Disclaimer:  Fox Mulder, Dana Scully et al belong to 1013, Chris
Carter and Fox.  They are used without permission and no copyright
infringements are intended.  I do this for the love of it!

Comments, constructive criticism to the above address.  Don't blame
me - I just wrote it and my husband thought he could do better!  So
really this is his story, unless of course you like it, in which case
it's mine!

Rating: PG 13, Violence, Swearing

Classification: S

Summary: Mulder seeks answers to his questions.

Dying to Know
by Carol Gritton (jimcaz@dircon.co.uk)

He slipped the gun into the leather holster at his waist, then
shrugged on his jacket.  He hated wearing a gun, but knew he couldn't
afford to take chances.  He checked the time again even though he had
done so just a few moments before.  In less than an hour Mulder hoped
to gain answers to the truths which had eluded him since the night
his sister vanished all those years ago.  It was time to go.

The message had come in his private e-mail that very morning.  He
made no mention of it to Scully as he knew what her reaction would
be.  It wasn't the first message of this kind that he had ever
received - and probably not the last if he was honest with himself. 
But he couldn't risk not knowing.  Most of the leads he had followed
up were from crackpots, but this message caused him more disquiet
than usual.  Whoever had e-mailed him must surely know him, because
he seldom gave out his home e-mail address.  Most of the so called
leads were usually red herrings, but he persevered in the hope that
one day he would find what he was looking for.

Mulder drove through the deserted streets, glistening still with
rain, to the appointed meeting place on the other side of town.  The
message had said to come alone - didn't they always?  And didn't he
always!  Scully would undoubtedly scold him for being so reckless,
but he was beginning to develop an immunity to her well intended
reprimands.  He smiled to himself - she was probably tucked up in bed
fast asleep - and drove on determinedly.

After what seemed like an eternity he coasted to a halt outside a
large, derelict brick building.  It was probably used once as a
warehouse and had been empty since the recession.  Before emerging
quietly from the car, Mulder removed his gun - better safe than
sorry.  He stole clandestinely across the muddy ground - half
creeping, half slinking.  Despite the tension which enveloped him, he
smiled at his furtive gait - he looked like a secret agent in a B
movie!  Mulder paused at the door which had been left ajar, counted
silently to three and slipped inside the darkened building.  He took
a small but surprisingly powerful torch from his pocket - Bureau
issue - and shone it around the immediate area.  Nothing.

Suddenly his ears pricked up - he thought he heard a noise.  It
sounded like a match being struck.  His heart beat increased.  He
could now see the red, glowing end of a cigarette.  Mulder knew in an
instant that he had been set up.

"Put your gun down," ordered a familiar voice.  The command was
repeated - more loudly and more menacingly this time.  Mulder
recognised the voice instantly.  Three men materialised out of the
shadows, and Mulder noted with a sinking heart that they were all
heavily armed.  One against three - he had no chance.  In the face of
such opposition he threw his weapon to the floor.  It clattered
loudly on the concrete and skidded despairingly away.  Only then did
his enemy show himself. Grim resignation crept over Mulder. 

"You!" hissed Mulder disdainfully. Cancer Man drew deeply on his
cigarette, savouring the taste of the Morley, then exhaled slowly
into Mulder's face, making him cough.
"Who else were you expecting?" asked Cancer Man in his
smoke-roughened voice.
"You sent the message, didn't you?" demanded Mulder.  Cancer Man said
nothing.
"Answer me, you son of a bitch!" yelled Mulder.  "I should have
killed you when I had the chance."
"You haven't got what it takes to be a killer," replied Cancer Man
smugly.  "You may be many things, but a killer isn't one of them." 
In a way, Cancer Man admired Mulder - he never gave up despite all
the shit he had thrown at him.  That was why he still had lingering
regrets about the deed he was about to perpetrate.  Mulder had been a
worthy adversary, but now the time had come to put an end to his
interference.  The future of the Consortium was at stake as well as
his own future.

Cancer Man gave an imperceptible nod to one of the faceless henchmen.
"On your knees," he ordered.
"Fuck you!" spat Mulder.  He was rewarded by a blow to the side of
his head which sent him reeling.
"On your knees," barked Cancer Man for a second time.  Mulder was
forcibly manhandled to his knees.  His arms were wrenched painfully
behind his back and he felt the cool steel of handcuffs as they
snapped closed around his wrists.  His head was pushed forward,
exposing the nape of his neck and the cold barrel of a gun was
pressed against the base of his skull.

"Any last requests?" asked Cancer Man, drawing on his cigarette.
Mulder looked up at him with hate written across his face.  "I'll see
you in Hell," he spat.
"As you wish," replied Cancer Man.  He took another cigarette from
the crumpled pack and lit it with precision.  Smoke billowed slowly
into the air. The man holding the gun watched him expectantly,
waiting for the signal.  Cancer Man gave another slight nod of his
head, and Mulder's world exploded into blackness.

Across town, in the safety of her own apartment, Dana Scully sat bolt
upright in bed and screamed.  Her heart was pounding so violently
that she thought it would explode from her chest.  As oxygen coursed
through her body she realised she had been dreaming - an awful
nightmare.  Or was it?  Her hand reached instinctively for the 'phone
by the bed.

The 'phone in Mulder's apartment pierced the silence.  It rang and
rang and rang.

"Please answer - don't let it be true," pleaded Scully with herself.

In the distance Mulder could hear an incessant, intrusive ringing. 
He struggled to wake up from his death-like slumber.  His hand
searched clumsily for the 'phone.  "Mulder," he grunted.

Later, Scully breathed an enormous sigh of relief and settled back in
bed.  Several miles away Mulder too lay in bed, disturbed by Scully's
bad dream.  He couldn't sleep and decided to make himself a hot
drink.  As he walked into the kitchen, the hairs on the back of his
neck suddenly bristled and he shivered involuntarily.  He could smell
the unmistakable acrid aroma of a cigarette within the apartment. 
Not any cigarette but a Morley.  He chided himself for being so
jumpy.  No one had been in the apartment - of that he was sure.  But
he could definitely smell cigarettes.  He shrugged and made himself a
drink.

As Mulder returned to bed, he glanced out of the window at the dark,
deserted street.  It was a damp, misty night and visibility was poor.
 Across the road, however, the red glow of a cigarette could be
discerned.  The silhouette turned fleetingly towards Mulder's
apartment block but the face was hidden in the eerie light.  The
figure turned slowly away again and disappeared into the night.

The End