she released 
her grip and removed the nail. 

His breath came in harsh little gasps around the gag and he 
wished so desperately that he could pass out, but knew he 
wouldn't. That was always the thing, wasn't it? When you 
really needed to pass out, you couldn't. He tried to 
concentrate on getting his breathing back under control, but 
it was hard. He was sore already and he knew she wasn't even 
halfway done yet. 

She pushed herself backward and lowered her head down over 
his now straining erection. "Ahh, that's what I like," she 
whispered, opened her mouth and almost swallowed him whole. 
Her tongue pressed against the back of his cock and her 
teeth closed over the base hard enough to make him try and 
crumble up. With almost savage anger, she ripped her head 
upward, scraping his cock all the way to the head. 

The pain that caused him was excruciating, debilitating and 
he felt the cuffs around his wrists cut into the skin when 
he fought the restraints with all his might. Her teeth were 
clamped down on his cock and he thought he would die right 
there. Not even Phoebe had caused him this much pain. All 
his muscles cramped up, jittering with the strain of the 
pain, sweat rolling down his body while he cried into the 
gag, tears rolling down his face. He jerked violently at the 
cuffs holding his hands, causing the metal to dig deeper 
into his flesh, and all he could think of was that he wanted 
to die, needed to die right there and then. Just to get away 
from the pain. He sobbed, aware that it was increasing her 
anger, but unable not to. The pain lessened after a moment 
where she stared at him, leaving behind a painful throb down 
the length of his cock. Her eyes ran over his body again, 
then she lowered her head again, opening her mouth. He 
gagged once again, knowing what she was about to do, and had 
to concentrate hard on not throwing up. She scrapped her 
teeth over him again, causing more moans of anguish. For 
what seemed like forever, she hurt him and coaxed him into 
hardening even more, the erection now extremely painful 
because the skin was raw and bleeding severely. Her renewal 
of the pain over and over again drove him insane, making his 
writhe in agony. Somewhere in the back of his head he wished 
he could come so she couldn't hurt him any more, but also 
knew that she would probably hurt him worse if he came 
before she wanted him to. Then finally, she straddled him. 
"Ready for some real lovin'?" she asked him, grinning 
viciously at his suffering. 

His eyes grew wide when she grabbed his aching member and 
guided it home. The warm wetness of her was like salt in the 
wounds she had caused and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting 
down hard on the gag to -- in every sense -- ride this out. 
He winced every time she pressed down on him and the tight 
grip of her vagina on his painful erection made him want to 
scream again. The pain was unbearable and her constant 
admonishments that he wasn't to come before she told him so 
made him desperately clamp down on his need for the release. 
His hands had found the chains of the handcuffs and he was 
holding onto them, trying to prevent the metal from causing 
any more damage to his aching and bleeding wrists. His 
ankles felt swollen and painful, too, and he briefly 
wondered if he would be able to walk the following day. He 
didn't think so. The greatest pain of course came from his 
molested cock, which was now throbbing hard inside her. She 
drew fire along the sides every time she shoved him home and 
he found he could even control his need to thrust into her. 
The pain took it's toll on the lust he might have felt. Any 
enjoyment had been washed away in a red sea of pain. 

And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, he felt 
her starting to contract and the pressure became 
devastating. And this time he did scream. She hammered him 
home with every downward thrust and he writhed in agony 
beneath her, his mind not wanting to accept the 
unacceptable. That this was Dana doing this to him. Not 
Phoebe. Not anybody else. His sweet, lovable Dana was 
causing him this kind of agony. His mind refused to accept 
this and he kept his eyes shut, wanting desperately to 
pretend that this wasn't so. It had to be Phoebe. Only she 
could be this cruel. Then he felt her hot breath on his ear. 
"Now you can come," she whispered hoarsely. He let loose, 
knowing that it would bring release in more ways than one. 
He emptied his painful load into her, sobbing at the 
release, at the shame, at the pure and utter disbelief he 
felt at this situation. He would never be able to face her 
again. 

Straightening up on top of him, she looked down at him, 
pleased with her handiwork. "Oh, Fox. Thank you. That was 
better than I had hoped," she said, causing him to look up 
at her with blood-shot, tear-filled eyes. She patted his 
face like a mother would that of a child, still smiling. 
"And remember. No mention of this tomorrow at work, okay? 
And don't act strange toward me or I'll be back tomorrow 
evening. And then I'll really make you writhe." Her promise, 
stated in a cold, hard tone of voice, made him shiver 
involuntarily. She pulled off him, spilling his semen all 
over his pelvic area, before she slipped off the bed and 
padded out of the room. For a moment, he feared she was 
going to leave him like this, but she returned moments later 
with a towel, dressed in a brown suit he had seen her in 
before, her hair brushed back into a pony-tail, looking 
completely like the old Dana again. Except for the scornful 
expression on her formerly so pretty face. She tossed the 
towel at him, pulled out a key and undid the shackles around 
his ankles.

"Now, don't pull anything stupid, okay? I'm more fit than 
you are and I can easily stay all night." He didn't dare do 
anything. Even when she undid the cuffs around his wrists, 
all he did was roll over on his side, both hands going down 
to cup his aching crotch. She patted his back for a second, 
then got off the bed. He heard the clanging of the chains as 
she stashed them away, but didn't turn around to see her 
leave. "See you in the morning, Foxy," she said, her tone of 
voice as scornful as her expression had been. 

He first managed to work up the courage to remove the gag 
when he heard the front door click shut. With a pained 
effort, he rolled over on his other side, protecting his 
cock and balls from too much movement with one hand, and 
slowly sat up. Every move he made was painful. His wrists 
were bloated and bloody and so were his ankles. Easing his 
feet onto the carpet, he heaved a deep breath before getting 
up. Nausea rippled through him, making him gag almost 
uncontrollably. He managed to make it to the bathroom before 
he threw up. Kneeling in front of the toilet, one hand still 
cupping his aching crotch, he started crying again. He was 
angry at himself for not being able to retain the tears, but 
never the less he sobbed like a little kid, interrupted only 
when his stomach rolled too much and he vomited again. It 
took him half an hour to be able to get unsteadily back to 
his feet. His first notion had been that he needed a shower. 
More desperately than he had ever needed anything before. 
Although he knew it would hurt like hell, he had to wash 
some of the shame away. 



The shower was a long and painful process and he felt only 
marginally better afterwards. His stomach was still upset 
and he limped back to the bedroom hunched over like an old 
man. Wincing, he pulled the bedspread off after positioning 
a bucket next to the right side of the head of the bed. 
Gagging again, he slumped over the bucket, dry-heaving for a 
moment. He knew he needed to tend to his wrists and ankles 
and mostly to his cock, but he just couldn't face that right 
now. He hurt too much and he felt too sick to deal with it. 
Instead, he slipped under the covers, lying on his side, 
trying to get as comfortable as possible. His cock felt 
mostly as if someone had stepped on it with heavy work boots 
and it took a long time before he finally slipped into a 
restless, nightmare-filled sleep. There was nobody he could 
call, nobody he trusted enough to call on an occasion such 
as this. Under normal circumstances, he would probably have 
called Scully. As degrading and embarrassing as this was, he 
would have trusted her enough to deal with this discreetly. 
But now he didn't trust her any further than he could throw 
her. And a small voice in the back of his head kept 
insisting that it hadn't been her. Couldn't be her. He was a 
good judge of character. Had basically been forced into 
being one by people like Phoebe. And he didn't think he 
could have been so much off center. Dana Scully wasn't like 
this. But he kept seeing her face, the lascivious look in 
her eyes, the joy with which she administered him pain. This 
memory caused his stomach to convulse and he woke up again, 
gagging. He hauled himself to the edge of the bed toward the 
bucket and let out a cry of pain when his injured cock got 
squeezed between his thigh and the mattress. Whimpering, not 
knowing which he should tend to first, he curled up again 
for a second before the need to throw up once again overcame 
him. 

* * * * * 

Dana Scully glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, 
glanced up at the wall clock again to make sure it wasn't 
her watch that was too fast, and sighed. Okay, she had told 
him to go home and get some sleep, hadn't she? She nodded to 
herself, grabbed the receiver and dialed an internal number. 
The few times she had tried calling her partner had brought 
no result. His machine answered the call. 

"Hi, Kimberly. Have you heard from Agent Mulder? I can't 
seem to reach him and he hasn't turned up yet," Scully said 
once Skinner's secretary answered the call. 

There was a brief, confused pause. "Uhm... he called about 
half an hour ago. He's sick with the stomach flu or 
something and won't be coming in for a few days. He sounded 
really bad." Kimberly hesitated for a second, but had to 
voice her confusion. "I thought he'd call you right after." 

"The stomach flu?" Scully asked, instantly concerned. "No, 
he didn't call me. He was probably not feeling up to it. 
Thanks. I'll call him right away." Scully hung up the phone 
and stared at it for a moment. Stomach flu? she thought. He 
had looked tired, but not sick the previous day. With a 
deepening frown, she grabbed the receiver again and dialed 
his number. It rang twice, then the receiver at the other 
end was finally picked up. "Mulder, it's me," she said and 
was answered only by silence. "Mulder?" 

There was silence for a moment longer. "Yes," he confirmed, 
his voice barely audible. 

She could virtually hear how poorly he was doing. "My God, 
are you all right? How bad is it?" she asked, deeply 
concerned. 

Another patch of silence answered her. "As if you didn't 
know," he whispered hoarsely and hung up. 

Scully held the receiver out from her ear and stared at it 
as if it had just slapped her. Was she imagining things or 
had he sounded angry with her? This didn't bode well. Her 
concern for his welfare blossomed into fear as she got up 
and grabbed her coat. He might not want to see her right 
now, but she was going over there anyway. He might be in 
need of help. With those thoughts, she stalked out the door, 
intent on finding out why her partner and friend would react 
this way to her. 

* * * * * 

Scully reached his apartment and hesitated briefly before 
unlocking the door. She knocked quietly while opening the 
door, but there was no reply. Closing the door behind her, 
she glanced around the quiet hallway. "Mulder?" she called, 
not too loudly, and got no reply to that either. Frowning a 
little, she put her bag down on the floor and shrugged out 
of her coat. After putting it on a hanger just inside the 
door, she leaned down to grab her bag and froze. There was a 
trail of blood on the floor. Not much, but enough to be 
noticed. She snapped back into an upright position and 
looked toward the living room. But the trail was leading to 
the bed room, not the living room. Her frown deepened, her 
bag forgotten, as she slowly walked over to the half-closed 
bedroom door. "Mulder?" she tried again without result. She 
carefully pushed the door open, the still-life of the 
bedroom unfolding before her eyes. The first thing she 
noticed was the bedspread lying in a heap at the foot end of 
the bed. The next that registered with her was that the 
blood trail disappeared under it. Her eyes wandered up over 
the bed to the curled-up figure of her partner lying with 
his back to the door. "Mulder?" she tried once more as she 
slowly approached the bed. The sheet and the heavy blanket 
over it was pulled tightly around him, covering him almost 
completely. When she cleared the end of the bed, she stopped 
short to study what she could see of his face. He was pale 
and a light sheen of sweat covered his face. And that was 
all she could see. She sat down on the edge of the bed, 
wondering if he had cut himself to leave such a trail of 
blood. "Mulder," she almost whispered, reaching a hand out 
to touch his face. Just then, he stirred awake. His eyes 
opened and he blinked at her once. Then his eyes widened and 
with a gasp of fear he pulled back. From the contraction of 
his face she could tell he was in pain. "Mulder, it's okay. 
It's me," she tried to soothe him, wondering what had 
brought on that reaction. She once again reached out to 
touch his face, to reassure him, but never got that far. His 
right hand lashed out from under the covers and slapped her 
hand away. 

"Don't touch me," he croaked, trying to pull further back. 

Scully was shocked and a little hurt by his reaction and it 
showed on her face. "Mulder," she said, trying to convey 
serenity and tenderness to him, but that only made his 
expression twist further. It took her a second to realize 
that it was because he felt nauseous. He suddenly reached 
out for the edge of the bed and hauled himself forward, 
whimpering as his stomach convulsed and he dry-heaved over 
the bucket for a second. Scully didn't try to touch him, but 
her eyes were glued to his right wrist, which was bruised 
badly. It was bloated, black and blue, with obvious cuts on 
it. She leaned a little sideways and got a good look at his 
left wrist, which looked exactly the same. "Mulder, what 
happened to you?" she asked. 

He eased back onto the bed, feeling weaker than ever, the 
only thing strong in him being the fear. He wanted to pull 
away from her, to get out of her reach, but couldn't move. 
He simply didn't have the strength for it. He considered a 
response to her question, a question which would have made 
him laugh if he hadn't felt so miserable. And all the while 
that little voice in the back of his head kept insisting 
that last night's horror had not been caused by her. 
Managing to finally make his eyes focus, he looked up at her 
and saw nothing of the woman who had come here the night 
before. Nothing. And she sounded so sincere in her concern 
for him and her confusion in regards to his present state of 
health. 

"Where were you last night?" he croaked. He thought he knew 
what the answer would be, but he begged that it wouldn't be 
what he thought. Because he needed her help so badly. 

Scully stared back at him, thinking that he had probably 
tried to call her for help and had not been able to reach 
her. "At my mother's. She called and invited me to dinner. 
I'm sorry I wasn't home. I had no idea..." she began, 
shaking her head, vaguely spreading her hands out. 

He stared at her. Could it really be? "At your mother's?" he 
whispered and she nodded. He wished, he hoped that she was 
telling the truth. The concern and care in her eyes made a 
lump rise in his throat and he felt tears rise in his eyes 
again. It hadn't been her. Someone else who had pretended to 
be her. Someone who had... He couldn't think straight. He 
hurt so badly he just wanted to die and he couldn't think 
straight. "When did you get home?" Scully found his 
questions a little strange, but decided to play along. 
"Around one. How many times did you try to call me?" She was 
certain that his questions were based on that. 

Mulder almost managed to laugh then. Call her? That had 
really been the last thing on his mind last night. Because 
he had thought she had been the one to put him through this. 
But now he couldn't understand how he could ever have 
thought that. He should have been able to see through it. He 
also knew that he so easily accepted her explanation because 
he was desperate for some care. Wincing, he curled up even 
more. 

"Mulder, what happened to you?" she pressed, not at all 
happy about the situation. He was crying openly, obviously 
in pain and distressed and she could do nothing about it 
until he told her where he was hurt. His wrists looked bad, 
but the abrasions seemed to be rather superficial. It 
couldn't be causing him this much discomfort.

His right hand suddenly grabbed out for hers and she took it 
in both of hers, holding it hard. "I don't feel so good," he 
whispered. This was starting to be embarrassing now that the 
fear was ebbing away. Embarrassing like hell. He wasn't sure 
he could handle having to tell her what had happened. But he 
certainly didn't want to deal with any other doctor. This 
was not going to be public knowledge. 

"I'm aware of that. I saw the blood on the floor, Mulder. 
Where are you hurt? Did you cut yourself?" she asked and was 
a little taken aback by the pained smile on his lips and the 
fact that he didn't want to look at her. For a moment, she 
reflected on his reaction, then it hit her what it could 
mean. "You don't mean..." she began, glancing down his 
curled-up, covered body. He simply nodded, not saying a 
word. Scully heaved a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. 
This was complicated. Very complicated. Mainly because she 
wasn't sure what this meant. If it was as serious as she got 
the impression of, she was baffled that he was not in a 
hospital. But, on the other hand, she still didn't know 
exactly what his injury was all about. Only that it was in 
a... sensitive area. "You should be in a hospital," she said 
after a moment, having to voice her thoughts at least 
partially. 

"No," he whispered sharply, his hand clutching hers hard. 
"No hospital. This is embarrassing enough as it is, Scully. 
I don't need this to be on my record." She understood him 
and also realized that it was probably worse than she hoped, 
but better than she feared. 

"I'm going to go down to my car and get my bag. I'll take a 
look at it. If I feel that I can't deal with it, you have to 
go to the hospital, okay?" 

He nodded once, making no commitment other than that. 

A million thoughts raced through her head as she ran down to 
her car to get her bag. It was incomprehensible to her that 
anybody would actually want to harm Mulder. It had happened 
before, of course, but this was different. She didn't know 
yet what had happened and she could only imagine it. And 
what popped into her mind wasn't pleasant. 

When she returned to his bedroom, he had pulled the covers 
tightly around himself again. She sat down on the edge of 
the bed once more, trying to build up the stamina it would 
take to see her partner naked. Not that it would be the 
first time. But, and this was important in her mind, it was 
the first time that she was alone with him and he was 
conscious. She reached out to grab the edge of the covers. 
"Let me have a look," she said. 

He almost laughed again, too embarrassed to look at her. 
This was bad for his reputation. The only time he knew of 
that she might have seen him naked had been the one time he 
had been out cold after that fateful trip to the Arctic. And 
he wished desperately that he could pass out now. He didn't 
know why, but this wasn't the situation he wanted her to see 
him without clothes in. "Maybe you shouldn't," he tried. 

"And maybe I should. Let go of the covers, Mulder. You're 
not the first man I've seen naked and you probably won't be 
the last, either. I'm a doctor, after all," she told him, 
gently tugging at the sheet. For a moment longer, he held 
on, then his fingers slowly opened, releasing the edge of 
the sheet. She was aware how awkward this was for him and it 
was no less so for her. But she would never show it because 
it might increase his discomfort. She slowly peeled the 
covers off him, exposing his chest first and noting the deep 
scratch-marks there. Gently she pushed his arm out of the 
way to take a closer look. "These... cuts are infected," she 
told him. "Not badly, but they should be cleaned." 

The shiver running through him as she again pulled the 
covers further down was a clear sign to her that this was a 
very bad and demeaning situation for him to be in. Her eyes 
trailed over his body until she had uncovered enough. For a 
moment, she stared at his abdomen with absolute horror, then 
she briefly glanced at his face, noting that he was 
definitely not looking at her. His eyes were squeezed shut 
and an occasional tear trickled from the corners of his 
eyes. Heaving a deep breath, she looked back at the 
injuries. "Jesus," she mumbled. She placed a hand on his 
thigh and pushed it back a bit to get a better look. No 
wonder he was feeling sick. The injuries, although not as 
bad as she had feared, looked extremely painful. And she 
knew that the body of a man most of the time responded 
violently to injuries in that particular area. She even felt 
her own stomach roll at the sight and feared she might not 
be able to maintain a professional perspective on this. 
"Uhm..." she began, not really knowing how to put this to 
make it any less embarrassing. "There seems to be some 
infection here," she told him, having to keep talking to 
take her mind of what she was looking at. Reaching into her 
bag, she pulled out a pair of latex gloves and pulled them 
on. "I'm going to take a closer look..." she went on, 
hesitating before she touched him. It felt wrong, somehow, 
and she again wished that he would agree to go to the 
hospital. But she could also imagine the scorn he would 
receive if this ever got out and it would get out. She knew 
that. If it was in his file, all his so-called colleagues 
would have access to it and they would use it against him. 
Carefully, she moved his penis and he hissed, jerking when 
she touched him. "I know it hurts. I'll try to be as gentle 
as possible." 

For an agonizing half hour she examined and treated him and 
when she was finally done, she pulled the covers back over 
him. The scratches on his chest were dealt with, his ankles 
and his wrists had been cleaned and bandaged. His genitalia 
was a different story. Scully had administered the only 
thing she could, considering that even the lightest touch 
had almost sent him to the roof with agony. After going over 
the contents of her bag, she had applied an ointment which 
was mildly antiseptic and anesthetical. She had then given 
him an injection of Pentazocine and waited for it to take 
effect before she wrapped the whole thing up in a light 
bandage. With a sigh, she leaned back. "That's it," she 
said, pulling the gloves off again. 

He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, then slowly 
opened them again, blinking sluggishly at her. "Thank you," 
he whispered. 

"Feeling any better?" she wanted to know, sitting with her 
hands in her lap. 

He blinked again, then slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. 
What he was most afraid of was her reaction to this. That 
she might see him as incomplete somehow. That she might find 
this funny. But all he saw in her eyes was concern for his 
well-being. "A little," he told her after a moment. She 
smiled, not certain if he wanted to be touched or not. 
"Good. It should heal fairly quickly if you rest a lot. So 
there's no work for you for the next couple of days," she 
said, the latter in a stern tone of voice. She was set on 
keeping him in bed until he was able to move without too 
much discomfort. 

"I don't really feel up to it anyway, so that's fine with 
me," he countered and looked away again. 

"Now you tell me what happened," she insisted after a 
moment, not really certain she wanted to hear it. 

He lay still, staring ahead of himself for a moment. The 
pain had subsided after the injection had taken effect and 
that left him with the capability to think more clearly 
although his mind was a little sluggish from the drug. 
"You'll think I'm crazy," he mumbled after a moment. 

"I already think you are," she teased him mildly. "So, shock 
me." 

staring ahead of himself for a moment, he considered how to 
tell her what he had been through, to tell her who had put 
him through it, but couldn't find the right words. "It's..." 
he began, hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Uhm..." 
Closing his eyes, he wondered if it would be easier if he 
didn't look at her. "After I came home, I decided to try and 
sleep. So I went to bed. I woke up some time later to 
discover that I had been... chained to my bed." He paused 
again, glancing at her. Scully watched him intently for a 
second, then decided that he might find it easier if she 
didn't watch him. She got up and walked over to the window 
to look outside, keeping her eyes on the street below. 

He stared at her back for a moment, trying to force his 
stomach to stop rolling. The memories of those hours. 
Swallowing hard, he tried to maintain a grip on himself. 
"Uhm... naturally I was confused. I'm not... into that, if 
you know what I mean." She nodded, but kept her back turned 
and he found that he was actually grateful for that. He 
didn't want her staring at him in disbelief or disgust, 
feelings he was at this moment experiencing himself. 
"Then... she turned up. I was..." he tried to go on, but 
found that he couldn't get himself to tell her that he had 
thought her capable of doing something like this to him. 
"She was... slick," he mumbled. "Full of scorn and glee. She 
went about... hurting me. After she was done, she removed 
the chains and left again." 

Scully frowned, keeping her back turned. When he didn't go 
on, she briefly closed her eyes. "Why didn't you call 
someone? You could have left a message on my answering 
machine, Mulder." Her tone of voice was lightly admonishing 
and she intended for it to be as she could not understand 
how he would not call for help when he was in so much pain. 

He was quiet for a long time, trying out explanation after 
explanation in his head and found that none of them would 
make any sense to her. Not unless he got down to the point 
and that would mean risking her utter disbelief or 
resentment. He wouldn't be able to take either. Not after 
what he had been through. "She looked like you," he mumbled 
quietly. 

Scully stiffened. Had he really just said what she thought 
he had? 

Slowly turning around, she stared at him. "Excuse me?" 

He didn't look at her, didn't want to look at her. "She 
looked exactly like you," he repeated a little louder. "I 
was dumbfounded. I couldn't make sense of it. And all while 
she... did what she did, I kept thinking that it couldn't be 
true. That you would never do something like this. Not to 
me. Not to anybody." He closed his eyes and pressed both 
palms onto his face. Groaning, he tried to erase the 
pictures in his mind, cursing his photographic memory to 
hell. "I was scared. Petrified." 

Scully could do nothing more than stare at him for a long 
time. Conflicting feelings fought for dominance in her, 
making her feel partially horrified by the idea and 
partially angry. The anger was caused mostly by the fact 
that somebody would try and pull a stunt like that. "Whoever 
arranged this did it to separate us for good, Mulder. 
Unfortunately for them, they don't seem to know me very 
well. And obviously they don't know how strong a bond of 
friendship we have." She sat back down on the edge of the 
bed, pressing her hands over his. "I would never, ever do 
something like this to you. Especially not to you. The idea 
alone is revolting to me. I don't like to hurt other people 
and I don't like being hurt myself. I don't get a kick out 
of it." Letting her hands trace down his arms, she grabbed a 
hold of them and pulled his hands away from his face. He 
opened his eyes and faced her, looking pained and 
embarrassed and afraid. "I'm not leaving your side from now 
on and until we find out who did this. And when we find 
them, they'll be dealt with. I will not have something as 
obscene as this get between us, Mulder. I care too much 
about you to let that happen." He stared up at her and the 
first kindling of his inner feelings for her was stirred. He 
grabbed both her hands and held them tightly, unable to find 
words for what he was feeling at that very moment. 

"Thanks," he mumbled instead. 

"You're welcome," she replied and sighed. "I don't 
understand this," she added. "I don't understand why they 
would go to such lengths to separate us. Are we really that 
dangerous to them? " 

"Together, I guess we are. Separately... probably not." He 
mimicked her sigh, worn-out from hurting too much for too 
long. "Scully." She met his eyes with a soothing smile. 
"Don't leave me alone, okay? Not even for a moment." 

"I'll stay here until you're well enough to move. Then 
you're coming home with me. They'll have to be bold as hell 
to try something there," she told him, squeezing his hands 
tightly. 

Mulder kept his silence, knowing that this woman would not 
shy back from hurting Scully. And under everything, there 
was a gnawing doubt. Had she really been as gentle as she 
could have been? He closed his eyes, trying to close out the 
haunting image of that so unbecoming smile on her face. 

Scully briefly caressed his cheek, unable not to notice how 
he flinched when she touched him. "You must be exhausted. 
I'll let you get some rest. I'll be in the living room if 
you need me," she told him and got up. 

He nodded weakly, already half asleep. 

* * * * * 

His dreams were intruding, forceful, almost nightmarish. He 
was hurting, alone. Nobody around he could trust. Nothing 
anybody could do to help him. He saw Scully, begged for her 
help, but she only laughed at him, a sickening, superior 
laughter which tore at his soul. 

With a gasp, he woke up, moved a little too forcefully and 
gasped at the pain this caused him. His wrists were sore and 
still swollen and so, he felt, was the rest of him. He 
rolled carefully over on his back, aware that the 
painkillers Scully had given him were wearing off. He didn't 
know if he could handle the pain right now, but remembered 
that Scully had left him some pills and a glass of water. He 
turned his head toward the nightstand and froze. The glass 
and the pills were gone. Looking toward the other side of 
the bed, he spotted the glass there. It crossed his mind 
that Scully wouldn't have put them out of his reach, but he 
ignored the obvious oversight and pulled himself laboriously 
across the bed toward the alluring painkillers. He reached a 
hand out for them but another hand dropped down to cover 
them. He almost forgot to breathe when his eyes trailed up 
her arm to her face. That woman again. The one who looked so 
much like Scully. With a burst of energy and strength he 
previously would have denied he was in possession of, he 
pushed himself backward. His attempt to sit up, though, 
caused him to jerk violently. 

"Careful now, Fox," she whispered, her expression evil. "You 
wouldn't want to hurt yourself, now would you?" 

"I know you're not Scully," he gasped, pulling as far back 
as the bed allowed. 

"Do you now?" she cooed and started around the bed. She was 
wearing that body stocking again and the sight of it made 
him cringe. "And how do you know that? Just because I can 
play nice?" 

He stared at her, not wanting to believe what she said. 
"You're not Scully," he repeated. 

She reached out and grasped his right ankle, closing her 
fingers hard around the bandage and he yelped, trying to 
kick out at her with the other foot. But she caught that, 
too, pressing both his feet down onto the mattress. "Oh yes, 
I am," she told him and pulled at his legs. Her strength was 
considerable, freighting in it's intensity. 

"Let go," he winced, trying to twist out of her grip. The 
more he moved, the tighter her grip became and the more it 
hurt. "You're not Scully," he insisted, sweat springing out 
on his brow. He was about to call for Scully, to scream for 
her if necessary, when his assailant leapt forward, slapped 
a hand over his mouth while pressing him down on the bed 
with unbelievable force. 

She forced his arms under her knees, holding him in a 
vice-like grip between her legs, and smiled viciously at 
him. "Easy now," she shushed him. When he didn't calm down, 
she pressed a finger against the cuts on his chest. It hurt 
bad enough for him to stop moving. "That's better," she 
cooed. "Now, where were we?" 



He put more effort into getting free, but no matter what he 
did, he couldn't seem to shake her. And that convinced him 
that she wasn't Scully. Couldn't be. She was too strong to 
be human. When he once again attempted to get her off him, 
to get her hand away from his mouth, she did something he 
hadn't expected. She hammered a fist into his solar plexus, 
causing instant paralysis from the pain. He couldn't breathe 
for a moment and she used that moment to shackle his wrists 
and lock them to the head board of the bed. Wheezing, he 
tried to regain enough breath to scream for help. But again 
she beat him to it, stuffing a roll of fabric she retrieved 
from the front of the body stocking like before into his 
mouth. He fought the restraints, causing himself more pain 
that necessary, but he hoped that the racket he was making 
would wake Scully up. 

Dana Scully had fallen asleep. She woke up with a start, not 
sure what had roused her at first. She sat up on Mulder's 
couch and brushed both hands through her hair, blinking. 
There was some kind of noise in the background and at first 
she didn't pay attention to it. Then it suddenly hit her 
that it came from within the apartment. She was off the 
couch, wide awake and running toward the closed bed room 
door within a second. Her gun drawn, she pushed the door 
open and stopped at the sight that met her. His tormentor 
had returned and she did look like her. "Get away from him," 
she yelled, angry at herself for not paying better 
attention. She should have been able to prevent this woman 
from entering the apartment. Holding the gun with both 
hands, she didn't take her eyes off the woman long enough to 
check on Mulder. "Don't make me tell you twice," she warned 
hatefully. 

The woman slipped off the bed and straightened up, her eyes 
locked on Scully's. There was no doubt in her mind that 
Scully would pull the trigger if she didn't comply. "Well, I 
guess you're right, Fox. I'm not Dana Scully," she said, 
briefly glancing down at the suspended man. As she did, she 
changed. She shape-shifted into another woman. "Shooting at 
me would be a very stupid thing to do, Agent Scully," she 
added. "You would both die and I could just walk out of 
here. So what do you say we call a truce?" 

"A truce?" Scully snapped. She had realized that most of her 
anger was focused on the fact that this woman had disguised 
as her to hurt Mulder. "I don't think so. Back away from the 
bed." Her tone of voice was harsh. 

"I'm sorry you see it that way," the woman countered, edging 
away from the bed, holding her hands up. Not because she was 
afraid of being shot. She was trying to lull Scully into 
believing that she had the upper hand here. She edged along 
the wall toward the foot end of the bed and took a step 
toward Scully. 

"Stop moving," Scully warned her, in turn taking a step 
closer herself. A moan from her partner distracted her and 
she glanced at him, appalled at seeing him in this 
condition. Before she had a chance to react, the 
shape-shifter had backhanded her harshly across the temple, 
knocking the world out of focus. The next blow was 
administered to her solar plexus hard enough for her to pass 
out instantly. Scully hit the floor, the gun dropping down 
on the bed. 

"No," the shape-shifter said with a wicked smile. "You stop 
moving." With that comment, she grabbed Scully and hauled 
her out of the room. She dumped her just outside the bed 
room door and closed it. "Now we can have some fun," she 
said and turned back to her helpless, terrified, struggling 
victim. 

* * * * * 

Scully came around to a major headache and an aching chest. 
She sat up gingerly, trying to regain her bearings, briefly 
disoriented. Then the gruesome facts of what had happened 
came back to her and she staggered to her feet, her eyes on 
the half-open bed room door. It was awfully quiet in the 
apartment. Much too quiet for her liking. Glancing briefly 
at the front door, she wondered how long she had been out. 
Aware that what she might see could be upsetting, she heaved 
a deep breath and pushed the door open. Standing in the 
doorway, she stared at the scene unfolded before her, trying 
to comprehend that someone would do this to another person. 
Her eyelids slid shut for a moment, then she slowly walked 
up to the bed. He lay sprawled on the bed, a blood stained 
sheet barely covering him, and all she could see were cuts 
and bruises. The bandages around his wrists and ankles were 
soaked with blood, the gauze which had covered the wounds on 
his chest still stuck on one side, revealing the newly 
gouged gashes. Among a whole lot of new ones. The only thing 
untouched by this mayhem was his face. She sat down on the 
edge of the bed, her breath shallow. The whole world had 
slowed down, setting everything to slow motion. She reached 
icy fingers out to touch his throat, feeling for the pulse 
and finding it. It wasn't nearly as weak as she had thought. 
Actually she had thought that it would be none-present. The 
way he looked could easily have let her to believe that he 
had not survived this second encounter. On second thought, 
she feared he might wish he had not survived it when he came 
around. 

That thought put her gears in motion. To think that he might 
wake up to a world of pain was not something that would 
happen as long as she was around. No way. She returned to 
the living room to get her bag, filled a syringe with 
morphine and injected it into his arm. That should keep him 
under until she had dealt with the worst of the cuts and 
bruises. Then she would give him a shot for the pain and 
move him to somewhere. After the initial shock had reseeded, 
she became painfully aware that she would not be able to 
move him on her own. There were actually two options open to 
her. The first was calling the Lone Gunmen. But she couldn't 
with any kind of certainty estimate whether they would help. 
They probably would, but she was uncertain about how far 
they would go for their friend. The second option was the 
one she dreaded, yet preferred. At least Skinner wouldn't 
have any qualms about firing a gun if necessary. 

She systematically worked around the sheet covering him 
while cleaning and bandaging the wounds, leaving the worst 
till last. There was no doubt in her mind that this... woman 
or whatever she was had -- in want of a better word -- 
molested him again. When she finally reached the point where 
she could no longer put it off, she gingerly removed the 
sheet and, with her mind in clinical mode, she estimated the 
damage done and the future side effects this might have. 
Dealing with the problem at hand pushed her troubled 
thoughts of why this had happened aside for the time being. 
She worked well under pressure, yet the subject of her 
attention was one she would have preferred to leave in the 
capable hands of another medical doctor. This was a bit too 
personal. When she was finally done, she had no doubt in her 
mind that he would be in pain when he woke up again. No 
matter how much Pentazocine she filled him with. 

After cleaning up the bed room as much as she could, she put 
the blood-stained sheets to soak in the sink in the bath 
room and finally found herself running out of things to do 
which could postpone that call she had to make. It had 
gotten dark in the meantime and she wasn't too keen on 
having to explain why she needed his help regarding her 
partner. Mostly she would have to come up with a way to keep 
this a secret. Reluctantly, she reached for the phone and 
dialed his number. 

"Skinner." 

His response was gruff as always and Scully winced inwardly 
at what she was about to do. "Sir, it's Dana Scully," she 
said. 

"Scully?" He sounded surprised. "Do you know what time it 
is?" he added a little bruskly. 

Frowning, she glanced at the clock on the video and pursed 
her lips. It read 11.30 pm. "Oh, uhm... I had no idea it was 
this late. I'm sorry about that, but I need your help. 
Urgently!" 

A brief moment of silence followed that. "For what?" he 
asked, his tone suddenly more mellow. 

"Uhm..." She briefly considered how to put it. "It is a 
highly confidential matter. One that I cannot turn to anyone 
else with. And I'd rather not discuss it over the phone." 
She was not trying to flatter him, but mainly to make him 
understand that it was important that he didn't talk about 
it. She paused, giving him a chance to react to it. 

"Where are you calling from?" he wanted to know, more or 
less letting her know that he would help by not turning her 
down at once. 

"Agent Mulder's apartment, sir," she countered. 

She heard him sigh and knew what was going through his head 
right now. "Not another...suicide attempt, is it?" he asked, 
his tone of voice slightly sarcastic. 

Scully would have been able to see the funny side of this if 
the situation hadn't been so serious. "No, sir. This is a 
little more serious than that," she replied, hearing the 
tenseness in her own voice. 

He grumbled something under his breath. "All right. I'll be 
right over. But I expect an explanation, Agent Scully," he 
finally said and hung up. 

Scully returned the phone to its holder. "Oh, you'll get 
one. And I'm sure you won't like it," she mumbled into the 
darkness of the living room. 

* * * * * 

Skinner arrived at Mulder's apartment half an hour later. 
After turning the engine of his car off, he sat there for a 
moment, unable to imagine what could be worse than that 
staged suicide. But he had no doubt that Scully would have 
let him know if it had been a genuine death. With a 
heartfelt sigh, he got out of the car and went upstairs. 
Scully opened the door, letting him in. 

Skinner briefly glanced around the small hallway, noting 
that the bed room door was closed, then focused on Scully. 
"All right. What is this all about and where is Agent 
Mulder?" The way Scully avoided his eyes made him uncertain 
about why he was here. 

"He's in the bed room and I'd rather not discuss the reason 
for my request for help here. Agent Mulder has had... uhm... 
an accident, twice, and we need to get him out of town to 
prevent it from happening again," Scully said. She really 
didn't want to discuss the reason here. Mainly because she 
thought the apartment might be bugged. It annoyed her 
slightly that Mulder had this much influence on her, but she 
was starting to believe in his rather paranoid view of the 
world. 

Skinner again glanced at the bed room door, then looked back 
at Scully with a frown. "And you can't get him out on your 
own. Is that it?" he wanted to know and she nodded. 

"Yes, sir. That's it. Mainly because I can't move him myself 
and... well... I couldn't call anybody else. He has begged 
me not to call an ambulance, although I do believe it might 
serve him better to get to a hospital. But I understand his 
reluctance and I do believe that he would not be safe in a 
hospital." Explaining it without telling Skinner what she 
was talking about was the hard part here. And she knew how 
annoyed he could get if people weren't clear about such 
things. 

Skinner took a step toward the bed room door, then glanced 
at Scully. "I'm not happy about this," he told her. 

"Neither am I, sir, but this has to be done. To protect him 
both physically and mentally," she insisted. 

* * * * * 

The cabin was far off from Washington, high in the 
Appalachian Mountains. It belonged to Scully's family and 
had been a family heritage as far back as she could 
remember. Rarely used, she doubt that very many people 
outside of her family knew it existed. Hence she had chosen 
this very spot to take her friend and partner to help him 
heal and protect him from further attacks. 

The morphine, a generous shot by any measure, had kept him 
under for the whole trip. Scully had -- to prevent any 
embarrassment and too early demands for an explanation -- 
clad him in a pair of loose sweatpants and the matching 
sweatshirt. The only explaining she would have to do from 
that were the bandages around his wrists and ankles. But 
even those Skinner did not ask about. He merely had helped 
her get him down to her car, whereafter they had driven both 
cars to the cabin. 

Once Scully had installed her partner in the downstairs bed 
room and assured herself that he was still out and hence not 
in any pain, she returned to the living room. Skinner had 
turned on some lamps and had started a fire in the fire 
place. When she dropped down heavily on a chair across from 
him, he stared intently at her. "Are you going to explain to 
me what is going on?" he wanted to know after a moment. 

"I will," she said, looking down at her hands lying in her 
lap. "It's just difficult." Heaving a deep breath, she held 
it in for a moment, considering the best choice of words and 
found that there were no choices. "Yesterday," she began, 
glancing at her watch and noting that it was well past one 
in the morning. "Actually, two days ago," she corrected 
herself, "I told Agent Mulder to go home and get some sleep. 
He looked like something the cat had dragged in. He went 
around mid-day and as I did not want to bother him, I did 
not call him that day. The following day, yesterday, he did 
not show up for work, as you know. He called in sick with 
the stomach flu. I called him to check on him and was quite 
surprised by his rather blunt reaction to me. He has been 
angry at me in the past for various reasons, but this did 
not sound like anger. More like a mild kind of fear and a 
pretty big dose of resentment." She paused, glancing up at 
Skinner, who was listening to her without comment. "I went 
over to check on him as his behavior was rather bizarre and, 
quite frankly, I was concerned about him. I let myself in 
when he did not respond to my knocking. The first thing I 
noticed was a trail of blood on the floor." Frowning, she 
recalled the moment she had realized what had happened to 
him. "He was in bed and at first I believed that he did have 
the stomach flu. But..." 

"He didn't," Skinner continued for her and she nodded. 

"That's right. Although his immediate condition could point 
at that. He was feeling nauseous. But not due to any kind of 
flu. It was due to something he had experienced during the 
late evening or early night." Rubbing a hand over her face, 
she tried to phrase it in her mind first. But even there the 
words would not come. "He had been... for want of a better 
word... molested." 

Skinner's surprise was obvious when he leaned forward, 
staring at her with disbelief. "Molested?" 

"Yes. That's the only word that fits this scenario. 
Otherwise I would have to use the word..." she went on, but 
hesitated, then looked up to meet his eyes "... raped." That 
brought a frown to his face. "Agent Scully, are you telling 
me that Agent Mulder was...raped in his own apartment?" he 
asked, wanting to have it cleared up completely. Scully 
nodded serenely. That caused another bout of disbelief. "By 
whom?" 

Scully sighed deeply and folded her hands, staring down at 
them for a second. "Well... I'll get to that. The whole 
thing is still a little... absurd to me." Pursing her lips, 
she went over the conversation she'd had with Mulder in her 
mind. "His initial reaction to me when he woke up was rather 
surprising. He drew back. He looked like he was terrified by 
the mere sight of me. I managed to talk him out of this 
apparent horror and received an explanation as to why he had 
reacted that way. He thought that I had done that to him." 

Skinner found this whole thing a little too bizarre at the 
moment. 

"You?" he asked. "How should you have been able to do 
something like that to him? He's quite a bit taller than you 
and my guess is that he is also stronger than you. This is 
ridiculous." 

"That was my initial reaction, but the state he was in made 
it no laughing matter. He had... deep gashes on his chest 
and his wrists and ankles had been scoffed badly by shackles 
of some kind. But that wasn't the worst." She hesitated, not 
certain she should go into detail about this. 

"It wasn't?" Skinner asked, not at all sure he wanted to 
hear the rest. He had a bad feeling about what she was going 
to say. Like he knew already. 

"No," Scully said, finding it difficult to keep her 
shoulders relaxed. She cleared her throat, as embarrassed by 
what she had to tell him as she was angry that it had 
happened at all. "His... abdomen. 

The skin was raw and bleeding. I don't know for certain what 
caused it, although I can imagine. It was also infected. Not 
as badly as I had feared. Obviously he had been able to make 
it to the bath room and shower, hence cleaning most of the 
wounds he had received out. There were also signs of severe 
bruising. In my training as a doctor, I cared for his wounds 
after he insisted that I should not call an ambulance. He 
was afraid of the consequences if this kind of information 
were to appear in his official file." 

Skinner had to swallow hard at her words. This was insane. 
"Jesus," he mumbled, finally understanding why this 
situation seemingly was so difficult. "I would have thought 
that he knew better than to think that this kind of 
information would be stated in his official record, Scully," 
he said after a moment. "But no matter. I take it this 
happened again?" 

"Yes, it did. I decided to stay, to keep an eye on him 
and... well...aide him in any way possible. Mainly because 
he was afraid that this... woman would come back. And she 
did come back. I attempted to stop her, but she managed to 
knock me out and when I came to again, it was all over. If 
he gets away with the physical scars, he'll be lucky. I 
don't believe that he will, though. I'm afraid he may need 
some kind of psychological assistance once he's back on his 
feet." 

Skinner nodded. "We'll see to that when the time comes. 
Right now I'm interested in who this woman is. Did she look 
like you?" he demanded. 

Now came the really hard part of her explanation. "Uhm... 
yes. At first she did," she said. 

Frowning, Skinner sat back on the couch, staring at her. "At 
first?" 

"Yes. At first she was an exact copy of me. Then she 
changed. Became somebody else. Don't ask me to explain it. I 
can't. I just know what I saw and there is no question of 
trickery here, either. The daylight was flooding the bed 
room." She shook her head in silent denial of her own words. 
"I don't understand it. I can't possibly understand how she 
did it. And, in general, I don't care. What I want to know 
is why. Why would anybody want to do this to him? Why would 
anybody want to do this to anyone?" 

The thought of what she had told him made a shiver run up 
his spine. This was bad news. "Well, if she looked like you, 
the reason is obvious, isn't it? What better way to drive a 
wedge between the two of you than make him believe that you 
would do something like that to him." 

Scully nodded. "My thoughts exactly. But why did she come 
back? I mean, she must have been aware that I was there. 
Although I was asleep when she turned up, she could not have 
avoided seeing me." 

"Obviously these people don't understand the kind of... 
partnership you have with Mulder," Skinner said, revealing 
that he was quite aware of how close they were. "And maybe 
she just got carried away. You know as well as I do that 
there are people out there capable of doing this to others 
without the slightest feeling of remorse." 

They were silent for a moment, each engrossed in their own 
thoughts on the subject, then Scully finally nodded. "I 
believe you're right. I also believe that this... woman will 
make another attempt. I hope that they do not know about 
this cabin, but they have previously proven to be quite 
resourceful and I would not be surprised if she turned up 
here." Pausing, she considered their options. "If she is 
indeed one of these... whatever they are, these people with 
the green poisonous blood, then we can't let her in here. If 
we have to shoot her, we have to do it outside. Otherwise we 
could be infected by this retro-virus that Mulder has 
previously been exposed to. A virus which kills within a 
very short time." 

Nodding his consent, Skinner finally shrugged out of his 
coat. "We'll deal with that when we get to it, Scully. Right 
now, I think we could both benefit from some sleep. I can 
only imagine the kind of pain that he will be in when he 
wakes up and I have a feeling that the next couple of days 
will be rather stressful." 

Suppressing a yawn, Scully suddenly realized how tired she 
was. "How do we explain that all three of us are absent from 
work?" she wanted to know. 

"Well, you have obviously been infected by that stomach-flu 
which has knocked Mulder out," Skinner countered 
indifferently. "As for me, I've just decided to take a few 
personal days. It's been a while since I had a vacation and 
I think I'm entitled to a few days away from the office. 
What I do in my spare time is no business of theirs." 

* * * * * 

Pain was what eventually tugged him out of the blissful 
darkness surrounding him. He woke up in pain, his throat 
dry, unable to focus his eyes. Any move he made sent 
nauseating waves of pain through him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the 
covers of the bed he was in. Unfamiliar scents assaulted him 
along with sounds he could not identify. Groaning, he opened 
his eyes again, but found that he was still unable to get a 
clear picture of the room he was in. And that brought panic 
with it. In his attempt to sit up he was harshly reminded of 
why he was in this state. The pain spreading from his 
abdomen made him gag uncontrollably and it was only due to 
the fact that his stomach was already empty that he did not 
throw up all over the place. Wincing at the painful 
contractions of his stomach, he rolled over on his side and 
curled up and wished he could just pass out again. A door 
somewhere behind him opened. He frantically blinked his 
eyes, trying to clear them, aware that the person entering 
the room might not have his best interests in mind. 

A cool hand touched his brow so suddenly, he jerked back. 
"Easy, Mulder. It's me." He listened to her voice, trying to 
read her intentions. And then things slowly started falling 
into place. He again remembered what had happened and that 
she was not the enemy. Moaning, he grabbed out for her and 
caught her wrist awkwardly. She touched his face, aware that 
he had trouble seeing straight. The morphine was not 
entirely out of his system yet. "Shhh," she shushed him. 
"Easy. I gave you a shot of morphine yesterday. You may have 
difficulty in focusing just yet. Just try to relax. Are you 
in pain?" He nodded, his throat too dry to speak. "I'll give 
you a shot for it," she said. He heard her fiddling with 
something, felt her swap his arm and the needle penetrating 
the skin. After a moment, the pain ebbed away. 

Scully ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his 
face, and found it difficult to contain an almost anguished 
expression. "It's all right. I'm right here," she told him. 
He cleared his throat, trying to speak, but nothing came 
out. "Don't try to speak. You must be parched," she said. 
"Hang on. I'll get you something to drink." She disappeared 
for a moment. He blinked, hoping that his eyes would soon be 
able to give him a clear picture of his surroundings. One of 
the scents bombarding him, he had identified. Pine. The room 
smelled of pine. And that meant he wasn't at home any more. 
Or in Scully's apartment, for that matter. He heard her 
coming back and could make out a fuzzy outline with swimming 
colors randomly distributed through out. She touched a cool 
glass to his lips after helping him raise his head and he 
drank greedily. She didn't let him have too much at once. 
"Where am I?" he finally managed to ask her. The water 
helped him focus, too, and the whole scene slowly returned 
to normal. 

"A cottage that belongs to my family," Scully countered, 
touching his forehead for a moment. "Well, you don't have a 
fever. That's always something." Unable to concentrate for 
longer periods of time -- obviously a side-effect of the 
morphine -- he let his eyes slide shut. "How did you get me 
here?" His voice was barely audible. Scully rearranged the 
covers, tugging him in. "I had to call help. The only kind 
of help I was able to get without having to worry that 
something might go wrong." When she looked back at his face, 
she found him staring at her despite his obvious fatigue. "I 
called Skinner," she told him. 

Mulder merely nodded once. That was what he had expected 
when she said she had called help. "You're finally beginning 
to trust him, huh?" he wanted to know. 

She nodded. "Yes, I am. And now you need to rest some more. 
You're in no condition for asking questions." Getting up, 
she smiled weakly at him. "You've been through hell. You 
need time to heal." 

He blinked a few times, then closed his eyes again, too 
tired to argue with her. There was a dull throb in his body 
and he just wanted to get away from it. 

* * * * * 

Scully stood in the open doorway, leaning one shoulder 
against the door frame while staring out at the forest which 
surrounded the cottage. She had loved this place when she 
had been a kid. Home had always been different, never one 
place the same, yet all of them alike in some uncanny way. 
This place had been the true constant in her childhood. A 
place of serenity, of calmness. This was the place where her 
parents were relaxed and content just to be together. She 
glanced sideways at Skinner when he stepped up behind her, 
staring at the trees engrossed in his own thoughts. "Is he 
going to be all right?" he asked after a moment. 

"Physically, yes. Mentally, I don't know. He's so screwed up 
already, I'm not certain what this will do to him. He has so 
much mental baggage to drag around..." She shook her head, 
breaking off before she said something she shouldn't. 

Skinner gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry. Mulder is 
a survivor. He would have succumbed a long time ago if he 
wasn't." Heaving a deep breath, he wondered if an attack was 
forthcoming. "We've been here for two days, Scully," he 
added almost as if on second thought. 

"I know," she countered, hoping that whatever would happen 
would happen soon. The waiting was getting to her. "To be 
quite honest, I'm afraid to return to Washington. As long as 
that... female is out there, she can still hurt him. And I 
think he's been hurt enough." 

Pursing his lips, Skinner frowned at the forest. He did not 
see its serenity or calmness. He saw it as a potential 
hiding place for whatever foe they were up against now. 
"Whatever is going to happen will happen. And when it does, 
we will be ready for it." With those words, he turned around 
and went back into the cottage. 

"I sure hope so," Scully whispered, stepped back and closed 
the door. 

* * * * * 

After having spent two days in bed where he had been 
basically unable to move, Mulder found that he was in better 
shape when he woke up the third day. Gingerly, he pushed 
himself up in a sitting position, instantly aware that the 
pain was much less potent that it had been. A dull throb was 
all that was left and it made him sigh with relief. He felt 
weak, worn-out, but still better than he had felt two days 
ago. 

With an effort, he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, 
and pulled his legs over the side, intent on getting up. He 
wasn't a man who stayed in bed any longer than he 
necessarily had to and now that he felt this much better, he 
wasn't about to lie around and do nothing. He grabbed the 
sweatpants lying on the chair next to the night stand, but 
hesitated before pulling them on. He felt awkward and he was 
still apprehensive about the pain, but he also wanted to get 
up. 

It had been a struggle, but eventually he was up, dressed in 
the pants and the sweatshirt. His first testing step went a 
lot better than he had hoped and although he walked as if he 
were treading on eggshells, he made it to the door before he 
had to stop. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink in 
almost four days and it was no surprise to him when he was 
overcome by a dizzy spell. He leaned forward a little, 
grabbing his knees with his hands and waited it out. When 
the black spots cleared from his vision again, he 
straightened and opened the door. The cottage was quiet, 
still lulled in the stillness of early mornings, as he made 
his way toward the open kitchen door. He needed some food, 
something to drink. His stomach insisted on it. 

Standing there, a piece of bread in one hand and a glass of 
water in the other, he suddenly felt the traction of 
standing up. It hit him like a ton of bricks and the dull 
throb he so far had been able to ignore blossomed into 
something more. Focusing on keeping his balance, he let go 
of the bread and grabbed out for the kitchen counter. 
Steading himself, he set the glass down next to his hand, a 
strangled sound escaping him. It had dawned on him that the 
painkiller had just stopped working and he cursed himself 
for not thinking of it. He eased down on a chair, breathing 
deeply a couple of times to at least keep his stomach from 
rolling too much. "Damn," he breathed. The distance back to 
the bed room seemed too much to overcome and he had no idea 
what time it was. Hence he had no way of knowing if Scully 
would be up any time soon. Another strangled sound of agony 
escaped him at the thought of having to sit here for much 
longer. 

"Aren't you up a little too early?" Scully's voice broke 
through the haze in his mind and he looked up, deadly pale. 
"I'll get you something for the pain," she said and left 
again only to return moments later with a filled syringe. 
She squatted down next to him, swapped his arm after pulling 
up his sleeve and gave him the injection. Rocking back on 
her heels, she waited for it to work before she spoke again. 
When his eyes slid shut and he exhaled a shuddering sigh, 
she knew the Pentazocine was finally working. "What are you 
doing up?" she demanded. 



Not looking at her, he tried to come up with a halfway 
defendable explanation. "I was hungry," he mumbled. 

Scully nodded and rose. "Come on. Let's get you back to 
bed." She took his arm, helping him up. 

He eased down on the bed, moving carefully. Although the 
injection had taken away most of the pain, he knew he 
shouldn't overdo it. If would come back to haunt him later 
if he thought he could move too much now. 

Scully drew the covers over him and sat down on the edge of 
the bed. "According to what I can see, you've been more 
frightened than hurt. No permanent damage. I have no doubt 
that it hurts like hell, though. And to avoid causing 
yourself more pain than is absolutely necessary, I suggest 
that you stay in bed until you don't feel any pain at all. 
And that's without the painkillers. You can't count on being 
able to move around while affected by the painkillers. 
Mainly because it will come back to haunt you later if you 
do." 

Embarrassed by his own overconfidence, he didn't look at 
her. "I know," he agreed. "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I 
just thought..." he began, but trailed off. 

"I know, I know," Scully said, patting his arm. "Just take 
it easy, okay? You'll be up and about in no time if you just 
take it easy." 

That evening Skinner was standing on the porch, watching the 
forest once more. There was something out there. His 
deeper-lying instincts, which he had fought so hard to 
suppress after returning home from Vietnam, had stirred and 
come alive half an hour ago. He knew something was watching 
the cabin. He could sense it in a way that reminded him of 
the war. Restlessly scanning the surrounding forest, he was 
about to warn Scully when she turned up beside him. 

Noting the way he was watching their immediate surroundings, 
she realized that something was up. "Problems?" she asked in 
a low tone of voice. 

"Maybe," he countered. "You better go back inside and keep 
an eye on Mulder. I don't want him to be alone." 

Scully nodded and returned to Mulder's bed room. Mulder 
looked up when she came in, instantly aware of her state of 
mind. "What's going on?" 

"I'm not certain, but Skinner seems to think somebody's out 
there," she said, nodding toward the window. 

Mulder glanced toward the window and swallowed. He suddenly 
felt very much like a little kid afraid of the dark again. 
Except that this threat was very real. "How can you possibly 
think that you can stop her, Scully?" he wanted to know. 

"We'll stop her. Even if it means blowing up the whole 
forest," she countered through clenched teeth. Her shoulders 
were up around her ears, her whole posture aggravated. "I 
won't let her near you again," she added, her eyes on the 
window. "Maybe you'd better come with me. I think it's safer 
if we all stay together." 

Mulder nodded and laboriously got off the bed. Scully helped 
him into the living room, but he didn't stop there. He 
slowly walked up to the open door. 

Skinner briefly glanced at him, then returned to stare at 
the forest. "How are you feeling?" 

"Mostly embarrassed now," Mulder countered, gabbing a hold 
of the door frame. He could almost feel the disapproval at 
his choice of reply. 

"You've got nothing to be embarrassed about, Mulder. It's 
not like this is something you chose to go through." There 
was no doubts in that statement and Mulder was grateful that 
his boss saw it that way. 

"No, that's for sure," he agreed. "Anything out there?" 

Skinner didn't need to reply to it. She had turned up 
between two pine trees and just stood there, watching them 
in turn. Skinner pulled his gun and Mulder heard the safety 
being switched off Scully's gun right behind him. She 
brushed past him to stand in front of him. 

The shape-shifter took a few steps closer and stopped again, 
eyeing them thoughtfully. "Well, well, well. You're better 
protected than we thought," she said, her eyes on Mulder. 
"Much better protected." 

"Turn around and walk away," Skinner advised her. 

"Or what?" she wanted to know, her eyes shifting to his. 

"You die," he countered indifferently. 

"Do I now," she cooed, smiling coldly. "And how do you 
propose to survive killing me? My blood is poison to you 
people. The vapors alone will cause you incredible agony 
before you die." 

"Not out here it won't," Skinner told her, still sounding 
utterly indifferent. 

That seemed to cause her to pause. She didn't reply at once 
and a frown furrowed her brow. She was a beautiful woman, 
yet her eyes displayed her true self and that made her ugly. 
"And how do you know that?" she wanted to know. 

"I just know," Skinner countered and finally raised his gun. 
"Turn around and walk away," he repeated. 

Shaking her head almost sadly, she took a step forward. "I'm 
sorry, but I can't do that. I had never planned on it going 
this far, you know. I got a bit carried away," she told 
them, her eyes flicking back to Mulder, who in turn flinched 
and drew back a step. Scully had raised her gun as well and 
had it trained on her. She was so close to just pulling the 
trigger right there and then, that it actually scared her a 
little. Mainly because she felt nothing at the prospect of 
taking a life. "Walk away," she supported Skinner's 
statement. The woman smiled. "How's the head, Agent Scully?" 
she countered and the smile became a grin. Evil and 
unattractive. 

"One step closer and we open fire. Turn around and walk 
away," Skinner told her once more. "I'm not telling you 
again." 

She kept on grinning, obviously convinced that they would 
not do it. She was looking forward to having some more fun 
and if it meant killing those two in her way, she would. She 
was gleeful in anticipation when she stepped forward. Just 
then, she realized that Skinner had not been kidding. He 
fired the moment she moved. The slug hit her dead center in 
the forehead, ripping through her brain and instantly 
destroying the nerve-center which allowed beings like her to 
usually survive shots like that. Her dying thought was that 
he had known exactly where to shoot her to kill her. And 
then the world went black. 

Skinner lowered his gun as the woman collapsed to the 
ground, the disintegration starting up almost instantly. 
"Well," he said while watching the body on the ground turn 
to green slush, "nobody can say I didn't warn her." 

Mulder stood still, staring out at the scene with an odd 
feeling in his guts. What actually surprised him the most 
was that Skinner had killed to protect him. Slowly, his gaze 
drifted over to his boss and he stared at him. "You killed 
her," he stated, his tone of voice displaying his surprise. 

Skinner looked back at him for a moment, then glanced at 
Scully. "After seeing what she did to Scully, I didn't want 
to take any chances. After hearing about what she did to 
you..." He left the rest unsaid. There was no need to 
continue that sentence. With a tight expression, he went 
back into the cottage. "Now we can all go home," he added 
and went upstairs to get his things. 

Scully sighed deeply, her eyes still on the rapidly 
dissolving body out there. "Yes, now we can all go home," 
she agreed and turned to face Mulder. "But I still want to 
keep an eye on you, so you're coming home with me." When he 
opened his mouth to argue, she raised a hand. "No 
discussions, please. There's nothing to discuss. You're 
going to stay with me until you're fully recovered. End of 
story." Mulder just stared at her for a second, then 
gingerly stepped aside to let her back inside. She strode 
past him and followed Skinner upstairs to get her things. 
All the while, Mulder kept staring out at what was left of 
his nemesis and he just couldn't help wondering if she had 
been a clone. 

THE END....? 

Feedback=more stories piacathrin@rasmussen.mail.dk