Cruel and Unusual Punishment Series
by P. C. Rasmussen



Disclaimer: 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, criticism, etc. are 
very welcome at 
piacathrin@rasmussen.mail.dk. 

Summary: This is the sequel to Ill Weeds Grow Apace and the 
third part to Cruel and Unusual Punishment. Mulder-torture 
and some angst. Once again in trouble with a woman who won't 
say die, Mulder runs into more than he can handle and once 
again Scully must come to his aide. Helped by an unlikely 
source, a new profiler who almost matches Mulder, she goes 
out of her way to find her partner before it's too late. Can 
she? Read it and let me know what you think. Feedback is 
greatly appreciated.

REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD
by P.C.Rasmussen

New York
The Consortium Lodge
46th Street
August 7
08.10 a.m.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man looked up from his morning paper 
when one of his many helpers turned up unannounced. She 
leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "Bad news, I'm 
afraid."

Looking up at her for a moment, he then lit a Morley and 
rose. Nodding to his counter-parts, he said, "Would you 
excuse me?" and followed the young woman out of the sitting 
room. "What kind of bad news?" he wanted to know once they 
were outside the building, walking slowly along the street, 
side by side.

She kept her eyes steadily on the pavement in front of her. 
"Not all are gone. The last one, the original, rose from the 
ashes after her benefactor tried to retire her. She's not 
dead. And she is set on revenge. There is only one likely 
source she will take that out on."

That was bad news, indeed, and it brought a frown to his 
face. "Unacceptable. Get a hold of our friend and have him 
deal with it. I want no further trouble from these females," 
he said, thinking with disgust of what these females had 
done to one of his protégés. This would not be repeated.

The young woman nodded in acceptance. "Right away. It may 
not be necessary, though. Her benefactor said it's only a 
matter of days before she dies," she countered and continued 
on her own along the street after he had stopped.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man watched her go while thoughtfully 
blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. Content in the 
knowledge that his more-than-human friends could deal with 
this situation on their own, he returned to the lodge, 
settled down on his chair and resumed reading the newspaper. 
There was fairly little in this world that could push him 
off track. And this was not going to be one of these things.

Alexandria 
Fox Mulder's residence 
August 9 
10.15 p.m.

The dialogue of the movie was getting old. Having seen WAR 
OF THE WORLDS a million times, Fox Mulder had never thought 
he could get tired of it. But he didn't feel like watching 
nonsense tonight. Like any other night since May.

He could positively say that he had changed since May. Four 
months had passed since his finale encounter with that crazy 
shape-shifter. In those four months, he had gotten his 
shoulder forcefully broken and put back together again in a 
miraculous way. He had become a drug addict and had been 
forced off the drug again. His whole life had been screwed 
up. And three months before that, it had all begun with a 
most painful and horribly embarrassing encounter. Seven 
months of his life had been messed up by that odd invention 
that the Consortium was obviously so proud of. Shaking his 
head at that thought, he switched the television set off and 
leaned back on the couch, his feet on the coffee table.

He was a mess. No matter how much he fought the very notion, 
he knew he was a mess. His mind was screwed up by those 
incidents. At first the torture, then the fear, then the 
sense of freedom when he had thought himself safe. And then 
she had resurfaced and beaten the crap out of him, nearly 
killing him, forcing him into a brief yet painful addiction 
to a drug that had since disappeared mysteriously from the 
market again. Too many events to process in one go. And all 
within a year.

He had gone back to work as soon as he could, taking the 
time to recover, yet pushing himself back into action. Just 
so that nobody could hold that against him as well. And he 
also knew that he had to get back on the horse, 
metaphorically speaking.

One month ago he had done his best profile yet, helping to 
catch another crazed killer within the short time span of 
three weeks. That was all it had taken him to figure out who 
the guy was. They had found out where he was hiding, had 
arrested him and Mulder had testified in a court of law 
against the man, thereby certifying that he would not get 
out of prison again for quite a long time.

And Mulder had fooled Skinner. He knew as much. Skinner 
thought he was over the events, which had ended in May, and 
he had done nothing to prove the man wrong. After the 
successful profile, Skinner had padded his shoulder and told 
him, "Welcome back." He had grinned and had joined in on the 
celebration this quick arrest of that lunatic had resulted 
in. But on the inside, he felt everything but happy. He was 
alert nearly twenty-four hours a day. He slept badly. He 
drank coffee by the bucket just to stay awake long enough to 
nearly pass out. Only then could he sleep without dreaming.

Sighing, he ran both hands over his face, briefly thinking 
of all the new scars he could add to his collection and 
grinned joylessly. This was not good. Not a good line of 
thought. If he didn't get his mind focused on something 
other than what had transpired four months ago, he would 
dream about it. And he would wake up screaming.

Before he had a chance to come up with something, the phone 
rang. With a hunch of who it could be, he picked up. "Yup?"

"It's me." Scully's voice was subdued and he could hear the 
television blaring away in the background.

Mulder smiled. She was calling him on a regular basis, 
checking in, so to speak. "Hi," he said. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering what you were up 
to," she countered, trying to sound indifferent but not 
quite managing.

Now there was someone he hadn't fooled. He couldn't fool 
her. No matter how hard he tried. She called him almost 
every evening to talk about nothing, to ask if he was okay, 
to wish him sweet dreams. He in turn wished that her wishes 
would come true. But usually, they didn't. "Nothing much, 
either," he replied, still smiling. It warmed him that she 
was so concerned about him. A concern she kept under wraps 
while they were working together. "What are you up to?" he 
wanted to know.

She suppressed a yawn and chuckled. "Oh, I was about to go 
to bed. Just wanted to... you know... check in. And remind 
you that we have a meeting with Skinner tomorrow morning. 
Nine sharp."

He could not help laughing softly at that. "Don't worry. I 
haven't forgotten. I know how much it means to him that 
we're there on time. But, let me in turn remind you of that 
you've got the car."

A brief pause followed that and he could just imagine her 
expression. "Oh yeah, that's right," she finally countered, 
managing to sound a little embarrassed. "Well, then I guess 
I'll just have to pick you up tomorrow, won't I?"

The whole thing was beginning to be very amusing. "Isn't 
that a little out of your way, Agent Scully?" he countered. 
"Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were coming 
on to me."

That made her laugh out loud. "Don't flatter yourself, Agent 
Mulder. I'm just trying to do you a favor so you don't have 
to take public transportation to work, God forbid," she told 
him, her tone of voice full of irony. "I'll be there at half 
past. Just be ready, okay? I'm not coming in to wake you up. 
If you're not downstairs when I honk the horn, I'm leaving 
and then you can take the bus to work and explain to Skinner 
why you are late for this meeting."

Mulder enjoyed these little conversations they had. It made 
him think of other things. "Yeah, I'll just tell him you 
ditched me even though you promised to pick me up," he 
countered, grinning.

"I ditched you?" she shot back, sounding a little baffled. 
"Now there's a thought," she added. "I'll be there at eight 
thirty. Be ready. I will come up and drag you out of bed if 
I have to."

"Oooh! Now that makes me want to stay in bed," he said.

"You wish," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, 
Mulder. Sweet dreams."

"Thanks. You, too," he countered and hung up. "Yeah, 
sometimes I do wish," he added with a smile and decided to 
turn in. His mood was decidedly better now and he thought he 
might actually have something else to dream about. Something 
good for a change. Tired and for once not afraid to admit 
it, he reached out to switch off the lamp, slid down on his 
couch, pulled the blanket up to his nose and closed his 
eyes. He needed a good night's sleep.

10.35 p.m.

Down on the street, across from the building, a shadow 
stirred in a dark doorway. Phoenix broke out of the shadows 
and stared up at the now dark window, her eyes glowing with 
hatred. In general, she had nothing against Fox Mulder, she 
didn't even know him except from what her now dead sisters 
had told her, but her former benefactors seemed to think he 
was important to their goal and what better way to bring 
them down than to remove one of their crown jewels? And she 
would make him suffer for her defeat. She needed one of her 
former benefactors' little inventions to stay sane. They had 
taken it away from her and with every passing day, she would 
become more of a threat to her surroundings. Still fully 
aware of her own madness, she glanced either way before 
stepping out on the road. Her hands deeply buried in the 
pockets of her long, dark trench coat, she made her way 
across the street, her eyes on the entrance to the building.

August 7 
08.30 a.m.

Dana Scully stopped the car and honked the horn, leaning 
back to wait a moment. Nothing happened. Leaning forward a 
bit, she glanced up at his window and sighed. "Damn it, 
Mulder. Are you really going to make me come up there?" she 
mumbled under her breath and glanced at her watch. "Two more 
minutes and I'm coming up, Mulder," she added. "And I'm not 
going to be gentle." With a sigh, she shook her head in 
annoyance, switched off the engine and pulled the key out of 
the ignition. She pushed the door open and stepped out on 
the road, a fresh breeze making her stop short for a second 
while she stared up at his living room window. She slammed 
the door of the car and locked it, then stalked across the 
street and up the few steps to the front door of the 
building. "You better have a hell of a good excuse for this 
one," she mumbled as she pushed the door open and stepped 
inside. She caught the elevator to the second floor and 
walked purposefully down the hallway until she came to his 
door. Giving the 42 a sharp glare, she raised her fist to 
knock. His front door swung open at first contact.

Scully froze, staring at the half-open door in surprise and 
sudden dread. A feeling of deja vu crept up on her and 
holding her breath, she pushed the door fully open and 
stepped through to the small hallway beyond. "Mulder?" she 
called. No reply. "Oh no, not again," she whispered, 
examining the immediate area closely. No blood stains. That 
was at least a good sign. She walked through to the living 
room and stopped short at the sight of the damage done 
there. The coffee table had been turned over, a blanket was 
tossed across one of its legs, the couch had been moved a 
bit and the pillows lay scattered on the floor next to it. 
It was obvious that he had not given up without a fight. 
Just to make sure that she was not reading this scene wrong, 
she went into the bedroom and found it as untouched as it 
had been for the past seven months. The bathroom was also 
empty and the kitchen, too. Running a hand over her face, 
she had trouble suppressing her immediate feelings for a 
moment, then dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called 
for help.

Location unknown

Slowly, he came to. He was greeted by the vague memory of a 
struggle, a thudding headache to prove it and the inability 
to move. His head snapped up sharply, pushing the headache 
up a notch, but his immediate disorientation allowed for 
nothing less. Trying to blink, he realized he was 
blindfolded and sitting on a chair. His wrists and ankles 
were tied to the chair by what he could only identify as 
some kind of strong yet thin string. Turning his head a 
little, he listened to his surroundings, trying to hear 
beyond the heavy thudding of his own pulse in his ears. 
There was no sound. After a moment, he focused his feelings, 
trying to estimate how much damage he had sustained. It 
amazed him that not even the headache was very severe. It 
was there, but that was about it. He tried to brush the 
blindfold off and couldn't. In an attempt to bend forward so 
he could use his fingers to get it off, he found that he 
also had string tried around his chest, which cut into his 
flesh rather sharply. Grinding his teeth in annoyance, he 
settled back again, trying to stay calm. The worst thing he 
could do right now was let the fear take over. And it was 
about to. Heaving a couple of deep breaths, he attempted to 
calm himself enough to think rationally. His attacker. Who 
had it been? He forced himself to remember, to jog that 
photographic memory of his, and vaguely remembered a woman. 
The fear escalated. No, he told himself sharply. Another few 
deep breaths brought his temper back down. Think, he 
admonished himself silently. Think clearly. An image formed 
in his mind and he was certain that he had gotten it right 
this time. Yes, it had been her. She had rushed him before 
he could get to his gun. They had struggled, but she was 
stronger, faster. She had eventually knocked him out. How? 
He gave that some thought. His gun. Of course. She had hit 
him with the butt of his own gun.

The memory of the attack made him wince. What was it about 
him that made these... females flock to him like this? He 
shook his head mentally, unable to fathom what made these 
women tick. And it made him feel helpless that he couldn't 
understand what drove them. It was his job to know such 
things. He has always been able to know how the monsters of 
the world thought. But these ones he couldn't understand. 
Maybe it was because their violence was pointed at him, 
somehow triggered by him in a way he could not understand. 
His mind worked overtime trying to come up with a solution 
for this one. If he could only grasp why they did this to 
him, he could put himself in their place, see things from 
their perspective and maybe, just maybe, talk his way out of 
this latest pinch.

Just then, he froze. Somebody had expelled hot breath 
against his neck. He heard nothing, but the feeling had been 
there. Turning his head a little, he listened into the 
silence, trying to hear the sounds another human being would 
necessarily make. There wasn't a sound to be heard. "Hello?" 
he tried.

"Hi there." The words were breathed against his neck and 
they came so suddenly, that he jerked forward. A hand 
touched the back of his head, almost caressing his hair. 
"Easy. You're in a delicate position right now, Fox Mulder. 
A very delicate position. The chair you're sitting on is 
bolted to the floor. Your wrists, ankles and your chest are 
tied down with wire. You're blindfolded. You basically can't 
move and you can't see." The hand slipped away again. "So I 
would suggest that you sit there quietly and listen to what 
I have to say."

The only indication he got that she was moving was a slight 
draft. He couldn't hear her. She wasn't breathing in a way 
that was audible. And she certainly wasn't moving that way 
either. A finger trailed over his right arm, making him jerk 
again.

"I don't know yet if I'll let you get away from this one 
alive. It depends," she said, sounding as if she had moved 
across the room.

"On what?" he asked breathlessly, fighting the fear which 
threatened to consume him.

"On how much you know. On how deeply you're involved. It 
depends on whether or not you..." She paused. He suddenly 
felt her hot breath on his lips and jerked backward, trying 
to get as far away from her as he could. "... are part of 
their agenda."

"Wh..who's agenda?" he stammered. The fact that she could 
move within range and not make a sound he could distinguish 
worried him to no end.

"Raoul's," she countered, her tone of voice icy. Feeling her 
hands lightly on his knees, he guessed she was squatting in 
front of him.

"Who's... Raoul?" he asked, a little taken aback. He had a 
vague idea who she might be talking about, but he wasn't 
certain in any way.

"Bloodworth. Raoul Bloodworth, Fox Mulder. Our common... 
friend." The word friend sounded like the hiss from an angry 
snake. She obviously didn't consider this man to be a 
friend.

Recoiling when he felt a distinct draft and then her breath 
on his face again, he tried to make sense of her words. "I 
don't know any Raoul Bloodworth."

"Yes, you do," she growled. "You just don't his name." 
Rough, odd-smelling fingertips ran over his face.

He inhaled the smell, wondering what it was. The only thing 
he could relate that smell to was burnt flesh. The distinct 
smell a burnt corps had about it. "You're hurt," he finally 
said, ignoring her last comment. At the moment, he had to 
win her trust in some way, to make her understand that he 
might even be able to help her. All he really wanted, 
though, was to convince her that she didn't need to hurt 
him. "What happened to you?"

She drew back. "Nothing you should concern yourself about, 
Fox Mulder," she told him, her tone of voice giving away 
nothing. She moved behind him again, pressing her palms 
against the sides of his head. He tried to pull free but she 
held on tight. "Don't move," she breathed. He complied, 
afraid of what she might do if he didn't. She stood like 
that for a moment, her hands pressed against his head, then 
she let go and disappeared.

Frustrated due to his blindness, he turned his head to the 
right, listening behind him. But again there was no sound. 
"Where did you go?" he asked and received no reply. "Look, 
if you're hurt, maybe I can help you. My partner is a 
doctor."

That brought forth a reply of sorts. She chuckled. There was 
something distinctly mad about that chuckle. "Sweet, little 
Dana Katherine Scully," she cooed. "I know she's a doctor, 
Fox. I also know that she can't help me. She doesn't have 
what it takes."

She was somewhere behind him. Turning his head as much to 
the right as he could, he attempted to establish some kind 
of contact with her. "She's more resourceful than you 
think," he countered, thinking of how much his partner had 
been there for him over the five years he had known her. "If 
you've got a problem, she can find the cure." A sudden, 
sharp slap ripped his head around. His right cheek burned 
from the impact and he wasn't sure why she had hit him in 
the first place.

"I don't have a problem," she snarled, angry now. "The 
Consortium and those old farts have a problem. Because I'm 
going to destroy their sick little plan for world 
domination."

Mulder instantly perked up. What was this? The first real 
clue to what the Consortium was up to? World domination? 
How? "What are you talking about?" he asked, hoping that he 
wasn't pushing any buttons that might lead to his own 
destruction.

For the first time, she made a distinct sound as she plopped 
down on the floor. "They want to take over the world and 
fill it with their ideas of human beings. Sick bastards. 
They experiment on people. They take them away from their 
homes and alter them. They make them sick. They kill them. 
All in the name of their warped science. Didn't you know 
that?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't," he confessed. "I want to 
stop them, too. I don't want the world altered. The people."

"They need you. I don't know why. Maybe it's just Raoul and 
his fucked-up little mind we've got to worry about. But the 
Consortium in general..." She trailed off and did not resume 
what she had been about to say.

"The Consortium what?" Mulder asked, disoriented. She didn't 
answer. "Where are you?"

A hand suddenly slipped under his chin and pushed his head 
backward against her stomach. "Right here," she whispered. 
She wasn't violent. Not yet. The worst she had so far done 
to him was knock him out and slap him. He could live with 
that if that was the extent of her brutality. "I don't think 
I need to tell you any more. I think you know it already. I 
think you're just playing with me." Her other hand grabbed 
the back of his neck, clamping on tightly. He suddenly 
realized that she was in the position to break his neck 
right there and then. When he tried to speak, the pressure 
of her hand against his chin became stronger, preventing him 
for speaking. "I should kill you," she whispered. "I should 
kill you right now." She hesitated, then released him and 
backed away. "But I won't. No, I'll put you through hell 
first. Like they did with me."

"Listen to me for a moment, okay?" he begged, not sure it 
was the right approach. He couldn't quiet get a grasp on 
what was wrong with her. "I have nothing to do with them. I 
don't approve of what they do. Whatever they did to you, I 
can help you get back at them. I have contacts." A sharp 
slap against the back of his head interrupted him.

"Shut up," she growled. "You've talked too much." With those 
words, she slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth, 
effectively shutting him up. "You know, I don't like a lot 
of chatter, Fox," she added.

J. Edgar Hoover building 
A.D. Skinner's office 
10.45 a.m.

That Skinner was sitting behind his desk with an expression 
as dark as a thunder cloud, staring at her, didn't improve 
Scully's mood at all. He was angry. And baffled, too. As was 
she. "What the hell is going on here?" he finally asked. It 
was beyond him why these people, who ever the hell they 
were, could keep on doing this to Mulder.

"I don't know, sir," Scully countered, shaking her head. She 
felt defeated, anxious, ready to go after anybody who said 
anything wrong to her. "I talked to him last night. He was 
doing fine then."

Skinner got up and turned his back on her when he gazed out 
the window at the traffic far below them. The cars moved 
like ants down there and for a long moment, he didn't have 
anything to say. The honest truth was that he didn't know 
what to say. The whole thing had gotten way out of hand. 
"Did the forensics-team come up with anything? Any finger 
prints? Anything at all?" he wanted to know, not turning 
around.

"No. No finger prints. Mulder's prints are all over the 
place, of course. Mine are among them, too. And that's it. 
Nothing else. They're still checking the place out, but so 
far they have found nothing." Heaving a deep breath, she 
briefly closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. "I 
have... no idea where he could be."

Skinner turned back to face her, his jaw set, his expression 
tense. "Then I guess we have to talk to... 'him' again," he 
said after a moment, not at all happy about the prospect.

"What's the use, sir? If he gets involved again, Mulder may 
turn up again, but what's the use if he keeps disappearing 
every three months?" Scully had a hard time keeping the 
anger out of her voice. Skinner was not the right person to 
take it out on. Although she would love to know what had 
happened four months ago, before Mulder had turned up again. 
Something had transpired between Skinner and the Smoker and 
he had never said anything about it.

"I'm just about as fed up as I can get with this," he 
growled and sat back down on his chair. "This is insane," he 
added.

Scully could do nothing more than nod. "I know. And I 
believe Mulder feels the same way about this," she agreed. 
"If indeed he's still alive."

Skinner's eyes narrowed as he stared at her. "No dreams 
about him this time?" he inquired. Scully shook her head. 
"At present, Scully, I'm ready to do whatever it takes to 
get him back in one piece and off the hook once and for all. 
If we just knew what lies behind this insufferable need 
to... well... in want of better words... abduct him all the 
time." More distressed about this than he was willing to 
show, Skinner leaned back on his chair and pulled his 
glasses off, absentmindedly polishing them with a 
handkerchief he had pulled from his coat pocket. "I would 
love to know what the hell this is all about. There must be 
a reason for this... continued madness."

"These... women are clones. Obviously, there must be an 
original. A real person. I can't help thinking that this 
woman... providing she's still alive, that is... must in 
some way have transferred this... madness to the clones. We 
still don't fully know how the hereditary cycle works when 
it comes to madness. Whether it's in the genes or something 
else. If this is gene-based, then it's no wonder the clones 
are mad." Shaking her head, she briefly wondered why she 
would even think about that. It didn't lead them to Mulder. 
"In any event, I have no idea whatsoever where to start 
looking. And... I don't know if he's still out there. I 
think he might be. I mean, he would have been dead a long 
time ago if these... women wanted him dead."

Skinner sighed. "I don't want to hear about clones, Scully. 
I want to find out where Mulder is and what the hell is 
going on." Annoyed at the whole thing, he tapped his pen on 
the desk top after putting his glasses back on. "We need a 
profiler on this one."

Scully nodded in understanding although she had no idea who 
he would assign to a case like this. "That might be a good 
idea. Who do we have?"

Heaving a deep breath, the Assistant Director stared at 
Scully for a moment, wondering how she was going to take 
what he would tell her. "Usually, this would be the kind of 
case I would assign Mulder to. Instead, we have to put our 
faith in the new whiz-kid to come out of Quantico. She's 
been working as a criminal profiler with the VCS for over a 
year now and her profiles have led to some amazing arrests. 
She has been able to find killers and criminals in general 
where nobody else could even find a clue. She's sharp, she's 
young and very calm from what I hear. I haven't met her 
myself yet, but I think we'll go with her."

It didn't take much for Scully to realize that something was 
up. He wasn't keen on telling her this new profiler's name. 
"What's her name?" she prodded. "Maybe I've heard of her."

"I doubt it," Skinner countered. "Her name is Anna Krycek."

Location unknown 
Time unknown

After having gained control over his worst fears, Mulder was 
able to relax a little. Not being able to defend himself 
verbally when he could not move or see was among the worst 
things that could happen to him. His overactive mind 
produced all kinds of strange scenarios which furthered his 
need to panic and he had to clamp down on these feelings as 
hard as he could. It had taken him time to gain much needed 
control over his breathing and now that he had, he felt 
light-headed and utterly disoriented. The fact that his 
abductor had left him alone for a while now didn't exactly 
make things better, either. The way she could move, he 
wouldn't know she was back before she was right next to him. 
Not that he could do anything about it anyway. But if he 
could see her or hear her, at least he could prepare for the 
worst. The shock of a sudden slap or, for that matter, the 
stab of a knife would be enough to send him reeling out over 
the edge right now. Breathing deeply a couple of times, he 
tried to shake the eerie feeling that somebody or something 
was watching him.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the bare room, Phoenix 
watched her prisoner dispassionately. She had been sitting 
only a few steps away from him for over an hour now, 
patiently watching him stir at any sound, imagined or real. 
It thrilled her to no end that he could not make her out 
among the rather poor selection of sounds in this room. 
There were no traffic sounds as there was no traffic for 
miles around. There were no people in this area, either. 
Nature could not be heard here, no birds, no sounds made by 
natural things.

Wincing sharply at a stabbing pain in her head, she knew 
that her time of destiny was drawing nearer. Soon, she would 
die. And Fox Mulder would be left in this room to die with 
her. Only he would die slowly. She would go out with a bang. 
Rubbing her right temple with one finger, she eyed him 
closely. She could mess him up a bit before she went. Just 
to make sure he wasn't going to survive. Eventually, 
somebody would find them. That is, they would find him. 
There wouldn't be much left of her. She knew that. Although 
she wasn't a clone, her body-structure would be broken down 
and dissolved by the alien blood which flowed in her veins. 
Thinking back to the experiments she had been put through 
when she had been younger made her snarl. Both in anger and 
pain. She had been nothing but a kid when they had taken 
her. Removed her from her natural surroundings and stuffed 
her into a lab, bound at first like a lab-rat. Later, she 
had been allowed to wander around the establishment they had 
kept her in. They had taken tissue-samples to recreate her. 
When she had been old enough, they had taken her ova. All of 
them. She was barren as a desert now, unable to ever produce 
life on her own. Not that she would want to put children 
into this messed-up world. Besides, she didn't have the time 
any more. And the tests had made her mad. She had been given 
shots for this madness. They had tried to suppress it 
because she had great potential, they said. Potential? She 
almost spat on the floor. Great potential? To become what? 
An unfeeling, uncaring creature with no resemblance to her 
human heritage? She breathed in silently. 'I'm nothing short 
of a monster,' she thought and grinned joylessly. Well, she 
knew how important Fox Mulder was to the Consortium. So she 
would kill him to get back at them. The unfairness of this 
act was not yet totally lost on her and she in general felt 
sorry for him, but she was not going to give up on her plan. 
Somebody had to pay.

Distracting herself temporarily from her sad reverie, she 
glanced toward the outer wall of the room and frowned. The 
slightly moist scent had not escaped her previously, but she 
had been too preoccupied to do anything about it. Now she 
knew where it came from. The outer wall was damp. She got up 
and moved soundlessly over there to touch the damp plaster. 
For a moment, it occupied her mind, then the muffled sounds 
of her prisoner rearranged her priorities. Turning around on 
her heel, she walked back to him and sat down in front of 
him again, never once giving him anything to listen to.

J. Edgar Hoover building 
A.D. Skinner's office 
11.02 a.m.

Scully stared at her supervisor with nothing short of shock. 
He might as well have told her that the new profiler's name 
was Satan and that she resided in Hell. "Her name is what?" 
she asked, too stunned to react properly.

Skinner sighed again, folded his hands and propped his 
elbows on the edge of the desk. "Her name is Anna Krycek. 
Believe me, Scully, I had the same doubts you do. But, as 
far as I can tell, she's got nothing to do with... him. 
Nothing is mentioned in her file about any family relations 
to... him. She's half Polish, half British, born and raised 
in Wisconsin, Illinois. And she's among the best profilers 
to come out of Quantico in a good long while. We need her 
assistance."

"This cannot be a coincidence, sir," Scully began, but 
Skinner gave her a sharp look, making her shut up at once.

"Nevertheless, it is, Scully. Besides, I don't think we 
should consider them that stupid. To place a woman with the 
same name amidst our ranks would be the same as asking for 
trouble. If you still have doubts, you can ask her yourself. 
She'll be here in a moment."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. It opened and a 
woman as tall as Mulder stepped inside. She had a shock of 
pitch-black hair harnessed in a braid hanging over her right 
shoulder and the bluest eyes either of them had ever seen. 
High cheekbones indicated that she might have more than just 
Polish and British ancestors. Native American heritage came 
to mind immediately. She greeted both of them in a calm, 
quiet manner and took a seat when Skinner told her to.

"Agent Krycek," he started, obviously uncomfortable about 
her last name, yet doing what he could to suppress it. "This 
is Special Agent Dana Scully. You'll be working with her 
until we have found out what happened to Special Agent 
Mulder."

"Yes, sir," she countered, her tone of voice melodious and 
pleasant to listen to. "I will of course need all the 
information you can give me," she added, directing this to 
Scully. Scully in turn nodded, but refrained from speaking 
just yet.

"Of course," Skinner inserted with a warning glance to 
Scully. "The sooner you two get on this, the better. We 
would like to see Agent Mulder again. Alive." That said, he 
dismissed both women.

Basement office

Scully led the way down to the basement office, painfully 
aware of her somewhat cool disposition. She couldn't help 
it. Although she tried desperately to suppress this, she 
felt that she could see a similarity in the features of the 
woman following her down the corridor. Opening the door to 
the office, she stepped inside.

Anna Krycek followed her in and glanced around the office. 
The obvious comment which Scully expected didn't come, 
though. "Agent Scully, it may just be my imagination, but I 
get the feeling that you don't like me," Anna said after a 
moment's worth of silence.

Scully heaved a deep breath and decided to play with open 
cards for now. "I'm sorry if I come across a little... 
tense, but you must remember that it's my partner who is 
missing and I would really love to get this one rolling so 
we can find him. As for me not... uhm... liking you, I have 
a question for you and I would appreciate it if you would 
answer it truthfully."

Anna nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Do you have a brother, or a cousin maybe, called Alex 
Krycek?" Scully asked. She knew it was very forward of her 
to ask such a question just because the woman had the same 
last name, but she had to be sure. She knew for certain that 
she could neither work with nor trust this woman if she 
didn't know for certain.

"Uhm..." Anna began, looking a little perplexed. "No. Why?"

Scully stared intently at her for a moment, then dismissed 
it with a shrug. "I was just wondering," she said vaguely. 
"Should we get on with this?"

August 10 
03.30 a.m.

Anna yawned for the umpteenth time, shook her head hard and 
focused on the havoc of papers on the desk in front of her. 
"Okay, so the likelihood that he has, once again, been 
abducted or kidnapped or whatever you want to call it by the 
same woman again is quite big. I mean, who else would 
benefit from dragging him out of his apartment in the middle 
of the night?"

Scully shrugged and emptied another cup of coffee. "I don't 
know. I've come to the same conclusion. It must be her. 
But... I was told that she was dead." Fighting a losing 
battle to suppress a yawn of her own, she pressed a hand 
over her lips for a moment.

"Right. But you didn't see the body. So, theoretically, she 
could still be alive and... well... quite able to hurt him 
again. Do you have any idea why she's doing this?" Anna 
countered.

Finally giving in to it, Scully yawned heartily and shook 
her head at the same time. "No. I don't know why." She had a 
clue, but to mention that to Anna meant telling her 
everything and that wasn't what she wanted to do right now. 
Eventually, she would probably have to. "I think we should 
call it a night, anyway. I can't see straight any more. 
Let's go home, get some sleep and meet back here around 
seven. Okay?"

Anna nodded. "Good idea," she countered and got up, 
stretching. "I've got a car. Can I drop you off anywhere?"

Scully shook her head in reply. "No, thanks. I've got a car 
at my disposal, too," she countered, picked up her coat and 
headed for the door. "See you in four hours," she said.

"Three and a half," Anna countered, grabbed her own coat and 
followed Scully out.

Annapolis 
04.10 a.m.

Scully sighed deeply. Forget it, she told herself. She 
couldn't sleep. Not while her partner was still out there, 
maybe in dire need of her assistance. She shuffled through 
the papers she had taken home with her after brewing an 
extra strong pot of coffee and settled down on her couch to 
think it through. Five minutes later, she was out cold.

J. Edgar Hoover building 
Basement office 
07.10 a.m.

Scully dropped her briefcase on the desk and looked over at 
Anna, who was already at work, meticulously going over the 
conclusions they had arrived at the night before. "How long 
have you been here?" she asked with a slight frown.

Anna glanced up at her, gave her a ghost of a smile, and 
sighed. "About ten minutes or so. Did you get any sleep?" 
she countered.

"A little. What about you?" Scully pulled up a chair and sat 
down next to her.

"Couldn't stop thinking about this. I get the feeling that 
there's something I'm missing. I just don't know what." She 
shook her head weakly, staring down at a compilation she had 
written down by hand.

Scully eyed her for a moment, then decided to go the whole 
stretch. She still didn't feel entirely comfortable about 
this woman, but on the other hand, Mulder was still out 
there, probably in need of help. "Okay, I've got some more 
information for you which you might be able to use." Scully 
told her about the first encounter Mulder had been through 
with the shape-shifter, leaving nothing out. She expected 
Anna to perhaps scoff the idea of a shape-shifter, to 
disbelief the severity of the injuries her partner had 
sustained, but once she was done telling her about, Anna's 
expression remained serious.

"Jesus," she finally breathed, leaning back on the chair. 
"That must have been very... bad for him," she added, her 
tone of voice full of compassion.

Scully nodded, a little stunned by Anna's reaction. "It was. 
It still is. And it's also very embarrassing. That's why you 
can never tell anybody else about what I just said. Never. 
They will use it against him." She hoped and prayed that 
Anna would understand the seriousness of this.

Anna nodded. "Of course not. I never would," she countered. 
Her eyes narrowed while she thought this over. "That puts 
everything a new perspective, doesn't it?" she mumbled. "So, 
the first time she turns up, she attacks him at home. 
Disguised as you, no less." Scratching her right temple with 
one finger, she made a face. "That means they are trying to 
drive you apart. It doesn't work, though. However, I 
severely doubt that the second attack was part of their 
plan. It would be too obvious." staring intently at Scully, 
she tried to arrange all the details in her mind. "Meaning 
that this... female got a taste for what she did to him. 
It's not so much the sexual act as the pain she could 
administer. Clearly a nutcase."

Scully nodded. "I've figured as much myself. And that would 
also give us a motive for why she did it again. But... and 
this is important... we shot one of these clones. Whether it 
was the one who originally attacked him, I don't know."

"Probably not. The one who originally attacked him sounds a 
whole lot more aggressive. She would not have come up to the 
front door. She would have found a way of maybe getting into 
the house without being noticed. Now, the second attack... 
That one leaves me a little confused. Unless of course the 
first one is no longer among us and one of her... uhm... 
sisters wants revenge. That could justify the beating and 
the fact that he told you afterward that she almost killed 
him. If it hadn't been for that dark-haired woman who turned 
up out of nowhere and was responsible for his second 
abduction. She, however, doesn't seem to be a part of this 
agenda. She's an outsider, a... protector perhaps. 
Apparently, she killed the one who beat him up and took it 
upon her own shoulders to get him off the drug again."

The way Anna thought was no new experience for Scully. She 
could see much of Mulder's mind working in this one. "I have 
a hunch who is behind that. Mainly, I think that his 
opposition had something to do with the drug. My feeling is, 
that it was never meant to hit the market. It's something 
they've been tampering with and it got out by accident."

Nodding her head, Anna grabbed her mug and took a sip of 
tea. "Right. So, nobody was supposed to be on it. And it 
vanishes from the market immediately after he's been weaned 
of the drug. Okay, so maybe we should not pay any attention 
to the dark-haired woman right now. She may not be 
important. The first one of these shape-shifters came back 
to his apartment twice. Then you killed one of them and that 
gave him a little peace. Then one of them resurfaces, takes 
him to a remote old house and beats the crap out of him. 
Remote is the keyword here. These women don't like to be 
interrupted. Which means that he has probably been taken to 
another remote house."

"That might be right," Scully agreed, fiddling 
absentmindedly with the corner of a sheet of paper. "But, 
what I don't understand is why."

"Actually, the why is not as important as the where right 
now. If we can figure out where they might have taken him, 
then... we've got him." Frowning, Anna leaned forward and 
shuffled through some of the papers, looking for something. 
"Where did you say that cottage was where you took him after 
the second attack in his apartment?"

Scully frowned. "Uhm... up in the Appalachians. Why?"

"Where exactly? Is it close to any towns?"

"Uhm... yeah, it's close to Fulks Run. It's up in the George 
Washington National Forest. You don't think that she would 
take him there, do you?" Scully asked, sounding utterly 
surprised.

Anna pulled out a map and studied it for a moment, then 
glanced at Scully. "No, not back to the cabin, but maybe 
somewhere in the area. It is rather remote up there. And if 
the one that showed up at the cabin wasn't the one who 
attacked him in his apartment, then maybe they are located 
in the area. Maybe they hide out up there somewhere. It 
would make sense. I'll make some calls."

Location unknown 
Time unknown

Mulder was slowly but surely losing it. Having his senses 
cut off like this was driving him mad. He heard things he 
couldn't identify and being unable to move was putting an 
incredible strain on him. His hands were numb and his 
fingers felt swollen. He was thirsty and hungry and unable 
to judge how long he had been in this place. The glue from 
the duct tape covering his mouth was scuffing his lips, 
leaving them raw. The constant burning feeling and the taste 
of the glue was making him feel queasy. He cleared his 
throat for the umpteenth time and rolled his shoulders a 
little to keep his joints from freezing up completely. More 
than once had he thought that being beaten up was almost 
better than just siting here in the dark, waiting for 
something to happen.

He suddenly heard another of those sounds he could not 
identify. A kind of whistling through the air. But this 
time, it resulted in pain. Horrible pain radiating out from 
halfway down his left thigh. He felt the knife slice through 
his flesh and the muscle which instantly contracted at the 
harsh treatment and widened the gash made by the knife. It 
happened so suddenly that he had no chance to react properly 
before the pain, white-hot and blinding in intensity, spread 
through him. The knife went all the way through and embedded 
itself in the wood of the chair beneath his leg.

His breath suspended by the shock of the action, he sat 
rigid for a moment, every muscle in his body tense. Then he 
expelled a painful breath through his nose, clamping his 
teeth together against the pain. And all the while, he kept 
chanting to himself 'I've had worse, I've had worse.' He had 
to convince himself of this. Once again hyper-ventilating, 
he fought the nausea, the sick feeling to his stomach like 
nothing before. His pulse hammered away in his ears, 
drowning out any other sound. He knew that the pain, 
although bad, wasn't as bad as what he otherwise had 
experienced. It was the shock of the sudden and completely 
unprovoked attack that had stolen his ability to stay calm.

And then he felt her hands on his shoulders. "Soon, Fox 
Mulder, I will die. And when I die, you will be left here to 
rot. A slow, painful death. You'll starve to death, die of 
dehydration. Which ever comes first. And you know why?" 
Whimpering, he shook his head. "Because they promised me I 
would not go mad. But I am, as you have probably guessed, 
quite mad. And they are to blame. So to get back at them... 
a final death-cramp of mine you might call it... I'm taking 
away one of their most important assets. I'm taking you to 
my grave. And I'm going to hold onto you for all eternity. 
You see, they killed all my sisters. All my beautiful 
sisters. The only family I remember. They took me away from 
my home when I was nothing but a baby. They did tests on me. 
They changed me, altered me genetically. And for what? So 
they could once again drown one of their failures. They 
tried to keep me sane. I got shots for that, you know. But 
eventually, they scrapped this part of the program. I 
became... how shall I say... too much of a burden for them." 
She let out a gasp, her hands tightening on his shoulders 
for a second. Breathing in sharply, she held her breath for 
a second, waiting for the pain to subside so she could 
continue. "I just don't want you to die without knowing why 
you die. You see, I don't want to repeat their most common 
mistake."

Tears stinging his eyes, he wished he could speak, reason 
with her, but all he was able to produce were muffled sounds 
she couldn't understand.

She patted his right shoulder. "Sorry about the leg, Fox. 
It's just to make sure that you don't get loose and run 
away. You know, I am really sorry about this whole mess. 
It's... silly, really. I shouldn't take my hatred for them 
out on you. But I know I'll hamper their efforts valiantly 
if I kill you. But I'm not a killer. I can't... per say... 
kill you. So, I'm just going to sit down in front of you and 
wait for death to take me, knowing that we will join up 
again on the other side." She ran a hand harshly over his 
hair, a brutal caress. "You know, all the pain will be gone 
on the other side. There won't be anything left to fear. 
It'll be beautiful. We'll never have to worry about anything 
again." She was rambling. She knew that. But she just 
couldn't stop it.

Mulder was terrified. Listening to her words, her mad words, 
he tried not to let them affect him. Not too long ago, when 
Scully had been dying of cancer and he had felt the blame 
for it heavily on his shoulders, hadn't he thought the same 
thing? That the pain would end if he killed himself? But 
Scully had survived and he had, too. In a sense, she was his 
life line. Squeezing his eyes shut, feeling tears rolling 
down his face, he leaned his head back and begged for her to 
find him. Soon. Because only she could make the pain end. 
Only she could help him now.

Phoenix stepped around him, her eyes on the knife sticking 
up from his left thigh, and briefly thought of pulling it 
out. But something made her decide against it. Instead, she 
picked up the second, stiletto-sized knife and admired the 
pureness of the steel for a moment. Then her eyes flicked 
back to her prisoner while she tested the tip of the knife 
with one thumb over and over again, drawing green blood from 
her skin.

The intensity of the vapors of her green blood, although it 
was so little, hit Mulder full force. He gasped as much as 
he was able to when it hit his eyes, burning in them. 
Moaning, he realized that something was happening to the 
woman who had brought him here. 

Phoenix stopped cutting her thumb with the knife and looked 
down at the stiletto. Most of the tip had been burnt off by 
the acid of her blood. She cursed silently under her breath 
and turned for the door. Something she had not previously 
noticed caught her attention and once again brought to the 
still rational part of her mind that she was going crazy. 
Water was seeping in under the door. Frowning, she went over 
and opened the door, looking out into the hallway beyond. At 
the end of the hallway, by the outer wall of the basement, 
water was leaking into the building. "Damn it all to hell," 
she mumbled and walked toward the stairs leading up to the 
ground floor. She needed another knife, another stiletto.

J. Edgar Hoover building 
Basement office 
04.33 p.m.

Anna Krycek leaned back on the chair, impatiently tapping a 
pen onto the smooth surface of Mulder's desk and frowned at 
nothing, the receiver of the phone clamped in between her 
ear and her right shoulder. She had been on the phone more 
or less constantly since this morning, trying to get a hold 
of someone who knew something about property for sale in 
Virginia's higher regions. Finally, the phone at the other 
end was picked up. Smiling, she leaned forward again. "Hi, 
my name is Anna Krycek. I'm calling from the Federal Bureau 
of Investigation. I've got a question about property for 
sale up in the Appalachians around Fulks Run and I was 
wondering if you could help me out there." She perked up. 
"You could? Excellent. The thing is, I'm trying to trace 
whether any single females have bought any kind of remote 
property in that area over... say the last few months. Maybe 
even as far back as a year. - That's great. I'll hold." 
Holding her hand over the mouth piece, she looked over at 
Scully. "This guy sells property up there," she whispered, 
then removed her hand from the mouth piece again. "Yes? You 
don't, huh?" She didn't look happy. "Nothing? How about 
further out like Bergton? Anything in that area?" She waited 
for a moment, patiently hearing the man out. "Really? An old 
mansion that has been empty for years? - Did she now? - 
Really? - What was her name, if you don't mind my asking?" 
She gave Scully a thumbs-up. "Phoenix? A bit of an 
eccentric? Yeah, I bet." She laughed at something the man 
said. "Could you give me a description of how to get there?" 
She nodded, grabbed a piece of paper and sketched a route. 
"She did, huh? - No kidding? - Wow. Okay. Listen, thank you 
so much. You've been such a great help. Thank you. - Yes, 
I'll be sure to call on you if I need any property in that 
area. Thanks again. Bye-bye." Hanging up, she triumphantly 
raised the piece of paper. "I think this is it."

Scully got off her chair. "Talk to me," she urged her.

"This guy sold an old mansion that was just about ready to 
be torn down to a woman he says was a bit far out. But she 
had the cash, so he sold her the house. Apparently, she had 
it redone completely. And get this. She had a moat 
installed. A real, live moat. And a drawbridge, too."

Scully stared at her, a little confused. "What makes you 
think that this is it?"

Anna leaned back on the chair, the look of a satisfied cat 
about her. "Because the woman who bought this house called 
herself Phoenix and he swears he saw at least three women 
together looking exactly alike. All of them matching the 
description you gave me of that female who first attacked 
Mulder."

"Okay. That's good enough for me," Scully countered. "Grab 
your things. We're leaving. We just have to fill Skinner 
in."

A.D. Skinner's office 
05.10 p.m.

A.D. Skinner looked up when Dana Scully and Anna Krycek more 
or less stormed into his office unannounced. Before he had a 
chance to tell them off about it, they both started talking, 
glanced at each other and then Anna backed down and let 
Scully do the talking.

"Sorry about barging in like this, sir, but we think we know 
where to find Agent Mulder. A woman matching the description 
of that... female who first attacked him has bought an old, 
remote house up there and we have reason to believe that she 
might have taken him there."

Skinner stared at her for a moment, the reprimand stuck in 
his throat. "Up where?" he asked, glancing from one to the 
other, then fixing his stare on Scully.

"Bergton. It's south-west of here," Scully said.

"I know where Bergton is," he countered gruffly, then again 
glanced at Anna and then back to Scully. "Well? What are you 
waiting for? Get going. Get in touch with the local police 
force up there when you arrive and tell them to back you up. 
I'll give Bergton a call right now," he added, grabbed the 
receiver of his phone and thereby ended the conversation. 
Both women stormed out the way they had entered and Skinner 
briefly glanced after them, more than a little surprised at 
Scully's seemingly reckless behavior. Shaking his head, he 
went about making that call to the police station in 
Bergton.

On US 50 
05.34 p.m.

Scully drove like she never had before in her life. With a 
speed limit of just above 75 miles per hour, she was likely 
to catch the attention of a traffic police man, but at the 
moment she didn't care. Not until Anna cleared her throat.

"Don't you think you should slow down a bit? We won't be 
able to help your partner if we're being detained by a 
traffic cop," she said, looking a little nervous.

Scully could understand the reasoning in that and blamed her 
need to hurry so on being over tired. She slowed the car 
down to the designated 65 miles per hour and kept the car on 
that speed. "Sure, you're right," she agreed. "I've just 
seen him the other times and he needed help desperately. 
He's been gone for nearly two days now and I can't help 
thinking..." She shook her head, aware of how desperate she 
sounded.

"I know. If it were my partner, I would feel the same. 
Believe me. But it still doesn't help him if we're being 
held back by a busy-body of a traffic cop. And, believe me, 
they don't give a damn about us being Feds," Anna said, 
totally relaxed again.

Scully kept her eyes on the road and the other cars but had 
trouble keeping her mind from wandering. "How did you come 
up with this idea, anyway?" she asked, hoping to strike up a 
conversation that would keep her focus on the road ahead.

"Just a hunch. I've had a lot of those over the past year 
and a half and, obviously, my colleagues think it's a good 
thing. My mom always told me to stop being so imaginative. 
She was certain it would get me in trouble some day." Anna 
chuckled under her breath, amused at the memory.

"I'm glad that you didn't listen to your mother's advise," 
Scully said, glancing over at Anna with a smile. If this 
turned out to be a good hunch, she would never distrust this 
woman again. "I just hope it's right, too."

"Yeah, me too," Anna sighed and settled back in her seat. 
"What's he really like, your partner?"

That question confused Scully a little. "Really like?" she 
repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Fox Mulder has a... uhm... certain reputation among 
the employees of this reportedly noble institution we work 
for. I was just wondering if he's really off his rocker or 
if it's just the typical silly rumors brilliant men like him 
are exposed to?"

Scully couldn't help smiling. "I take it you don't believe 
in the supernatural and alien abductions?" she asked after a 
moment, feeling a little odd about having this conversation. 
This was usually Mulder's side of the game.

"Well, I believe in most things that I can see. I believe in 
a few things I can't. It always depends on the circumstances 
in the end. If I experience something that really rocks my 
world, I will probably end up believing it. But, no, I don't 
believe in alien abductions," Anna confessed, watching the 
road ahead of them without really seeing it.

"Neither did I. Before I met Mulder. Now I'm not so sure," 
Scully countered. "And to answer your question, no, Fox 
Mulder is not off his rocker. He's a very brilliant and 
talented man who is being picked on by his peers due to 
various reasons. Jealousy is one, I'm sure."

Location unknown

At first he could not think beyond the pain. The throbbing 
in his leg combined with the continued nausea did little to 
increase his need to pay attention to his surroundings. It 
was only when something cold and moist wrapped itself around 
his ankles that he managed to take his mind off the pain. 
Water. Ice-cold water was lapping over his feet. Then he 
heard the splashing.

One hand clamped down on his right shoulder, causing him to 
expel a sigh. "You know," she said and whimpered, her grip 
briefly tightening. "I really hate to do this to you." And 
with that said, she stabbed another knife into his right 
side.

If he could have screamed, he would. But as it were, the 
duct-tape prevented this. Instead he managed to tear his 
lower lip painfully and the blood gushing out of the wound 
increased his nausea. Swallowing hard a couple of times, 
knowing for a fact that he would suffocate in his own vomit 
if his nausea escalated any further, he squeezed his eyes 
shut, focusing on ignoring the new pain and the nausea. Her 
grip on his shoulder vanished and he heard her splashing 
through the water on the floor.

"Damn it. My moat is leaking into the house," she said after 
a moment, her voice weak.

Mulder was distracted from his misery by those words. A 
moat? That made him wonder where he was. Another resounding 
splash interrupted that train of thought.

Gasping now, Phoenix settled on the floor in the freezing 
water, briefly thinking that she had not expected death to 
hurt this much. Her head was in constant agony, throbbing 
and pounding away like with a heartbeat of its own. Through 
all this, she smiled.

"You won't have to suffer long, Fox Mulder," she confessed, 
looking around her at the rising water level. "Same time 
tomorrow evening, the water should have risen enough for you 
to be submerged up to your chest. By that time, you'll 
probably have frozen to death. It's damned cold, this water. 
If you don't die of the temperature, you'll drown the day 
after." She had sat down with her back to the wall, seeking 
support. Leaning back against it, she kept on smiling and 
felt a little regretful that he couldn't see it. She knew 
she looked crazy. And horrible, too. The disintegration of 
her body had started already, beginning before she was even 
dead. "At least you won't have to worry about the fumes of 
my disintegrating body. The water will remove the problem," 
she added and coughed. Green acid blood spattered the water 
surface in front of her. "There's a time for everything, you 
know. A time for living and a time for dying. A time for 
love and a time for hate," she went on, her voice distorted 
by her crumbling vocal cords. "Time... to die," she 
whispered, feeling life ebbing away. For a moment longer, 
she stared at her prisoner, then her head dropped forward, 
her chin hitting her chest. Slowly, she keeled over.

Mulder knew she was dead when he heard her body hit the 
water. He also knew that he would be dead soon, too. The 
water was up around his ankles and he had no doubt 
whatsoever that it would be up around his chest in 
twenty-four hours. If indeed he had not drowned by then 
already. Once again, he focused his thoughts on the one 
person who might care.

Bergton Police Station 
08.20 p.m.

Scully stood ridged, staring at the log of a man who was the 
Chief of Police of the Bergton Police force, unwilling to 
understand what he had just said. "Excuse me, Chief Meyers," 
she said, her tone of voice icy. "I don't care if the Judge 
is out of town. A man's life is at stake here," she 
insisted. She had asked for their assistance and they were 
more than willing to give it, providing they had a search 
warrant. As the Judge was out of town and nobody obviously 
knew where he was, Police Chief Stan Meyers had told Scully 
that she would have to wait until the next morning, where 
Judge Hemingway would be back and not unlikely to give them 
the warrant.

"I realize that, Agent Scully," Meyers said in an 
overbearing tone of voice. "But we're not doing anything 
without a warrant and the only one in town capable of 
issuing one is out of town until late tonight or early 
tomorrow morning. So, until then, we can plan but we can't 
act." A smile curled the corners of his mouth. "Why don't 
you just check into the local motel and cool your heels for 
a few hours?" he suggested. "I don't know how you people do 
business in a big town like Washington, but here we don't 
disturb our good townsfolk, be they ever so crazy, without a 
warrant."

Scully was about to blow a fuse when a hand grabbed her arm. 
"That's fine, Chief Meyers," Anna said, her eyes boring into 
those of the police chief. "If you could just give us the 
judge's address, we'll wait in front of his house until he 
comes home. Then we'll get the warrant."

Meyers was not happy about it, but relented and gave them 
the address. Eventually, Anna was able to drag a fuming Dana 
Scully from the police station back to their car. "I'm 
sorry, Dana," she said after a moment. "I didn't mean to 
override you, but I know townsfolk like these. You can't 
start bossing them around without knowing which buttons to 
push."

For a moment, Scully sat there on the front seat of the car, 
then she slowly turned her head and stared at Anna. "I'm 
glad you overrode me. I was about to blow up in his face and 
I realize now that it would have done us no good. Let's get 
to that address. Maybe we're lucky and the judge is home."

Anna nodded, smiling weakly. "We'll be on time. I'm sure we 
will."

"I hope so," Scully countered darkly and put the car in 
gear. "Because if we're too late, this town will be looking 
for a new Chief of Police." With that hazardous remark she 
drove off toward the judge's house.

Location unknown

Mulder tried to swallow, painfully aware of how dry his 
mouth was. Leaning his head back a little, he tried to 
estimate his state of health. It didn't look too good from 
what he could sense. Cold sweat covered his body and the 
water was halfway up his shines now, rendering the lower 
part of his legs numb. Wincing, he flexed his fingers and 
moaned quietly. The house was silent now. No sounds. His 
captor was gone, lying dead in the water before him 
somewhere, and he was stuck here, on a chair bolted to the 
floor, tied down by unrelenting wire, hurt, cold and 
desperate. All he wanted was for this to end. One way or 
another. He knew that if he got away from here in once 
piece, alive, there would be no more attacks of this kind. 
But his hopes for that kind of release were dwindling with 
every inch the water rose around him. He couldn't hear the 
flow of water from anywhere, which probably meant that it 
was seeping in quietly. But that didn't stop it, of course. 
He was aware that his former fear of this female had 
dwindled. Knowing that there were no more left made him feel 
slightly more secure. He knew he could beat this if he got a 
second... or rather a third chance at this.

A shiver ran through him when he tried to open his eyes 
behind the blindfold. For a minute, he had forgotten that 
the vapors of her blood had singed his eyes. It had been a 
stroke of luck that his nose had not clogged up from the 
painful attack of the vapors. Otherwise he would have slowly 
but surly suffocated to death. Focusing on his aching right 
side, he tried to sense the severity of the wound, but all 
he got from that was rising nausea.

Letting his head drop back, he again thought of Scully, 
letting her image take away the pain he was in. 'Please, 
find me,' he begged mutely.

In front of Judge Hemingway's residence 
10.45 p.m.

Scully glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time and sent 
another scowling look up at the Judge's house. She could not 
for the life of her understand why these people were so 
uncooperative. In her mind there was no question of the 
seriousness of this event and she hated to think that they 
were wasting time here if this wasn't the place. Her 
partner, her friend, could be dying somewhere, needing her, 
and she was sitting here, waiting for a man to come home 
from what was probably a party somewhere.

Rubbing both hands over her face, she knew she looked 
disheveled, but she didn't really care one way or another. 
Having this time on her hands, her mind started wandering 
again and this time, she let it. Her subconscious's was 
trying to tell her something and now she was ready to 
listen. Leaning back, she briefly glanced over at Anna, who 
was staring out at the street with a distant look in her 
eyes. "What are you thinking of?" Scully asked after a 
moment.

Anna blinked, then glanced at Scully with a smile. "Oh, 
nothing," she said, fiddling with a wedding band around her 
right ring finger.

Scully suddenly realized that she had not thought of that 
Anna's last name might be her married name. She stared at 
the wedding band for a moment. "You're married?" she asked 
after a moment.

Anna glanced down at her ring and smiled again. There was 
warmth in that smile. Love, even. "Yeah, I am." Heaving a 
deep breath, the smile turned sad. "I guess."

Frowning, Scully stared at her. "What do you mean, you 
guess? Don't you know if you're married?"

Anna chuckled. "I am married. I just don't know where he is. 
He... vanished some time ago. And I've been on my own ever 
since. It's a weird feeling, really. He's... I don't know... 
not easy to keep track of."

Old fears and suspicions rose in Scully at Anna's words. She 
could do fairly little to suppress them. "What's your 
husband's name?" she asked.

Suddenly apprehensive, Anna bit her lower lip. Before she 
had a chance to answer, though, a car came down the road and 
pulled into the drive way in front of the Judge's house.

Both women got out at the same time and approached the 
elderly, dignified-looking man who had just gotten out of 
his car. "Judge Hemingway?" Scully asked.

He turned around and readjusted his glasses in one go. 
"Yes?" he replied, looking confused.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. This is Agent 
Anna Krycek. We need a warrant for a house search and it's 
very important that we get this under way as soon as 
possible. A man's life is at stake," Scully said, holding up 
her badge for him to see.

Judge Callum Hemingway eyed the two disheveled-looking women 
for a moment, then focused his attention on Scully. "A 
search warrant?" he asked, a little taken aback by this. He 
wasn't as sober as he should have been and he was also tired 
after having spent the evening in the company of his 
daughter and son-in-law and the party they had thrown in the 
next town over. "Uhm... please. Come in," he finally said, 
having gotten a grip on himself again. He waved toward the 
dark house. "Let me just hear why you need this search 
warrant and for which house and I'll consider it."

August 11 
12.03 a.m.

Scully stood back while Anna handled the local police force 
with cunning. Chief Meyers had to call in his people first 
and that took time. Although Scully would have liked to have 
pushed the man a little more, she trusted in Anna's obvious 
abilities to handle the situation. Within an hour, they had 
assembled sixteen men, ready to go.

Scully and Anna drove along with the rest of them to the 
house in question, a drive which took another half hour. 
Around two o'clock in the morning, they stood outside a 
house which looked like a cheep caricature of an ancient, 
European castle. Mainly because the house itself was an 
ordinary house, yet it was surrounded by a moat and had a 
draw bridge installed. Scully looked up at the odd 
combination of 19th century building style combined with 
that of... say... the 15th century. Shaking her head, she 
then glanced over at Chief Meyers. "How do we get in there?" 
she wanted to know.

Meyers had been staring up at the draw bridge after making 
certain that there wasn't a back-entrance. Now he glanced 
back at Scully. "We'll get in. It may take a little while, 
though. We've got to get a chainsaw out here and some way of 
getting across that moat." Shaking his head in wonder, he 
briefly regarded the dark water of the 10-foot wide moat. 
"Whatever the hell possessed this woman to have a moat 
installed I wouldn't even be able to guess at," he grumbled 
and went to work.

02.45 a.m.

The water was rising faster now. Mulder could feel it edging 
up his legs. Getting desperate as he felt his time running 
out, he kept his thoughts on Scully, on what he could do to 
improve their relationship. He had come to the conclusion 
that if she saved him again, it was meant to be. If he came 
out of this one alive, he would be different. He would give 
her the attention she deserved. He would treat her right. 
'Just, please, let me survive this. Please!' he begged 
silently.

03.00 a.m.

Scully covered her ears while the chainsaw cut into the wood 
of the draw bridge. Within one hour, the cops had managed to 
create a bridge leading across the moat so the guy with the 
chainsaw, a local lumberjack, could walk out there and cut a 
hole. He did his job well and within fifteen minutes, he had 
carved a hole into the bridge. Then the locksmith was sent 
through to open the door beyond and lower the draw bridge.

03.05 a.m.

Mulder raised his head suddenly. A sound cut through the 
building he couldn't recognize at first. Then he identified 
it as the sound of a chainsaw cutting through wood. It 
sounded far away, though, and he feared that it might be 
outside and that whoever was cutting trees down in this area 
would never think about checking this house. He moaned in 
anguish and fear, the water now lapping against his 
mid-section. There was one good thing about the water, 
though. It had numbed the pain from both stab-wounds. 
Although he was so cold he was shivering, he could think 
more clearly. Not that it in any way would help him out of 
this predicament. The water had reached the arms of the 
chair and had a good effect on his swollen hands. The 
swelling had gone down considerably, but the numbness in his 
fingers had not gone away.

03.25 a.m.

The draw bridge started to rumble down, the chains holding 
it squeaking loudly until the bridge settled on the edge of 
the moat. The locksmith came back over. "No sign of anybody 
home," he said to Chief Meyers, took his leave of the others 
and went home again.

Meyers glanced at Scully. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded and 
walked briskly across the bridge and stepped into a 
completely empty hallway. Looking around, she shivered in 
the cool air of the house. Meyers was right behind her, 
followed by his men. "Okay, guys, spread out, search the 
premises. Look for signs of any occupants. Start at the top 
and go to the bottom," he ordered. The sixteen officers 
started spreading out, most of them going upstairs to search 
through the big house. "Agent Scully, do you two want to 
join in or should we do this on our own?"

Scully glared at him for a moment. "We'll join in. We'll 
take basement," she replied and started searching for the 
door or staircase leading down. "Anna, come on," she urged 
her reluctant counter-part.

Anna followed Scully a little hesitantly. "It smells wet in 
here," she commented.

"That's because this house is surrounded by a moat and it's 
not built for that. I wouldn't be surprised if the basement 
was flooded," Scully countered, opening one door after 
another, finding various rooms, the kitchen and a bathroom, 
but no way into the basement. "Damn it, where the hell is 
that door?" she growled.

"Kitchen," Anna countered. "It may be in the kitchen," she 
said and headed back to the door leading into the kitchen, 
which was also empty. The whole house was empty. No 
appliances. No furniture. Nothing. Everything was bare.

Scully followed Anna into the kitchen and there was the door 
to the basement. "Good observation, Anna," she said with a 
harried smile on her lips. She opened the door and looked 
down into the darkness. "Yup, it's flooded," she said and 
took a few steps down. The water level would probably reach 
up to her waist, maybe a little below, from what she could 
see in the darkness down there.

"Okay, so he's probably not down there, then," Anna said, 
looking uncertain.

Scully frowned down at the water, then nodded. "Probably 
not," she countered with a sigh and turned around.

03.30 a.m.

Mulder heard voices. Muffled, yet audible. The house had 
shook a little a moment before, which he hadn't liked at all 
because the water was rising faster than ever after that. It 
was halfway up his chest now. And now he heard voices. Using 
what little strength he had left, he tried to make himself 
heard, screaming into the duct tape.

03.32 a.m.

Scully was about to walk back up into the kitchen when she 
heard something. Stopping short, she tilted her head to the 
right and listened.

"Come on, Dana," Anna said, waving her up.

Scully raised a hand, hushing her to silence. "I heard 
something," she said, looking up at Anna with a frown.

"It's probably the water," Anna tried.

"No, there's somebody down there," Scully countered and 
turned back around. It was dark down there and the water 
looked cold. "Do you have your flashlight on you?" she 
asked, looking back over her shoulder.

"Uhm... no, I don't. Look, Dana, there can't be anybody down 
there. The basement is flooded," Anna tried again, not happy 
about this. She hated dark basements.

"I heard something," Scully insisted. "Get me a flashlight, 
Anna."

Anna nodded and went in search of the requested item, hoping 
against hope that Scully wouldn't make her come down there 
with her. A childhood trauma where she had accidentally been 
locked up in a pitch-dark basement for several hours had 
left its mark. She had to get a flashlight from one of the 
cops and it took her longer than she had anticipated. Scully 
was a bundle of nervous energy when she returned. "Here you 
go. But you're going down there on your own. I..." she 
began, hoping that she could explain.

But Scully interrupted her by raising her hand, her back 
already turned. "Stay up here. Go get some of the others. I 
may need help," she countered and took the first step into 
the freezing water. She could hear the muffled, inarticulate 
cries ringing in her ears, drawing her down into the 
darkness.

Scully waded through the cold water, the flashlight held 
high, searching for the source of the sounds. A closed door 
was the only option she had. The water was up around her 
waist and she thought she could feel it rising. Reaching 
into the icy water, she grabbed the door handle and pushed 
the door open. One sweep with the flashlight revealed what 
she was looking for. "Oh my God," she exclaimed, then 
glanced back over her shoulder, yelling, "I NEED SOME HELP 
DOWN HERE."

Mulder stopped his efforts at reaching someone when he heard 
her voice. Feeling slightly ashamed, he realized that he was 
crying by the time she reached him, her hand reaching out to 
touch his face. Her fingers brushed over his cheek, grabbed 
a hold of the blindfold and removed it. "Jesus," she 
whispered, then gently caressed his cheek again. "Hold 
still. I'll try to get the duct tape off," she told him and 
started fiddling with the corners of the already ingrown 
tape.

Scully stared at his eyes, at the puffed-up, red skin and 
the suppuration, while she gently started peeling the duct 
tape from his mouth. Pieces of skin stuck to the tape and 
blood started to flow, but he made no sound to stop her. 
Eventually, she had removed it completely. "Oh my God," she 
mumbled. "I'll get you out of here. I just need to..." she 
went on, reaching into the water to find out how he was tied 
down. In her effort, she struck the hilt of the knife 
imbedded in his thigh and he let out a harsh, pained cry.

Others were splashing through the water now, more 
flashlights bringing more light to the scene. "We need some 
tools to get him out. He's got a knife stuck in his left 
thigh," Scully said.

"And in my right side," he whispered hoarsely, cursing the 
fact that he could not open his eyes and look at her.

Scully nodded, completely balanced at the moment. Looking 
over at Meyers, who had turned up in the doorway, a stunned 
look on his face, she hoped he would know what to do. "We 
need to cut him loose. I think he's tied down with wires or 
something," she said.

"I'm on it," Meyers said, turned around and hollered for one 
of his men to bring a tool box. Then he turned to the rest 
of them already in the basement. "Who's good at diving?" One 
man tentatively raised his hand. "Okay, you go down and cut 
him free." Glancing over at Scully, he eyed the cool-looking 
woman for a moment. "Are his legs tied, too?" he asked. 
Scully glanced at Mulder, then down into the water and 
nodded. "Okay, move it guys," Meyers called. Someone came 
down the stairs and within minutes, the young man who had 
volunteered for the task was under water, cutting Mulder 
free.

Scully grabbed Mulder's chin and forced him to focus on her 
although he couldn't see right now. "Mulder, listen to me. 
I'm going to remove the knives. If I don't, the minute 
you're no longer tied down, the water will carry you upward 
and that will make for a whole lot of pain. The temperature 
of this water is going to staunch the bleeding, so you don't 
have to worry about bleeding to death, okay?" He nodded, not 
responding in any other way. Scully ran the tips of her 
fingers over his cheek again. "It's okay. I'll get you out 
of here. The nightmare is over." With that, her fingers 
closed around the hilt of the stiletto imbedded in his right 
side and pulled it out. He paled considerably and passed out 
instantly. Scully sighed, then removed the second knife. "I 
think there's a wire around his chest, as well," she told 
the young man, who had just resurfaced.

"I got it," he told her, already shivering badly from the 
cold water. He found the wire and cut it. "There you go," he 
added with a quivering smile.

Rockingham Memorial Hospital 
Harrisonburg 
Room 1013 
August 12 
08.30 a.m.

He stirred to life, slowly becoming aware of his 
surroundings without being able to see them. His eyes were 
covered again and that set him off immediately. Hands 
grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down on the bed when 
he tried to sit up. "Easy, Mulder. You're okay," he heard 
Scully's voice. The mere sound of that voice was enough to 
calm him down. His lips were sore. Come to think of it, 
everything hurt.

Scully brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. 
"It's okay. You're safe," she told him. His left hand 
searched for and found one of hers. Scully held it, wrapping 
both her hands around it. "You're okay," she repeated.

"My eyes," he managed after a moment, clearing his throat a 
few times.

"It's a minor chemical burn. The doctors say that there's 
probably not going to be any permanent damage, but that you 
should rest them as much as possible," Scully countered. 
"You had hypothermia when we brought you in. The stab wounds 
are not as bad as they may have felt." Turning his hand 
over, she looked down at his palm. "Do you have any feeling 
in your fingers?"

He shifted on the bed, then flexed his fingers slowly. 
"Yeah. How long have I been here?"

"Around thirty-two hours. Just take it easy. You'll be fine. 
They patched you up as soon as we got in. You haven't lost 
enough blood to warrant a transfusion, but you have to stay 
in the hospital a few days. No rushing out there too soon." 
Basically unaware that she was doing it, her thumb caressed 
the palm of his hand gently. "How do you feel in general?"

"Disoriented. What date is it?" Again clearing his throat he 
turned his head toward her. "I feel parched," he added in a 
near whisper.

Scully released his hand and reached out for a glass of 
water sitting on the bedside table. She pushed a hand under 
his head, helping him raise it a little. "Easy now. Sip it. 
The date's August 12," she told him, holding the glass of 
cool water to his lips.

He eased back down on the bed, frustrated that he couldn't 
see, but fighting the urge to remove the bandage. He could 
move. That mattered more than he would admit right now. And 
Scully was there. That was the only thing that really 
mattered. "I thought I was going to die," he confessed after 
a moment, groping for her hand again.

She grabbed it with both of hers, squeezing it lightly. "But 
you didn't," she countered.

He could almost hear the smile in her voice. "No. Once 
again, you saved my sorry behind," he countered with a weak 
grin. "But it's over now."

Scully heaved a deep breath, wondering. "I don't know," she 
said, aware that this might not be the right time to relight 
his fears.

"But I do. She told me. All her... sisters as she called 
them are dead. And she died, too," he said. For once in his 
life, he had believed a stranger off hand. He didn't know 
why. Maybe it was important to his subconscious mind that he 
believed it. Maybe it was the truth.

Scully stared at him for a moment, her hands wrapped tightly 
around his. "So, she was the original. What else did she 
tell you? Did she let you know why she was doing this to 
you?"

That brought a frown to his forehead. "She said that I was 
important to the Consortium. And she was putting a spoke in 
their wheel by killing me. At least she believed that to be 
the truth," he mumbled, exhausted.

"But she died before she could kill you, then," Scully 
inserted, not quite able to follow him.

"Her plan was to disable me so I would die slowly. She said 
it was something about... making me suffer the way she had 
suffered. She said it wasn't fair, but that somebody had to 
pay."

Scully made a face, concerned over his words. Why would 
anybody want to make him pay for somebody else's mistakes?

August 13

Scully sat on the chair beside the bed, watching as the 
doctor carefully removed the bandages covering Mulder's 
eyes. She held his hand and it was no great surprise to her, 
that his fingers were cramped around hers.

The doctor removed the two gauze patches and examined the 
skin around the eyes. "It looks good. Still a little red, 
but better than I'd hoped," he said. "Try to open your eyes, 
Mr. Mulder." Mulder complied, blinking heavily. "Can you see 
anything?"

"Yeah. But it's all a blur," Mulder countered.

"Now, that was to be expected. It will take a while for your 
eyes to readjust. As I could find no injuries on the cornea 
itself, I don't believe you have sustained any damage that 
won't heal up on its own. Give it a few hours. Your vision 
should be clear enough to distinguish dinner," the doctor 
said with a slight chuckle.

"In that case, put the patches back on," Mulder countered, a 
reply Scully would have expected from him. "On thing is to 
taste that stuff. Looking at it... I don't know." He shook 
his head, smiling a little.

The doctor grinned at Scully, then looked back at Mulder. 
"How are you feeling in general?" he wanted to know.

"Well, except for a killer sideburn and the fact that my 
left leg spasms every time I try to move it, I feel fine," 
he countered, smiling ironically.

Scully watched him closely, looking for signs of how he 
really felt, but found that he seemed to be back on top. 
Shaking her head in wonder, she squeezed his hand briefly. 
"He's tough. He always pulls through," she inserted.

The doctor smiled at that. "Well, I'm always happy to have 
patients who don't get traumas from being locked up in wet 
cellars for a few days," he said, making a joke of it. "The 
stab wounds you have received are pretty straight forward. 
The cuts are clean, no tearing, which means they should heal 
up without too much trouble. Both are superficial wounds and 
have as such not affected anything vital. That's the good 
news."

Mulder hesitated. "What's the bad news?" he wanted to know.

"You'll have to suffer through our dinners for a few more 
days," the doctor countered. "I'll check back on you later 
today. Don't try anything funny while I'm out, okay?" He 
padded Mulder's shoulder with a grin, turned around and 
walked out.

"He's a hoot," Mulder commented after the door had closed.

"Yeah," Scully agreed, eyeing him closely. His eyes were 
watering, but in general they seemed okay. "Maybe you should 
lie down and close your eyes again. Just to rest them a 
little more."

He complied almost at once. With Scully's help, he lowered 
the head of the bed and closed his eyes again. During all 
this time, he hadn't released her hand and he kept thinking 
about the promises he had made himself while he had waited 
for a rescue which he had actually thought would never come. 
He felt like a million bugs right now. Despite the pain from 
his side and his leg and the tingling feeling in his hands 
and the fact that he still couldn't see straight, he felt on 
top of the world. It was as if this last experience had 
lifted a weight from his shoulders he hadn't realized was 
there in the first place. What it meant and why he didn't 
know. He just knew that at this very moment, he had never 
wanted to live more desperately. Perhaps it was because his 
most dire wish had been answered. "Scully?" He ran the tip 
of his tongue over his chapped lips for a moment, then 
turned to the blur he identified as her.

"Yeah?" she countered, wondering if he was about to break 
down, but saw no sigh of it.

"Thanks," he said, his tone of voice displaying an emotional 
storm within. "Thank you for being there for me. You don't 
know what that means to me."

Smiling, she rose from her chair and pecked him on the 
cheek. "Yes, I do," she claimed. "And you're welcome. 
Besides, you don't have to thank me for this. After all, 
isn't that what friends are for?" She sat back down again, 
both her hands wrapped around his.

"I guess. But, then again, how would I know? I'm the one who 
doesn't have any friends, right?" he countered, sounding a 
little more mellow than she had ever heard him before.

"Well, you've got one," she told him.

"Make that two," a voice inserted from the door way. Scully 
looked over to meet Skinner's stare for a moment. Then she 
smiled. "How are you feeling, Agent Mulder?" he wanted to 
know.

Mulder turned his head toward his boss, but could still make 
out very little through the watery blur. "Oh, you know me, 
sir. I'll survive," he countered, his tone of voice a little 
strained as he shifted himself a little on the bed. The 
wound on his right side was giving him a little trouble when 
he tried to move.

"Well, that's good to hear," Skinner said. "Although we've 
got a new profiler who's almost as good as you," he added 
with a weak smile.

"Really?" Mulder countered, looking surprised. "Maybe I can 
retire, then," he added.

"And what would you do with yourself if you retired, 
Mulder?" Skinner wanted to know, giving Scully a saying 
glance. "Anyway, take the time you need to back on your feet 
and, hopefully, we'll see you back at the office soon. Just 
take it easy." Turning to leave, he remembered one thing he 
had to say and turned back again. "By the way, there are two 
guards posted outside your room here and we can assign a 
twenty-four hour watch-shift..." he began, but Mulder cut 
him off.

"That won't be necessary. They're all gone," he said, 
blinking a couple of times and getting a less muddled 
picture out of it.

Skinner frowned. "Are you sure?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, I'm sure. She was the only one left and she died." The 
memory of her final words, of what she had told him, put a 
damper on his mood. "There's no need to waste other agents' 
time with this. I'm in the clear now."

"Well, if you say so," Skinner said reluctantly. "Scully, 
could I have a word with you outside?"

She nodded, padded Mulder's hand and got up. "I'll be right 
back."

Mulder acknowledged this with a nod, well aware of why 
Skinner wanted to talk to her alone. She was being told to 
keep an eye on him. With a weak smile, he realized that it 
would fit in with his desires quite nicely.

Out in the corridor, Scully closed the door behind her and 
turned to face her supervisor. "Scully, I want you to keep 
an eye on him. If you need to stay with him for twenty-four 
hours a day, do it. He may think he's in the clear, but I'm 
not willing to take any chances. And you know what his 
colleagues think about him. Getting them to look after him 
is like asking a blind man to look after little kids."

Scully nodded. "I figured as much, sir. But you must be 
aware that he knows why you wanted to see me alone. And 
knowing him, he'll give me the slip as soon as he's up to 
it," she said, hoping to make her boss understand that 
keeping an eye on Mulder was a difficult task at best.

Skinner's expression tightened a bit. "Then put him on a 
leash. Handcuff him to you if you have to. I don't care. For 
the next month, you're his backup in everything he does. Do 
I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Scully countered, not happy about being assigned 
this duty. Mainly because she knew Mulder and his ability to 
disappear at any given time. "I'll do my best," she added.

Skinner nodded. "That's all I ask. Just don't lose him," he 
said, turned around and walked away.

Scully watched him go, then sighed and returned to the room. 
Dropping back down on the chair, she looked up at Mulder for 
a moment. "You know, we've got to talk," she told him. 
"Skinner has just assigned me the wonderful duty of keeping 
a close eye on you for the next month. And I swear to God, 
Mulder, if you give me the slip at any time... if you ditch 
me, I'm going to shoot you in the leg just to keep you in 
line. Do you understand me? I'm not going to be yelled at 
because you think I'm not up to whatever you're after." 
There was seriousness and exasperation in her voice.

Mulder blinked, his vision getting steadily better, and gave 
her wry smile. Not too wide, though. His lips were not yet 
up to it. "Don't worry, Scully. I'll be a good boy," he 
promised, content in the knowledge that he was no longer at 
risk of running into any vengeful females. At least none of 
the shape-shifting kind.

New York 
The Consortium Lodge 
46th Street 
August 14 
08.30 a.m.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man looked up, once again being 
disturbed by one of his aides. The same woman who had come 
to him nearly ten days ago with that disturbing piece of 
news. She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Things are 
taken care of. She died on her own. Agent Mulder is back. A 
bit battered, but all right. His partner is looking after 
him for now."

Smiling, he nodded. "Good," he countered in a low tone of 
voice. "Let's keep it that way for now. Keep an eye on him. 
Discreetly, of course. And report back to me if anything 
happens."

The woman nodded and left again. The Cigarette-Smoking Man 
leaned back in his chair, content that all was back in 
order, and continued to study the newspaper. He was being an 
instrument in keeping Mulder safe for now and found that a 
much more gratifying duty than any other he had performed in 
a long while. Things would work out all right in the end.

Washington D.C. 
J. Edgar Hoover building 
10.45 a.m.

Anna Krycek had been commended by A.D. Skinner for her 
excellent work and had then been sent back to the VCS. She 
glanced at her watch, switched her computer off and got up 
from behind her desk in the open-plan office. "Janie," she 
called over to one of her colleagues. "I'm going to lunch," 
she added and walked briskly out of the office.

When she stepped out onto the street, she briefly considered 
that maybe she should look Dana up one of these days and 
talk a bit more with her. She liked Dana Scully. But, on the 
other hand, Dana might ask her a question she couldn't 
afford to answer. Better leave it alone, she thought and 
headed toward a row of payphones. She had barely reached the 
last one in the row before it rang. Smiling softly, she 
picked up. "Hello?" The smile widened. "Hi, honey. How's 
Moscow?"

THE END