Fox and the Howned Series by K. D. Enriquez Agh! This character just won't die! Email me comments. This is a work of fiction based on "The X-Files" and the characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully which are property and copyright of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting Company. All other characters and the rest of the plot is *MINE* so there! No infringement is intended in any way, shape or form on that copyright. But if you'd like for me to write a script, Chris, I'm free buddy. I give permission to freely distribute this work in its entirety as long as proper credit is given to me as the author. So, like, don't go changing the title or forgetting to keep my name on it. O'tay? "Home from the Hill" By. K Enriquez SciNut@aol.com 4/15/95 Fox Mulder slammed the door to his apartment closed and cursed. He should've known better than to push the subject with her. Hell, he *did* know better but that hadn't stopped him. It was really a stupid argument to begin with but because he'd thought he was right and she'd thought she was right, neither had backed down. What had started as a simple difference of opinion had turned quickly into a nasty exchange of regretted words. Of course, this was probably for the best. He thought to himself as he crossed to his kitchen without turning on the lights. They had both needed to let off a little steam since last week at the end of a hard case. He should've known better, then, as well. He just wished the steam letting had been done on another person. He wasn't all to pleased with himself for going at Scully that way. He hadn't meant anything he'd said. The words had been a product of anger. He felt a surge of guilt and wondered how he would be able to apologize as he opened his refrigerator to scan its contents. He was greeted by a carton of milk, three day old pizza, the remains of some stir-fry he'd experimented with and the untouched casserole Mrs. Bigsley had brought him from next door. A disappointing sight in the least but then again, he really wasn't hungry. Slowly, he closed the refrigerator door. He stood for a moment and wondered how much of what Scully had said she actually had meant. Probably the same amount as he, but the contemplation brought another thought: Why should *he* be the one to apologize? She'd been at fault too. He couldn't really blame her though, he thought as his brain shifted gears. He had to put the blame where it belonged starting with their last case. Too many memories had been stirred up. Too many old wounds re-exposed and re- examined. He'd been late. The whole thing was his fault. Another burden on his conscience and he no longer wanted to think about it. He turned to head to the couch for some television when he realized he wasn't alone in the apartment. *** Dana Scully knocked on the door again. She'd been standing outside Mulder's place for the better part of fifteen minutes without an answer. She sighed in frustration. He couldn't still be angry. Mulder never could stay mad at her long for which she was grateful. If there was one thing she could do without, it would be Mulder's short, intense temper. "Mulder?" She called through the door. "Don't be stubborn, answer the door." Silence. A slight uneasiness settled into the back of her mind as she retrieved her key. She unlocked and opened the door on his small, but modest, apartment. *** He awoke, face down, on the cold floor of a darkened warehouse. His head throbbing in pain and he shut his eyes against a wave of nausea. He swallowed slowly and wondered why he seemed to attract head wounds. He felt the lump at the base of his skull and, as his fingers came away sticky, he knew he was bleeding badly. Gaping head injuries tended to bleed more than they should. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, careful of the weight of his head, and stared up at the ceiling. He was greeted with the sight of, what he assumed, was an overhead light fixture. However, the florescent image was blurred and the edges of his vision had turned a dull shade of grey that continued to darken. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he should be alarmed but thinking when he opened his lids his vision would be normal. Once again, he attempted sight only to be rewarded with an even more obscure image. he revealed to himself. Then he heard the laugh. A deranged giggle that echoed from the catwalk. Mulder sat up too quickly and was blinded by the bright stars exploding in front of him. The laughter was impossibly familiar. He found himself denying his own ears as fear paralyzed him. The stars faded and he peered up at the shadowed catwalk. Mulder thought over and over as the voice reached him. "'Under the wide and starry sky, / 'Dig the grave and let me lie, / 'Glad did I live and gladly die, / 'And I laid me down with a will.'" "You're dead," Mulder said aloud, terror creeping into his voice. He could barely make out the shape of a figure slowly moving towards him. "'This be the verse you grave for me'," the other continued in anger and hatred as if Mulder hadn't spoken. "'Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea, / 'And the Hunter home from the hill.'" "You're dead," Mulder repeated as the blurred image of Todd Howned stood before him. *** Dana Scully glanced around instantly knowing the apartment was empty. She sighed in exasperation. He would have to hold a grudge over something so stupid. She quickly took back the thought, after all, he wasn't completely to blame. She'd had no right to say those things to him. He couldn't help the way he was. She wandered into his kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She knew he had nothing to eat so she wasn't surprised to see some old pizza, an untouched casserole (from his nosey neighbor, no doubt), a carton of milk and leftover stir-fry. Curious, she hesitantly picked out a piece of diced chicken and popped it into her mouth. She refused to allow herself to wonder how long it had been sitting in his refrigerator. Dana chewed thoughtfully on the morsel, pleasantly surprised at how good it was even cold. Probably re-heated take-out which meant it was older than she thought. She *knew* Mulder didn't cook. She sighed again, wondering where he would have gone. *** "How?" Mulder asked in horror and disbelief as he scooted another five feet backwards. Howned smiled, insanity making his eyes twinkle. Mulder blinked, quickly, several times trying, in vain, to clear his vision. "I saw you..." "Saw *what*?" Howned screamed in rage. "Saw that pathetic little man and his pathetic excuse for aim?" He broke off into a barking laughter void of humor. "He MISSED!" Mulder flinched in fear and moved further away. Howned shrugged and continued calmly, "I'm just a really good actor." Mulder continued to stare up at Howned with half blind eyes. He was shaking uncontrollably, fear paralyzing his legs. His eyes fixed on the .22 rifle in Howned's right hand. Images of his previous encounters with Todd Howned flashed in his mind's eye... ...Howned standing behind a cutting board mutilating the six-year-old girl's body... ...Howned standing before him with a set of jumper cables in one hand and a syringe of heroin in the other... ...the body parts Howned had sent him in the mail... ...Howned falling off the dock into the water, shot, dead... Mulder told himself as he stared at the figure before him. He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to stop shaking like a frightened child. He needed to think. "So," Howned began in a light, conversational tone. "What have you been doing with yourself these days?" "Not much, really. And yourself?" Mulder answered, his voice betraying his fear. He had learned, through experience, not playing into Howned's fantasies brought pain. A knowing smile crossed his face. "Oh, I'm glad you asked. I've been preparing for Hunting Season." Mulder felt a shudder go through him. "R..r..r...really?" "Oh, yes. The best, most rewarding season." "What season is that?" Mulder asked knowing it was the question Howned wanted. "It's Fox season. I've been waiting a *long* time to Hunt Fox." He bent his knees, laid the rifle across his thighs and gazed deeply into Mulder's eyes. "I know that Fox is quick and cunning. Fox should make an interesting Hunt, don't you agree?" Mulder swallowed the lump of terror in his throat. "I...I dunno. I thought killing Fox was illegal." Howned laughed a genuine laugh. One with no trace of madness. "Since when did the Law mean anything to me?" Mulder shrugged, unable to speak. "Okay, here's the rules," Howned began as he sat cross- legged on the concrete floor, the gun still across his lap. "You get ten seconds to run then the Hunt begins." Mulder felt his jaw go slack. "What?" Howned sighed as if he were frustrated with trying to teach a slow child. "I count... one, one-thousand, two, one- thousand, et cetera. You run. When I get to ten, I shoot you. It's not a hard concept." Howned got to his feet and pointed the rifle in Mulder's direction. "So, stand up and get ready." Mulder, uneasily, got to his feet. His shaking had slowly subsided as adrenaline had pumped into his limbs. He glanced around him, peering desperately through tunneled vision. He was in trouble. From what he could see, the ware house was at least 200 meters across in each dimension. He guessed he was standing somewhere in the middle and he felt his stomach clench. The nearest door was at least 100 meters away and, even though he ran everyday, gone were the days when he could run the 100 yard in five seconds *and* he was hurt. "Ready?" Howned asked. Mulder met his gaze. He felt dizzy as he nodded. He prayed Todd Howned had as good an aim as Jonathan Williams. "Okay." Howned replied adjusting his weapon. Clear was the anticipation in his voice and the excitement in his eyes. "On your mark..." Mulder tensed his legs. "Get set..." "GO!" Mulder bolted. Fear gave his legs an inhuman strength as he tore across the empty warehouse. He focused his blurred vision on the door handle in the distance. He heard his echoing footsteps on the concrete floor. In the background, he heard Todd Howned... counting. "Three, one-thousand..." Good God, he was on three? It was too far, he wouldn't make it. He'd only managed to cover about 30 meters. He willed himself faster. "Four one-thousand..." Blood pounded in Mulder's ears making him dizzy. The ground seemed to slant ever so slightly. He was halfway there. Just a little faster. "Five one-thousand..." Mulder's breath became shallow and he pulled in deep gasps trying to regulate his breathing. All those years of practice and the conditioning had left him when he needed it most. Almost there. He needed to go faster. "Six one-thousand..." The muscles in his calves were beginning to burn. "Seven one-thousand..." Mulder hit the door at full speed hoping that his weight would open the door faster. "Eight one-thousand..." It didn't open. He felt his heart sink as he realized it was probably locked. He leaned into the door again pushing with all his strength. In the same instant he glanced down at the red sign by the handle. "Nine one-thousand..." The word "Pull" looked innocently back at him in white blocked letters. "Ten one-thousand! Ready or not, here I come!" Mulder shifted his weight and pulled the door open. He dove through the opening in the same instant he heard the thunderous report of the .22. He felt the slug bury itself in his shoulder, passing between his shoulder blade and the joint and then out to fall somewhere in the night. The impact dropped him to the ground; pain exploding across his chest. The sweet taste of blood lingered in his mouth from where he'd bitten through his lower lip. The chill spring air assaulted his lungs and he coughed. Self-preservation ordered him. With great effort, Mulder pushed himself up to his knees and glanced around him. A weapon, he needed something to fight with. Fear added. A long iron pipe peeked out of a nearby trash can. He grabbed it with his left hand and pulled. The action drained him and he dragged it over to the door. He could hear Howned's footsteps as he approached at full speed. Mulder's right arm was numb. There was no way to fight Howned, he could barely hold the pipe. Even completely healthy, Mulder was no match for Todd Howned. Howned was the same height, more muscled and former Army. Maybe, the pipe could be used to hold the door shut. Gripping one end of the pipe with his barely functioning right hand, Mulder used his right leg to swing the other end up to his left hand. Then he slid the pipe horizontally through the door handle and wedged it up against the frame. The make-shift lock wouldn't hold long though. All it would need was a little jiggling and the pipe would become unbalanced and slip out. He heard Howned hit the door and the pipe creaked on the wooden frame as Todd pulled from the other side. I need time to think, Mulder said to himself as he gasped in the chill spring evening. He glanced around him. Quickly deciding on a direction, he staggered off down the waterfront. *** Shutting the refrigerator, Scully turned to head back into his small living room. She was greeted by the familiar couch, the dark television and the sound of the bubbling filter for his fish tank. For a moment she just stood, wondering why she felt suddenly so relaxed. She strolled over to the fish tank. She noticed it was still empty. The fish having long since died when she and Mulder had been in the arctic. There'd been no one to feed them. Why did he have the tank still? She knew fish were supposed to be relaxing but maybe it was just the comforting sound of the filter. She turned and gazed, unseeing, at the room. She found comfort in the silence surrounding her. Her roaming eyes fell on a discoloration on the hardwood floor. Bending down over the spot, she pulled the tip of one finger through what was clearly some liquid. She held it up to examine the substance and was alarmed to realize it was blood. She jumped as her cellular phone pierced the silence. end part 1a Subject: RP> F&TH 3: Home From The Hill (1b/1) "Home from the Hill" By. K Enriquez SciNut@aol.com 4/15/95 Mulder pushed further against the wall trying to take the most advantage of the shadows. Even though his arm was completely numb, he could feel the blood from the wound trickling down his arm and dripping from his fingertips. His suit shirt was plastered to his skin and he realized there was no way his cleaners, the miracle workers they were, would ever be able to repair this suit. The lock hadn't held as long as he'd thought it would. He hadn't gone fifty feet before he'd heard the iron pipe slipping to clatter on the pavement. In desperation, he'd ducked into this recess between the two nearest buildings hoping Howned hadn't seen him. He struggled to control his breathing. He exhaled each breath painfully slow to keep it from condensing in the chill air. He needed to be as still and silent as possible. He saw Howned before he heard him. Howned had seemed to appear from nowhere twenty feet away. He moved with the silent grace of a well trained soldier underneath a dim, flickering flood lamp. His eyes scanned both the docks and the shadowed alleys between the deserted warehouses. Mulder felt Howned's gaze sweep the area where he hid. He froze out of instinct and sent up another prayer for protection. Seemingly satisfied, Howned moved on, disappearing behind a stack of crates. Mulder let out the breath he held, slowly, and closed his eyes in relief. He shuddered as he opened his lids to a still blurred and blurring sight. He glanced uselessly around until his unreliable vision fell upon the image of a public telephone. Looking in the direction Howned had gone, Mulder bolted across the pavement to the phone. Reaching it, he lifted the handset from its cradle and, in a panicked stupor, dug in his pockets for change. Dialing the number instinctually, he prayed again. "Scully?" she answered. "Scully, I'm in trouble," he whispered in desperation. Her voice cut through his panic. It was like drowning and having someone throw a rope. "Mulder? Where the hell are you?" He blinked again and glanced to the stack of crates where Howned had vanished. "I don't know. A phone booth by the water." He felt the fear creep into his voice. "Dana, Todd Howned's alive. I'm hurt, I don't know how bad." He sagged against the booth feeling weariness overtake his body. "Where are you Mulder? Tell me anything you can." Now she sounded desperate. He blinked again. "I can't see well, he hit me on the back of the head with something." He paused as an idea came to him so fast it hurt. He squinted at the phone in front of him. "The number on the phone is 555-8431. I can't give you anything else but you should be able to trace it. You need to come fast, Scully. I'm out in the open here. I can't see and he shot me." He was pleading for no reason. He knew she would be there as fast as inhumanly possible. Suddenly, a dreaded voice broke in behind him. "The Fox is out of cover? You disappoint me." Mulder dropped the phone, ducked and turned all in the same movement. The motion took him out of the path of the downward swinging rifle grip. The glass of the booth shattered and rained down onto his head and shoulders. A shard hit him on the cheek and opened a small gash. Mulder glanced up, seeing the dark blur of the rifle. He brought up an arm to block the swing intended for his head. The impact hit him near his left elbow and he twisted his arm so the blow became only a glancing one. Then he leapt at Howned, connecting with his midsection. They both went down in a heap, both grunting in pain. Mulder heard the rifle hit the pavement and slide but he couldn't see where it went. Adrenalin flowed freely through Mulder's veins and he didn't feel Howned's knee hit him in the abdomen or the fist connecting with his chin. He rolled clear of the blows begining to rain down on him and struggled to his feet. He could hear Howned scrambling for the gun and he did the only thing that came to mind. He ran. "I knew this would be a worthy Hunt!" Howned shouted from behind him. Mulder chanced a glance over his shoulder. He saw Howned, still on the ground, bringing the retrieved weapon to bare. Mulder dove to the ground and the shot whizzed over his head. He climbed to his feet again and turned in a different direction heading for the very crates Howned had used. With Howned still on the ground and off balance, the second shot went wide. Mulder skidded around the crates to relative cover. Changing direction by 90 degrees, keeping the stack of crates to his back, he made a bee-line for an alley. Having reached Scully, his brain started to function. Now he knew he only needed to survive until she reached him. He had never been so happy to hear the wail of sirens beginning in the distance. *** Dana Scully froze in horror as the sound of gun fire echoed through the handset. Quickly, she disconnected the line and dialed the FBI serveilence department. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully. I need the location of a number." She rattled off her ID number and then the number Mulder had recited to her and waited. Todd Howned was alive and had Mulder, again. Her mind flashed back to the first time Howned had come for revenge. She'd been with Mulder that time. She watched helplessly as Howned had beaten him into pulp. She had never felt so useless. She could still feel the cold steel of handcuffs about her wrists and could still hear his voice as he had told her a message to give to Reggie Pardue, Mulder's first ASAC and friend. Howned hadn't known Reggie was dead. Two days had passed before Scully had found where Howned had taken him that first time. Two days, Mulder had been tied to a cold chair in an abandoned bar while Howned had done what he pleased. When she found Mulder, he'd had second degree burns from a car battery. There had been track marks up and down both arms from where Howned had injected him with ungodly amounts of heroin. Howned had gotten away that day only to return to torment Mulder further. Scully blinked out of her reverie only to realize that she was in her car and speeding through a red light. It's not fair, she thought to herself. No one should have to suffer as much as Mulder had. The rising sound of sirens penetrated her thoughts and it warmed her. Every cop in the DC area sounded like they were on their way. He may be "Spooky" Mulder, she thought, but he was still FBI. *** The wail of the sirens in the distance grew louder. Mulder guessed the closest was only about five minutes away and he headed in the direction he thought it was approaching. Five minutes could be a long time, he told himself. Battles had been won and lost in less time. He knew Howned was closing on him. There was more to this situation than Mulder had first realized. After all, Howned could've killed him while he'd been at the phone. So why hadn't he? The inquisitive part of his brain was toiling over the question while he tried to find a secure place to hide. Seeing a shadowed recess by a doorway he slipped into it and looked apprehensively behind him where he still heard Howned's pounding footsteps. The first time Howned had come after him, it had been solely for revenge. Howned wanted to make Mulder pay for putting him away at that mental institution. He wanted Mulder to feel what he felt and suffer through what he suffered. Howned went as far as "shock therapy" and "calming" drugs. At the end, Howned left him alive and he still wasn't sure why. The second time, Howned had taken victims and mailed Mulder their body parts to taunt him. Howned did it in such a manner that it was clear he wanted to be found. Even when Mulder had caught up to him, cornered him on the dock, he merely cowered on the wood in surrender. Until, of course, a grieving Jonathan Williams had emptied a 9mm at Howned. Mulder thought him dead then and he should've known, when the divers didn't find a body, Howned had escaped. And now, Howned had plenty of opportunities to kill him but didn't. After all the years of killing, the military training, Howned shouldn't have missed. Even on the ground and off balance, Howned should have been able to drill Mulder through the back of his head. The thought wasn't comforting but it was the truth. The footsteps grew louder and Mulder, once again, shrank further into the darkness. He froze as Howned bolted past him close enough to touch. Mulder counted slowly to twenty, listening intently as Howned continued away from him. He waited five more seconds and then slowly peeked around the corner. Howned was nowhere in sight, but considering his vision, Mulder decided now was not the best time to trust his eyes. He slipped around the corner and ran in the direction he had come. It would not take Howned long to realize what he had done. As the thought completed itself in his head, Mulder heard Howned laughing somewhere behind him. "Very good," Howned roared with mirth. "Very good indeed." Mulder stopped, knowing from the distance at which Howned's voice traveled he had a few seconds to catch his breath. He drew in deep breaths, gasping at the pain in his lungs and the fire blossoming across his chest from the bullet wound. Mulder again listened for the sirens. They were still some distance away. He didn't know if he would be able to avoid Howned until they arrived. But, they would be heading for the phone booth where he called Scully. It was the most logical place to start a search and Mulder knew he needed to make his way back there. He also knew that Howned knew the same thing. Gathering his courage and his strength, he began to run. *** Scully turned a final corner and was greeted by vacant, darkened buildings. The lights from the street reflected off the Potomac. The masts of moored sailboats were barely distinguishable in the darkness. She slowed the car and rolled down the window. The chill breeze from the river gently caressed her face while the urgent sound of police sirens eerily broke the night. Straining her ears she was surprised that the familiar sounds of crickets and newly awakened frogs were absent. The semi-silence was terrifying. Scully braked the vehicle. Turning on the brights she scanned the open dock before her. To her left was the river, a black nothingness broken only by the reflection of equally spaced dock lights. On her right were the warehouses. Somewhere here, Mulder was running for his life... if Howned hadn't caught him yet. Suddenly, her eyes spotted the phone booth from which Mulder had desperately called her. She pulled the car up next to it and examined the evidence without getting out. The glass was shattered and scattered about the ground. The handset was swinging slightly in the breeze; the metal cord squeaking unnaturally loud in the stillness. Dark red blood was smeared over everything from the bottons on the phone to the post on which the phone was bolted. He was hurt, she thought with fear taking hold of her soul. He needs you, she told herself immediately pushing the feeling away. Now was not the time to be afraid. Then she heard it, the laugh. The frightening familiar sound of Todd Howned laughing at something only he found humorous. "Very good," she heard the faint voice praise. "Very good, indeed." She floored the gas and turned the car in the direction of the voice. Hope filled her being as she knew Mulder was still alive. She turned a corner and headed down a side street. The headlights of her car cutting into the darkness. Suddenly, the familiar figure of Fox Mulder burst into the street ahead of her. Time stopped as he turned, the instantaneous realization of being on the wrong end of a car flashed in his eyes. In that instant, she took in his appearance and hit the brake. The tires locked and slid the car into a 180-degree spin before it came to a stop. Mulder dove out of the way and up against a far building. She threw the parking brake on and was about to leap out of the vehicle when another figure burst out of the alley. Recognition flared in Todd Howned's eyes and the smile that crossed his face froze her. "Learn to keep your head down!" Howned shouted at her, bringing the rifle up. *** Mulder plastered himself against the wall as the car skidded past him. He'd never been so happy to see Scully's car. He was about to breath a sigh of relief when Howned appeared from the alley and stopped in front of the car. "Learn to keep your head down!" He said to Scully and brought the gun to bear on her. Mulder watched in stunned horror as Howned fired six shots into the windshield. He stared into the car hoping she'd hit the floor... ducked... anything... but his eyes failed him. The headlights of car blinding what vision he'd had of the driver side of the vehicle. The thunderous bark of the rifle echoed in his ears. He felt something in the back of his mind snap. The monster in his soul breaking free of the tight restraints he always held on it. His gaze focused on Howned as he turned and looked at Mulder with triumph. Reality faded as a red hue settled in his vision. *** Dana Scully dove to the floor of the car as Howned began to fire. She felt the bullets hit the windshield, passed through, and bury into the seat. She counted six shots before it stopped. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears. Then she heard a noise that sounded like something between a growl and a scream. She sat up in time to see Mulder leap onto Howned, knocking the gun away. His face was a mask of pure rage as they fell to the ground. She jumped out of the car and froze once more in shock. Mulder had straddled Howned and was pummeling him in the face with his fist. The sound of crushing cartilage made itself heard as Howned's nose became a bloody smear. The next blow fractured his jaw and the next landed just above his left eye. There was an accompanying crack Scully belatedly registered as Mulder's right hand. But the broken bones did not slow his blows. In desperation, Howned threw a punch of his own which, miraculously, connected with Mulder's chin. Immediately, Mulder leapt to his feet and took a small step backwards. Scully breathed a sigh of relief that changed to one of pure horror. Mulder drew back a foot. The animalistic blows began to connect haphazardly about Howned's chest, head and upper body. Mulder kept kicking, showing no signs of slowing. Scully caught a glimpse of Mulder's eyes. They were glazed with a rage she'd never seen before, even on Mulder. She knew, in that moment, the anger always clouding Mulder's features was merely a shadow of what he fought to control. Pure, unhindered, murderous rage had taken the place of the friend she knew. He wasn't going to stop. She knew it like she knew the sun rose and set. He would not stop until either Howned was dead or someone stopped him. She also knew she was the only person in the position to try. The crackling sound of shattering ribs catapulted her into action. She ran the few short feet to Mulder's back. He was completely oblivious to her presence and for a short moment she debated on whether or not to just let him kill Howned. But the thought came and went quickly; Mulder would never forgive himself. Scully reached out, one hand grabbing Mulder's left wrist and the other clamping onto his injured shoulder. She felt his blood ooze between her fingers as he grunted in barely registered pain. She pulled on his wrist, trying to pin it behind his back, but he turned drawing back a fist. Scully was grateful that anger slowed the reflexes. The swing was clumsy and slow enough for her to duck underneath. She side-stepped his left handed counter-punch and was again behind him. She didn't want to hurt him, but she realized she had little choice. She grabbed his right hand and twisted. She felt the shattered bones grate against each other and he leaned to the right in pain. The motion put him off balance allowing her to pull the arm up behind his back. She wrapped her left hand around his wrist and put her right hand again to his injured shoulder. In the same motion she swept her left leg in front of his and pushed forward in a classic take-down. Mulder fell and she followed him down never releasing his arm. She landed with all her weight on his back, effectively pinning him to the ground. Reaching behind her she retrieved her handcuffs. After putting them securely about his wrists, she placed a knee to the small of his back, a hand on his temple and settled in to the task of holding him down. "Please stop, Mulder." She whispered to him as he continued to struggle. Several minutes passed before Mulder began to still. Scully wiped the tears from her face with her free hand. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but she did. In grabbing his broken hand, she'd pushed the bones out of alignment and now he'd need surgery to repair it. She glanced over her shoulder to his hands, still securely locked in the metal cuffs. The right hand was beginning to swell and turn an unhealthy shade of purple. Flashing blue and red lights signaled the arrival of the police. A white cruiser pulled to a stop behind Scully's car and the officer leapt out of the vehicle and approached. Scully watched as he eyed first the still and bloody form of Howned and then herself. "That the guy?" The officer asked gesturing at Mulder with his weapon. She shook her head. "No, this is my partner. They both need an ambulance." He stared at her for a brief moment before moving back to his car and grabbing up his radio. Ten more minutes passed. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics swarmed around Howned. Scully watched from her position atop Mulder's back. She heard them rattle off his injuries: broken jaw, crushed nose, eight broken ribs, fractured left ulna, possible multiple skull fractures with bleeding from the ears and eyes. Mulder had done possibly fatal damage in such a short period. Mulder's breathing slowed and she felt him gradually relax. For the first time since they'd met, she had been truly afraid of Mulder. Afraid that he had no control and turned on her with the same fury he'd unleashed on Howned. She jumped a little in surprise when he finally spoke. "What did I do?" His voice was devoid of any emotion. It was a flat, saddening sound. "You caught him, Mulder. He won't be hurting anyone for awhile." She felt him take a deep breath and she began to ease her weight slowly off his back. "No." He said again, this time with a slightly wavering tone. "What did I do to him? Is he...?" His voice trailed off, not finishing the question. "He's still alive," she offered. For now, she added to herself. Howned's condition was critical and the ambulance was already on its way to the hospital. She felt the shudder go through his body. She was unsure if it was produced by relief, disappointment or fear. "What was the last thing you remember, Mulder?" She asked with a gentle tone. His shuddering increased, and Scully moved off to kneel beside him. "I saw him fire into the car and I thought..." she heard him swallow. "Then he turned and looked at me with this look... like he'd won and I'd lost..." "Mulder, it's not important," Scully soothed retrieving the keys to the handcuffs and releasing him. The tone of his voice was beginning to worry her and she gestured to the paramedic who was standing nearby. She had refused to let anyone near them until Mulder had calmed. He took a deep breath as he sat upright. A paramedic kneeled next to him and began to probe his hand. Shaking his head, he continued. "I don't remember anything else. How did I hurt my hand?" He asked. Scully didn't answer. The look in his eyes told her he had already guessed the answer. He continued to babble in a state of shock. "I lost it." He said more to himself than to her. "I've only lost control once in my life. I was fourteen and it scared me then." He turned to her. "I didn't...?" She gazed back at him. She could tell, by the despair in his expression, what the rest of his unfinished question had been. He wanted to know if he attacked her like he attacked Howned. She helped him to his feet and across to the ambulance before she answered. "You didn't even know I was there." He would never forgive himself if he knew the truth. In all honesty, her answer wasn't actually a lie. "Don't worry about it, Mulder." She continued while crawling in to sit next to him. "It's over." end.