Title: Memory I: Recovery of the Man 
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-Mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: R - for violence and disturbing imagery
Category: SA
Archive: Yes, please
Feedback: Yes! Please! 

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are owned by Chris Carter,
1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are
wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny and
Gillian Anderson. I will make no profit from this, and
neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have
nothing material they can profit from. 

Comments: This is part one of a trilogy. The stories are
connected and should be read in the order listed.
Memory: Recovery of the Man
Memory: Restoration of the Mind
Memory: Reclamation of the Soul
Thanks to my X-Phriends - Vickie, Rory, and Kate - for help
all the little things that go into making a story. Thanks guys! 

Summary: Mulder is abducted, beaten, and given a serum to
stimulate memories of the night Samantha disappeared. Scully
finds him, tends him while he recovers, then helps him deal
with new memories of that fateful night. 

Memory: Recovery of the Man 01/02 

"Sir, I don't *know* where Agent Mulder is!" Scully took a deep
breath and gripped the arms of the chair. "That's what I've been
trying to tell you. I'm not avoiding the issue, I'm not covering
for him, I'm not trying to be difficult - I really don't know where
he is." 

Skinner leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on the
desk. He looked intently at the young woman before him.
"Agent Scully, he has to be here for the review board tomorrow.
The X-Files have only just been reinstated, and given his
history, they are not going to accept that he is legitimately
missing." 

"I understand that, Sir, but I think we - you and I, that is -
need to move on trying to locate him. Because, he *is,* as you
say, legitimately missing." 

"All right." He gazed at her for a long moment as she met his
eyes and stared back, unflinching. "Tell me." 

Scully gave a small sigh of relief. She straightened in her
chair and folded her hands in her lap. "After receiving
notification last Friday that the review board would be
calling him, Agent Mulder was somewhat concerned at having
to offer testimony that would go against a fellow agent,
especially since he had his own theory as to why Brandon had
acted the way he did." 

"It was a clean shoot - everyone agrees to that. There was
no doubt Brandon was going to shoot Mulder if he hadn't
shot first." Skinner looked closely at her. "Mulder
understands that, doesn't he?" 

"Yes, Sir, I believe he does." She paused, searching for
the right words. "I think he was most concerned that, once
again, no one would believe his interpretation of the events,
and Brandon would be perceived as having gone completely
round the bend. Mulder didn't - doesn't - want that
perception to be the final memory Brandon's wife and
children have." 

She stopped and looked at her lap. Her right hand was
tightly clenched inside her left. She studied both hands
for a moment, then forced herself to relax and looked up.
She met Skinner's gaze again and continued. 

"Mulder just wasn't himself when he left Friday. No bad
jokes, no sly remarks. He just said good-bye and left.
I spent the weekend at my mother's - my brother and his
family were in town - but when I tried to reach him
Saturday and Sunday, I never got an answer and his cell
was turned off. I left early on Sunday so I could drive
to Alexandria to check on him." 

She lowered her eyes and paused introspectively, then
said in a low voice, "He'd hate knowing I was checking
on him." 

Skinner nodded, and she went on. "He wasn't at his
apartment." She looked at Skinner, then clarified, "I have
his key and he has mine. For emergencies." 

Skinner nodded again. "I know. You took me there,
remember?" 

"Yeah, well, anyway, it didn't look like he had been there
all weekend. I looked around. The suit he was wearing
Friday wasn't in the closet, and his travel bag was
still packed and still in the closet. Wherever he was,
he didn't change before he left, and he didn't pack
to go. I spent the rest of Sunday searching his usual
haunts, calling a few friends, digging around trying
to see if he could be found." 

"So where do you think he is, Scully? What do you
think happened?" 

"I'm not sure, Sir, but I don't think he's taken off
on his own this time. We've had a number of talks about
his communication skills, or lack thereof, when he's on
a tear, and he's gotten a lot better about at least
leaving me a message when he takes off in the middle of
the night." 

She gave a small laugh. "He even invites me to come
along sometimes now." She shook her head, then added,
"I'm really concerned about him, Sir." 

"All right, Agent Scully," Skinner stood and walked
around the desk to take the chair next to her. "Take
the rest of the day and see what you can find. Check
any place you think he might have gone. Call his friends
again, relatives, whomever." 

As she opened her mouth to object, he waved her silent.
"I know you've done all this. But if he has gone
off on his own, and we call out the cavalry, it will be the
end of his career." 

She closed her mouth and nodded in agreement. 

"See what you can turn up today. If he's still missing
in," he checked his watch, "eight hours - by 1600 - we'll
see what we can do about finding him officially." 

****************************************************** 

*CRACK* The back of a hand slammed into Mulder's jaw
again, and his head twisted sharply to the right. He
drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and remained unmoving.
The bonds holding him securely to the chair made
too much movement impossible. Very slowly, he lifted his
head, caught his assailant's eye, and spit a stream of saliva,
phlegm, and blood in his direction. "I. Don't. Know,"
he said, very deliberately. 

"That's too bad, Agent Mulder," the man responded,
"because my superiors think you do know, and now, after
25 years, it's time for you to remember and to share
those memories with us. Now, you can tell me what
happened the night your sister disappeared, or we can
continue this *discussion* as we have been." 

"And just who - *spit* - are your superiors?" 

"Agent Mulder," the man used a soft, placating tone,
velvet over steel, "You really need to stop asking
questions, and focus on providing answers. It would
be so much better for your overall health. I understand
you don't like drugs." 

Mulder's guts went cold, but he didn't make any move to
acknowledge the statement. 

His captor turned, walked to the door of the room and
opened it. "He's not co-operating," he called softly into the
hallway. "Get that syringe for me, willya?" 

Mulder's panic got the better of him for a moment. He
focused on his breathing in an concerted effort to calm
himself, and said, "Look. I've told you what I remember
about that night. There isn't any point in drugging me." 

He shifted in the chair briefly as if trying to escape the
memories, then settled and continued, "They did that
often enough after Sam was taken: I still couldn't remember
anything." His shoulders slumped and his gaze shifted to the
floor in defeat. "I tried to remember. I really did. I -" His
voice broke. He sighed, then whispered, "Just. Don't.
Remember." 

"Well, Agent Mulder," the man began, "I reviewed your
file and I agree that the drugs they used back then didn't
seem to help your memory. I advocated the use of
more, shall we say, *physical* persuasions. But that seems
to be ineffective as well." 

"Yeah, well, you're not the first person to think he could
beat me into remembering." Mulder shrugged in his bonds. 

"Really?" the man questioned. "Now that's interesting.
And it isn't in your medical records. Why do you suppose
that is?" 

Mulder shrugged again. Somehow, the thought that he had
revealed something previously unknown worried him. The
beatings from his father, and the times his mother had
lashed out in anger too, were times he didn't think about.
And he never talked about them. So why had it slipped out
now? But the man was still talking. 

"Now you are being more cooperative, Agent Mulder." He
smiled at Mulder, a twisted parody of good humor. "Perhaps
I underestimated the value of pharmaceuticals. Since your
first dose when you arrived, it has taken almost 12 hours for
the new serum to enter your system and for your inhibitions
to break down to the point that you would share previously
unknown information." 

"You drugged me?" He was quiet for a moment, studying
the man before him. "What did you give me?" 

"Something of our own devising. It lowers inhibitions,
reduces self-restraint, not exactly 'truth serum' but a
similar derivative." 

"Good, if it lowers self-restraint, then I won't have any
problem killing you, will I?" 

The man suddenly struck, hands pounding into Mulder's face,
arms, chest, and stomach. Mulder hunched in the chair,
bending as far forward as he could, until a particularly
vicious blow to the right side of his head rocked him back
and over, and the chair toppled. 

His body exploded in agony and time seemed to slow as he
watched the floor racing upward to catch him. 'This doesn't
look good, Scully,' he thought. 'You better hurry up and
rescue my sorry ass, while there's still something to rescue.' 

The next thing he was aware of, he was laying on rough
concrete, his hands and feet bound tightly. He woke slowly,
and tried not to move or make a sound. He knew that as soon
as his captor was aware that he was awake, the *discussion*
would continue. 

His nose was stuffy, full, and he couldn't breathe through
it. Blood, from where he had been hit, and snot, from where
he had cried. Either or both were enough to block the
passageways. He took small breaths through his mouth, and
even those were painful. Broken or cracked, rib or ribs.
He could taste blood as well. His lip was swollen and split
in at least two places. 

A cursory check on himself revealed that he *hurt* everywhere.
Apparently the man had continued to beat him after he had
lapsed into unconsciousness. His legs, his back, his chest
and abdomen, everything was a mass of welts, bruises, and
broken skin. 

His arms were tied behind him, and he lay on his left side.
His whole left arm felt as if it were on fire. Dislocated
shoulder? Probably. Before he could finish cataloging his
injuries, he involuntarily shifted to try to relieve some of
the pressure on the arm and shoulder. He immediately knew
that was a mistake when he heard a voice say, "Oh, look, he's
awake again." 

The man advanced and Mulder whimpered as a foot reached out
and toed him in the groin. "You received the next dose of
the new serum while you were *resting,* Agent Mulder. It
appears that the effects of the serum may be heightened
by physical stimulation. Isn't that interesting?" 

He toed Mulder again, then walked around and planted several
hard kicks in the small of his back. Mulder moaned, then
gasped out, "I don't know what you want me to say!" 

The man responded, "We still need to know what you saw,
what you really remember from that night. And recovering
those memories from you allows us to test the efficacy
of the new serum." 

"How efficient of you," Mulder muttered. 

The man reached down and grabbed a handful of Mulder's
hair, pulling his face up. "I would advise you to focus
on recovering the memory and not making smart remarks."
He let go abruptly and Mulder's face slammed into the
concrete floor. He kicked out again, connecting with
Mulder's left shoulder. 

At the same time, agony shot through Mulder's body and he
gasped. "Scully," the name escaped his lips without direction
from his brain. It was a primal reaction to pain, and need, and
the bedrock knowledge that only one thing - one person -
could save him now. 

He began screaming, calling for Scully unceasingly. He
thrashed on the floor, giving in fully to the mindless panic
that had been threatening to overtake him since this whole
ordeal began. "Scully, Scully, I'm here, Scully," he cried,
over and over again. 

Suddenly, there were hands restraining him, his body was
slammed down against the floor and held there. A voice
was telling him to stop, but he was too far gone in the pain,
the anger, the fear, the panic to listen. 

Large hands circled his throat, and he stopped screaming.
He began to struggle again, this time for air. He tried to
beg, but no sound could escape his throat now. And no
air could get in. 

His mind dimly grappled with the thought that since Scully
wasn't here to save him, and he didn't think he could take any
more of this, it was fortunate the pain and the panic and the
fear were enough that he felt the blackness of unconsciousness
beckoning him. Once again, he fell gratefully into her
welcoming arms. 

*********************************************************** 

"I don't know what else to do, Sir. I've looked everywhere
I can think he might have gone. I even called his mother -
now she's worried, too - but he's not there, and hasn't
been there." 

Skinner frowned, then passed a folder over to Scully. "I
had his place dusted, just in case someone wasn't careful.
It came up clean." He waited as she scanned the negative
report. "Do you want to issue an APB for him?" 

"I don't think we have any choice, Sir." She straightened,
and placed the useless folder on the desk. "I am convinced
that Agent Mulder is not absent of his own volition, and I
need help to find him." She slumped dejectedly in her chair. 

"All right." He opened the intercom. "Kim - can you
join us, please?" 

When his assistant was in the room and the door had been
closed, he began. "Agent Mulder is apparently missing.
I need you to get out an APB on him - Agent Scully can give
you his vital statistics if you need them." 

This last was offered with a questioning look in Scully's
direction. At her nod, he continued, "I also need to
assemble a team to look for him. Find out who's here in
Missing Persons and Violent Crimes. I also want someone
from Domestic Terrorism and Fraud. In other words, I want
a mixed team, with experience. Find out who's in town,
and get them in here. Then get DC Metro Police to send me
a liaison. I want to meet in," he looked up, gauging her
reaction, "an hour." 

Kim swallowed hard, then nodded. "I'll get started
immediately, Sir." As she walked toward the door, she
stopped by Scully's chair, and took her hand. "You'll
find him," she murmured, then she walked briskly out of
the room. 

"Agent Scully." Skinner paused when there was no reaction.
"Scully." When she once again did not answer, he walked
around the desk and knelt in front of her. "Dana . . ." 

She lifted her eyes, and startled to find him so close.
Her usually clear blue eyes were swimming in unshed tears.
"I knew he was upset when he left on Friday. He was
distracted - worried about the Brandon shooting. I'm
sure he was an easy target." 

She closed her eyes tightly, and two crystalline tears
slid slowly down her cheek. "I shouldn't have waited so
long to check on him. He could have been gone for 72 hours
by now. They could have taken him anywhere, done anything
to him." 

"Scully - Dana - this is not your fault. You are not responsible
for Fox Mulder. You have to know - to understand - this
is not your fault." 

She opened her eyes again and met Skinner's patient
look. "Partners watch each other's backs," she said very
quietly. Her eyes were filled with pain as she lowered
them to her lap once more. "We have to find him, Sir.
We have to." 

"And we will, Scully, we will." 

************************************************ 

Kim's skills were amazing. By the time the hour had
elapsed, she had made her list of who was in town and
available, contacted them all, and most of them were
present, with only a couple still en route. 

DC Metro was present as were representatives from the
Maryland and Virginia State Police. Skinner was pleased
Kim had thought to include representatives from the two
states bordering the District. There was a also a detective
from Alexandria. He nodded approvingly. 

Skinner quickly briefed the officers, detectives, and
agents on the situation, then made assignments. The
group divided into pairs to make inquiries of Mulder's
neighbors and see if anyone had seen anything. 

As the teams departed for Alexandria, Scully rose to
join them. Skinner restrained her with a firm grasp
on her arm. 

She turned to look at him, anger in her eyes. "You are not
going to keep me from looking," she began. 

Skinner's eyes were gentle when he looked at her. "No, Scully,
I'm not. I just want you to wait a minute." He released her and
stepped quickly to the closet, taking out his own coat. "I'd
like to work with you, if you don't mind." He pulled the
coat on, then lifted hers - forgotten in her rush to get out the
door, to be doing something - and helped her into it. 

She looked up at him gratefully and said, "Let's get going,
Sir." 

*********************************************** 

Mulder woke again to a booted toe pushing insistently against
his hip. He groaned, then rasped, "Water." 

"Why certainly Agent Mulder," a voice responded. There
were the sounds of hard soles against floor, then a tap
being turned on and water running. Soon the steps returned
and a glass was held to his lips. 

He drank deeply, holding the water in his mouth for long
seconds before painfully swallowing. He took several more
sips, then lay back, panting. 

"How kind of you to assist us in the delivery of the serum
into your system." 

As Mulder groaned again, the man went on. "Don't try
to rid yourself of it. I'll only bring the syringe in and give
you another dose. You might as well reap the benefits of
the water while you can." 

Mulder lay huddled on the floor, curled into as close an
approximation of fetal as he could get. His hands and legs
were still tightly bound and he knew the circulation had
been restricted for so long that he should be concerned
about damage. His eyes were swollen shut, but he felt
that he had been moved sometime while he was unconscious.
There seemed to be a familiarity about this place. 

He fumbled through his clouded memory, trying to
piece together what was going on. He had vague
recollections of sitting and answering a lot of questions -
and of being punished when he got them wrong. But
wait a minute - he was just a kid when that happened. 

"Hey," a sharp kick to his knee jolted him back to the
present. "Listen to me. You really need to pay better
attention, Agent Mulder." Another kick. 

"Now, are you listening?" 

Mulder tried to nod, then made an affirmative grunt. 

"Very good. Do you know what day it is?" 

Negative grunt. Mulder could hear the man moving around. 

"Enunciate, Agent Mulder." Kick to the back. 

Mulder moaned, then forced the word "No," from his
punished throat. Where was Scully? 

"Do you recall what we've talked about?" 

"Sam." The word was torn from him, half moan,
half grunt, as he struggled to clear his mind and figure
out what was happening. "Scully . . ." 

"Not Scully. Sam. What happened to Sam?" 

"Taken." This was getting harder. Harder to focus,
harder to think, harder to remember. What had happened
to Sam? Sam was taken. No that wasn't right. Scully
was taken. He had looked for her and she had come
back. Where was Scully? 

"What happened to Sam?" 

Mulder frowned. Sam? He knew that name. What happened
to Sam? When he waited too long to answer, his head was
pulled roughly from the floor, and he was slapped. 

He cried out, "Scully," then moaned as his head impacted
the floor again. "Sam?" he questioned, forcing the word out. 

"What happened to Sam, Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder began to panic. Something was happening - he
felt like he was losing something vital, but he couldn't
remember what it was. And he could remember everything,
couldn't he? Why couldn't he remember Sam? Scully
would know. She would make it all right. But where
was Scully? 

"What happened to Sam?" The voice was relentless. 

Mulder began to cry. "I don't know, I don't know,
I don't know," he sobbed, over and over. Tears spilled
from his swollen eyes and made tracks through the blood
and grime on his face. "Please, I don't know. Please,
where is Scully?" 

"Not Scully. Sam. Who is Sam, Agent Mulder?" 

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," he sobbed
again. "Please leave me alone. I don't know." He was
breathing in huge shuddering gulps, crying almost
hysterically, uncontrollably. "I want Scully." 

Finally, a hand touched him, and he flinched. But this time
the hand was gentle and patted him softly, as a master would
pat an obedient dog. "All right, Mulder, it's all right. You've
done very good." 

He felt a needle against his neck, and something cold and burning
flowed into him. 

The hand continued to stroke his arm gently, and the voice
said, "Go to sleep now, Mulder. It's going to be all right." 

Mulder felt himself hovering on the verge of sleep or
unconsciousness, or both. Dimly, as if from far away, he felt
the hand leave his arm, and the voice said, "It seems to have
worked. Mention of his sister causes him panic and great
distress, and he has apparently deleted her from his memory
as well as the events of that night. Though Agent Scully
is still a prominent force within him it would seem." 

Scully? Of course Scully was important. Scully was
everything. She would take the pain away and explain
everything and it would be all right again. Only -
where was she? As he struggled to reconcile the words
he heard and his own foggy, confused thoughts with anything
that was familiar to him, sleep overtook him, and he faded
away into the darkness. 

End of part 01/02 

The teams of agents had dispersed on Hegel Place and were
going through the homes and apartments up and down the
street looking for anyone who may have seen Mulder. 

Skinner and Scully had taken Mulder's apartment building
and were working door to door through it. They had finally
reached the neighbor across the hall from him, and were
waiting from a response. 

Slow, shuffling footsteps came to the door, there was a pause,
and then the door was thrown open by a tiny, smiling elderly
woman. "Well, hello, my dear," she said to Scully. "How are
you?" 

Scully was taken aback by the woman's familiarity, but responded
graciously, then added, "This is Assistant Director Skinner, of the
FBI, and I'm . . ." 

She was cut off as the old woman said, "I know who you are, dear.
You're Fox's young lady." She beamed up at Scully. 

Scully flushed and shot a quick glance at Skinner but his attention
was on the elderly woman. 

"Is he feeling better?" 

"Feeling better?" Scully repeated; she raised her eyebrow at
Skinner and continued, "Was he sick?" 

The old woman looked at them. "I assume he was. The men that
took him out Friday practically had to carry him." She frowned
when she saw Scully stiffen. "Is he OK?" 

Skinner answered, "Actually, Ma'am, he's missing." 

The elderly woman sagged and reached out for the door frame
for support. Skinner quickly took her arm and said, "Perhaps
you should sit down, Mrs...?" 

"Thompson," the woman responded absently. "Melva Thompson.
I've known Fox since he first moved here. Such a sweet young
man," she paused, then continued, "except for the basketball in
the middle of the night, that is." She turned and headed back
into her apartment, Skinner still holding her arm, and Scully
closing the door and following closely. 

Skinner helped the woman to the couch and seated her, then sat
beside her, as Scully took a chair. 

"Mrs. Thompson," Skinner said gently, and the woman turned
her head to look at him. "Agent Scully and I work with Mul. . .,
um, Fox. We're concerned about him, too." 

The woman nodded, then gave a tentative smile in Scully's
direction. "I'm sure you're very worried, dear. I know
how close you two are." 

Scully flushed again, then said, "I'm his partner, Mrs. Thompson.
I'm supposed to be concerned about him." She softened her tone
and added, "Can you tell us anything about the men who carried
Mul - Fox - out on Friday? And what time it was?" 

"Well, let me see," Mrs. Thompson began. "It was about 7:30,
because Jeopardy was on. They made such a noise over there
I went to the peephole to see what was going on." She stopped
and looked at Skinner, then Scully. "I wouldn't want you to think
I was an old busybody with nothing better to do than spy on my
neighbors." 

"Oh, no ma'am," Skinner said solemnly, biting back a chuckle
despite the situation, "we would never think that." 

"Good," she said, and then went on. "Well, there was all this noise
from Fox's apartment, but I have gotten rather used to that, what
with the basketball, and the strange people he keeps company
with." She stopped and smiled at Scully. "Not you, of course,
my dear, but some of the others. . ." 

She turned back to Skinner. "This was louder than usual, so I
went to the door and peeped out. Nothing happened for a bit,
and then two men came out with Fox in between them. They
were half carrying him." 

She paused again and shook her head ruefully. "I just assumed
he wasn't well, maybe too much to drink or something, and his
friends were taking him somewhere to take care of him. I should
have realized." She looked up, a guilty look on her face. "I just
didn't realize." 

Skinner patted her hand and said, "We all misunderstood what
happened Mrs. Thompson. You've helped us a lot. At least now
we know for sure that Fox didn't leave of his own accord." 

Scully spoke up. "Descriptions, Mrs. Thompson? Can you tell
us what the men looked like?" 

"Well, they were tall, like Fox, but built more like you." She
nodded at Skinner. "Muscular, you know? Not so slim as
Fox." 

Scully was getting impatient. "Hair color, eye color, what were
they wearing?" 

"They both had on black, I remember that, but I don't remember
anything else. I'm truly sorry." Mrs. Thompson got up and walked
to the chair where Scully sat. She laid her hand on Scully's shoulder
and said, "Your young man speaks very highly of you, you know.
I'm sure you will find him." 

Scully reached up and squeezed the older woman's hand, then rose.
"Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. If you remember anything else, please
call me at this number." She handed the woman a card with her cell
number written on it and headed to the door. 

When Scully and Skinner were outside the door, she turned to him.
"I knew he was in trouble. He HAS been missing since Friday - we
have to find him soon." 

"I know, Scully, I know," Skinner soothed. "Let me see if anyone
else has discovered anything." 

He pulled his radio and made a general broadcast asking for
updates. Only one team answered in the affirmative, and Skinner
told them to meet him and Scully outside Mulder's building.
As they walked down to the meeting place, Skinner looked
at Scully's stiff back, and sighed. 'Oh, Mulder, what have
you gotten yourself into now?' he thought. 

**************************************************** 

When Mulder came to again, he was engulfed in darkness.
He bit back his panic when throbbing pain around his eyes
reassured him that he wasn't blind--yet, anyway--his eyes
had just swollen shut. His hands and feet had been untied
at some point and he was now handcuffed around his ankles
and wrists, with his hands in front of his body. He lay on
his side, on a clean sheet, on a sofa. 

He pried his swollen eyes open enough to see that night
had fallen. Faint light in the house, and it was a house of
some kind, and no light outside the one window he could
see without moving. He wore only a pair of clean, white
boxer shorts, not his own. 

He instinctively knew it was imperative not to move for
as long as possible, because movement attracted attention
and attention, he was sure, would not be good. He lay
perfectly still, breathing as evenly as he could, and tried
to make an assessment of his condition. 

This felt familiar, this internal catalog of what hurts,
as if he had done it before, but he couldn't remember
when, or where. It was obvious he was someone's
captive, and had been injured, either in being captured
and subdued, or deliberately, after he was taken. 

Assessing the injuries he could feel, broken rib, possibly
broken nose, serious injury to shoulder - dislocated? Maybe,
it certainly hurt enough to be out of the socket. Bruises
everywhere, and though he was clean now, he felt sure he
had been very bloody in the recent past. There were many,
many scrapes, scratches, and open wounds on his torso,
his arms and legs, everywhere he could see without moving. 

Where was Scully? As soon as the thought crossed his
mind, his right side of his head seemed to explode. He
moaned loudly, and pulled his hands up to cover his eye
and rub his temple. His eyes immediately began to tear.
All plans of not moving were gone. Why did thinking of
Scully hurt so badly? 

But again, with the thought came the pain, and he pushed
the name away, crying and moaning. I won't think
about the things that hurt me. I won't. He clutched his
face, pain radiating down from the eye through his
cheek and into his chin. He began to rock in an attempt
to assuage the agony. 

A light came on, and he kept his hands over his eyes,
but he couldn't prevent the shaking that started when
a voice asked, "How are you feeling, Agent Mulder?" 

He slowly lowered his hands and looked up at the man
who stood by the couch. The man was smiling, and
held a glass of water. Mulder eyed the water greedily. 

"Would you like a drink?" the man asked. 

Mulder nodded slowly and the man carefully placed
the plastic cup in Mulder's hands. He raised his head
and lifted the cup to his lips and drank. It tasted
wonderful. 

When he finished he looked up, and the man gently
took the cup. 

"Now Agent Mulder, I need to ask you some questions." 

"I'm hurt," Mulder said in a small voice. "I don't feel
good." He sounded like a small child, sick and in pain,
and not understanding any of it. 

The man smiled again. "I know. But the sooner we finish,
the sooner you can go home." 

"I can go home?" Mulder asked. 

"Yes, you can go home. Just as soon as you tell me where
Sam is." 

"Who's Sam?" 

*********************************************** 

Scully and Skinner met Agents Gornto and Laskowski right
outside Mulder's building. Both agents were excited, and
Gornto spoke first. "We've found someone who saw Mulder
being put into a car," he said. He turned and pointed across
the street to where a man sat on the steps of a townhome. 

Skinner and Scully immediately headed across the street,
the other two agents following. As they approached the
man on the steps, Skinner began. "Sir, I'm Walter Skinner
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I understand you
have information about one of my agents, Fox Mulder." 

The man stood and shook Skinner's hand, then offered
his hand to Scully as he replied, "Yes, Sir, I guess I do."
He looked closely at Scully and said, "I've seen you before.
Do you live around here, too?" 

Scully shook her head and answered impatiently, "No, I'm
Agent Mulder's partner. You may have seen me around when
I've been working at Mulder's place." She gave the man a
steely look. "You saw something?" 

"Ah, well," the man turned his attention back to Skinner.
"You know, your Mulder has a bit of a reputation around
here so it's hard for any of us to get too concerned at strange
things happening to him or his place." 

Skinner nodded impatiently. "But you saw . . ." he prompted. 

"Yeah, well, I saw two guys drag him out and put him in a
black limo Friday evening." He flushed and looked down.
"Looking back on it, I should have known it was strange,
even for Mulder, but . . . " 

"I don't suppose you got a license plate, did you?" Scully
asked. 

"Actually, I did." The man looked very pleased with himself,
and Gornto and Laskowski looked annoyed. It was obviously
the first time they'd heard this. 

"It was a specialized plate - Virginia - and it said SPCIAL1.
I remember thinking it was cute." 

Laskowski was already calling it in, and the agents thanked the man
and walked back across the street as they waited for the info on the
plate. "Gotta be a service - limo - plate like that." Gornto was
muttering to himself. 

Laskowski stopped, then pulled a note book and began wrting.
"And the number?" she asked. "OK, got it. Thanks."
She turned to face the other three. "It is a service, Gor, and
I've got the number. 

Scully grabbed the pad from her and began dialing. She soon
had confirmation. The limo had picked up two businessmen at
the Capitol, and then taken them to Hegel Place in Alexandria to
pick up a third party, and then to National. A few more inquiries
yielded the driver's home address and phone number. 

Skinner took in the new facts and sent Gornto and Laskowski
out to the airport to see what they could find there. He and
Scully would go see the driver. A quick call confirmed he
was home, and he lived in Arlington, not too far away. 

********************************************* 

Mulder was confused. The man had beaten him - he was
pretty sure of that. He was still in a lot of pain and he
felt pretty sure he needed a doctor. A doctor - his mind
skittered away from that thought as though it would
burn him. 

He shook his head - oh yeah - he was hurt. He was still
handcuffed, but he no longer felt like fighting the man.
His hands were in front of him and his arms were free.
The man had helped him sit up, leaving himself totally
vulnerable to attack, and yet he hadn't used the opportunity. 

He shook his head again. His mind seemed filled with
cobwebs. His normally clear thinking patterns were a
jumble. The questions the man kept asking just seemed
to confuse him more. 

"Who is Sam?" 

"I don't know." Who was Sam? It seemed important somehow. 

"Who are you?" 

"Fox Mulder." Ah, this one was easier. 

"What do you do for a living?" 

"I'm a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation." 

"What department do you work for?" 

"Violent Crimes. No wait." Mulder stopped. Why had he said
that? That wasn't right. He didn't work for VCS anymore.
He hadn't worked for VCS since . . . since when? 

Mulder looked at the man. "I -" He licked his lips nervously.
"I'm not sure. I don't work for VCS anymore, do I?" 

"No, Agent Mulder, you don't. Do you know where you
work?" 

Mulder thought frantically. For some reason, the thought
of not giving this man the correct answer frightened him.
"I'm a field agent . . ." he began tentatively. 

"That's right." The man smiled. Mulder smiled. Everything
was all right again. 

"And to whom do you report?" 

"AD Skinner." 

"Who is your partner?" 

"Scully." Mulder said the name and then screamed. Agony
ripped through his skull, the right side of his face engulfed
in pain. He clutched his head, his cheeks slick with sweat. As
he began to rock again, he saw spots before his eyes, and
then he passed out. 

When he came to, the man was talking to someone. "The
conditioning seemed to have worked. He can't even say
her name without passing out, and he doesn't remember his
sister at all. Funny that we had to use a pain conditioning
on the partner and not the sister." Mulder sniffed, and the man
turned. "Oh, you're awake again. How's your head?" 

"Hurts." 

"I'm sorry," the man said insincerely. "Let's get on with
this so you can go home." 

"I want to go home." 

"I know you do. But first, can you tell me how old you
are?" 

"Thirty seven." 

"Do you know where you are?" 

Mulder looked around. It looked familiar but . . .
He shook his head. 

"This is your summer house. Do you remember now?" 

Mulder looked around again. It did look familiar. The
furniture was covered in sheets, but out through the
french doors, he could see the water. This was all so
hard. He hurt everywhere, and he wanted - someone -
to come get him. Where was she? He tensed, half
expecting another bolt of pain from a forbidden thought,
but none came. Who was she - this she he wanted to come
and get him? He looked around again, then nodded.
That seemed to satisfy the man. 

"I'm tired," he said. "And I hurt. I don't want to talk
anymore." 

A flash of anger crossed the man's face, but he suppressed
it and said, "Very well, Agent Mulder. Why don't you
go back to sleep for a while and when you wake, we will
try to finish up." 

Mulder nodded and started to lay back on the couch, when
something slammed into his head from behind and he toppled
onto the floor. 

************************************************* 

The limo driver recognized Mulder as the man the other two
had carried out to the car. They had indicated he was a
business associate who had had too much to drink and
they were doing him a favor by making sure he made the
flight out. No, the guy didn't seem injured, just passed
out. And he did reek of alcohol, the driver could smell it. 

When she realized nothing more could be learned, Scully
turned and stalked away. Skinner apologized, then
thanked the man, and followed her. 

He hit the street in time to watch her swipe quickly
at her eyes as she climbed into the car. She sat
stiffly behind the steering wheel for all of thirty
seconds before she collapsed, her head falling
forward to the wheel, her shoulders heaving as
she sobbed. 

Skinner watched from a distance and longed to go to
her, but he knew she would never allow it. Special
Agent Dana Scully would never forgive him, or
herself, if he admitted to seeing her breakdown. Skinner
imagined that Mulder was the only person who had ever
seen her this vulnerable and been allowed to offer
comfort or support. He sighed, and turned his back,
opening his phone to check in with the teams and see
if anything else had turned up. 

When a decent interval had passed, Skinner
turned around again, and, sure enough, Scully
was once again erect behind the driver's wheel.
He approached the car, and got in on the passenger
side. 

She looked at him and he noted she had repaired
her make-up, for the only sign of the tears he knew
had fallen were slightly red and puffy eyes. "No
news from anyone else," he said shortly. 

She nodded. "Back to Mulder's?" At Skinner's
agreement, she started to put the car in gear, but
was interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone. She
opened her purse, pulled out the phone and answered,
"Scully." 

A tremendous scream ripped the air from the phone,
audible even to Skinner, and causing Scully to jerk the
phone away from her ear. As they looked at each other
the wailing continued and turned into sobs. 

Scully lifted the phone again and Skinner leaned in
to listen as well. The sobs were slowing and between
them they could just make out a man crying "No, no,"
repeatedly. Scully looked at Skinner, then pulled the
phone to herself and asked, "Mulder? Is that you?" 

******************************************* 

When Mulder woke again, he was no longer cuffed or
tied. He started to get up, cradling his injured left arm
carefully, but as he put weight on his left ankle, pain
shot up his leg, and the ankle twisted and collapsed,
dropping him back on the couch. When had they
broken his ankle? 

He looked around through pain clouded eyes. His eyes
were swollen from the beatings he had endured, and
he felt the right eyelid droop. He was confused, injured,
unable to think clearly. But he was alone. 

He looked at the sofa and was surprised to see a cellular
phone - his cellular phone - laying there. He lifted it with
his right hand and flipped it open. He looked at it for a
long moment, trying to decide who to call. 

There were always the speed numbers. Surely
whoever was on his phone as number one would
be able to help him. Someone important enough
to be number one would know what to do. 

Where was he? Oh, yeah, the summer house. But
where was that? He could call the FBI, but he
couldn't remember the number. He could call
information, but he didn't even know what state
he was in. 

He looked at the phone, waiting for him to make a
decision. Finally he just pushed speed one. 

A brisk, professional voice answered and said, "Scully,"
and the world exploded again. 

******************************************** 

"Mulder, Mulder, it's me," Scully was practically
screaming into the phone. "Mulder, listen to me.
Where are you?" 

On the other end, Mulder was calming. The voice
was soothing, and familiar, and as long as that other
word or name wasn't said, he would be all right. 

"I'm here," he said dazedly. "Are you coming to get me?" 

Skinner was on his phone trying to arrange for the geek
squad at headquarters to triangulate on the signals of the
cell phones and pin down Mulder's location, in the event he
couldn't tell them where he was. 

Scully softened her voice. "Yes, Mulder, I'm gonna come
get you. Just hang on, partner." At the word partner, Mulder
gasped, and began to cry again. "What is is, Mulder?" 

"I'm not allowed to have a partner," he said. "You're
number one. Are you coming to get me?" 

"Yes, Mulder, I'm coming to get you." Scully tried to calm
the frightened man. Wasn't allowed to have a partner? What
had they done to him? 

"Mulder, can you tell me where you are?" she gently asked. 

"Summer house." He sounded like a child who knew he had
given the correct answer and was awaiting praise. 

"Your summer house? In Quonochontaug?" 

There was a long pause, then a sniffle. "Summer house,"
he said again. 

"All right, Mulder, you're at the summer house. It's OK."
She could feel his relief through the phone. She looked at
Skinner and said, "Get the locals out to his family's summer
house in Quonochontaug. Medical too, just in case." At
Skinner's quizzical look, she added, "Rhode Island." 

She spoke into the phone again. "Are you alone?" 

"Yeah." 

"Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?" 

He began to cry again. "Yeah - everything hurts. The bleeding
stopped." His voice grew quiet and he whispered, "I don't have
any clothes." 

"It's all right, Mulder. The paramedics are coming. You'll be
all right." 

"Why aren't you coming? You're number one." 

Scully shook her head. What had been done to him? He didn't
sound like himself at all. He sounded like a little boy, alternately
hurt, or whiny, or petulant. She said, "I can't come, Mulder,
because I am too far away to get there quickly enough. The
paramedics will take you to the hospital and then I will be there
as soon as I can, OK?" 

"Oh," Long pause. " 'kay," Sniffle. "It hurts." 

"What hurts?" 

"I told you, everything!" 

"Can you be more specific, Mulder? So I can tell the hospital
what to look for?" 

"My head. My shoulder. My chest. My ankle. Everything."
He started to cry again. "You're number one. Who are you?" 

"It's Scully - " She was interrupted before she could go any further
by another ear splitting scream. Mulder wailed into the phone,
crying, sobbing. 

"Mulder, Mulder, calm down. If your chest hurts you may have
a broken rib. You need to calm down so you don't hurt yourself
more." 

The wailing continued for several minutes, while Scully
cooed comfort into the phone. Finally the sobbing began
to cease, and she could hear Mulder's breathing even out.
What was that all about? 

At last he was responsive and he offered, "I didn't hurt
myself. The man hurt me when I didn't answer the questions
right. But I know all the answers now, and I don't miss any, so
I can go home. Are you coming to get me now?" 

"Not me, Mulder, remember? The paramedics will take you to
the hospital and I'll meet you there." 

"Oh. Right. I knew that." 

Scully was puzzled. He sounded better, more mature. What the
hell was going on? "Mulder, can you tell me what happened?" 

Skinner had gotten out of the car and walked to the driver's
side. He nudged her and she moved over, covering the handset.
"I've got a small plane waiting for us at National. Let's go." 

She nodded and returned to the phone. "Mulder, can you
tell me what happened?" 

He was crying again. "Who are you? Who are you, my number
one?" 

Through the phone, in the distance, Scully could hear the wailing
of a siren. 

"Mulder, do you hear the siren?" she asked. 

"Yes." 

"They're coming to help you." A sudden thought crossed
her mind. "Mulder, do you have your weapon?" 

"Weapon? I don't know that question." He sounded confused,
his voice verging on panicky. "I'm a field agent for the
Federal Bureau of Investigation." 

"Yes, Mulder, that's right." Scully praised him quickly
then moved on. "But do you have your weapon? Your
gun?" 

He began to cry again. "I don't know this one. You have
to stop asking new questions. It isn't fair. I can't learn
the answers if you keep changing the questions." He sobbed
quietly into the phone, then said, "Please, I want to go home." 

Scully and Skinner exchanged a glance. Skinner waited for
her decision and finally she shook her head - no. Skinner
opened his phone again and called an order to not enter the
summer house. 

"Mulder," Scully began. "I'm coming to get you after all.
I've got to fly up there; it'll take a little while, but then I will be
there. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, you're coming to get me. You are my number one." 

"All right, Mulder, here's what I need you to do." She took
a deep breath. "I'll stay on the phone with you as much as
possible, but we may get disconnected while I'm in transit.
If we do, I need you to close your phone and wait for me to
call you back. Can you do that?" 

Scully settled in for a long two hours as she headed up
to Rhode Island and her partner. 

********************************************* 

Skinner and Scully stood outside the Mulder summer home.
Several local law enforcement officers were with them
and an ambulance and two EMTs were in the drive.
She was still talking to Mulder, though the connections
had been sporadic throughout the flight. But now, she
was here. 

"Mulder," she said, "I need to talk to Skinner for a minute." 

He had been crying on and off for the last two hours. Now,
he sniffled again. " 'kay." 

She looked up at Skinner and said, "I think I better go in
alone, Sir." 

"All right, Agent Scully, but I am only giving you a few
minutes and then we're coming in too. And if I hear shots
or any kind of commotion, we're coming in." 

"Understood, Sir. But, Sir, he won't hurt me. I know it." 

She picked up the phone again. "Mulder?" 

"Hmm?" 

"I'm here. I'm coming in now." 

"Good." 

She went to the door and entered. She went down a short hall
and found herself in a living room. Mulder was sitting on
the couch, facing the french doors, his back to her. 

"Mulder," she said very softly. 

He jumped, then turned slowly. "Are you my number one?" 

"Yeah, Mulder, I am." Scully walked slowly around the
couch and then gasped when she saw him. 

He was one large bruise, swollen, purple, broken
skin everywhere. He cradled his left arm against his
body and moved slowly and with obvious effort. 

Scully opened her phone again, and called Skinner.
"It's OK, he's not armed. Get the paramedics in here." 

She went slowly over to Mulder, watching him as he
watched her. When she stood in front of him, he reached
out to her, saying, "Please . . ." 

She stepped forward and gently put her arms around him,
pulling him to her as he began to sob. "Please take me
home, please take me home. I don't want to be here anymore." 

She stroked his hair gently and caressed his back. "Shhh,
it's OK, Mulder. I'm going to take you home. Shhhh." 

Skinner and the paramedics were in the living room too, now,
and Mulder lifted his head from Scully's chest to look
around. 

"Hello, Sir," he said in an almost normal voice. "You're
here too." 

Scully and Skinner exchanged a look of complete bafflement.
What the hell was going on? 

"Er, well, yes Mulder, I am." Skinner cleared his throat, then
added, "And I'm glad to see you are alive. You gave us all
a scare." 

"Sorry, Sir, wasn't my fault this time." Mulder was sounding
more and more like himself. 

"Yes, well, Agent Scully - " Skinner was cut off in mid-sentence
as Mulder screamed and collapsed into himself. He buried his head
Scully's abdomen and wailed. 

"No, no, no, no, no . . ." 

Once again Skinner and Scully exchanged confused looks, as Scully's
hand pulled Mulder to her and she began to murmur, "Shhhhh, now,
shhhh, it's all right. Calm down. Hush, now, hush." 

Mulder continued to wail for a few moments then the combination
of Scully's words and her comforting touch seemed to help settle
him. The sobs quieted and then stopped completely. 

Skinner looked at Mulder, then at Scully, and whispered, "What the
hell just happened?" 

"I'm not sure, Sir, but it may be my name that triggered it. He screamed
like that when I answered the phone, and again when I answered his
question of who I was." 

She looked down at Mulder, his head buried in her belly, and she gently
touched his hair. He lifted his head slightly, and she tucked her hand
under his chin and lifted it a bit more, until she could see his eyes. His
eyes were swollen, and the right lid drooped. Tears still hovered in both
and the right one was bloodshot as well. 

"Mulder, do you know me?" 

"You're my" - sniff - "number one." 

"Your number one?" 

"On the phone. I couldn't remember the numbers so I pushed
number one. You're my number one." 

"Oh." One mystery solved. "Do you know my name?" 

He immediately grew agitated, pulling away, and twisting in
his seat. "You're my number one," he said stubbornly.
"You're taking me home." 

"I'm your partner, Mulder." At the word partner, he whimpered,
his eyes filled again, and he shook his head - no. 

"Yes, Mulder, I'm your partner. It's OK. You can have a
partner." His eyes skittered across the room, searching, then
settled on Skinner. When Skinner nodded - yes - he relaxed. 

"Mulder," he looked at her. She still held him loosely,
tight enough that he wouldn't feel alone, but not so tight
as to hurt him. "Mulder," she repeated, "My name -" 

He tensed. She could feel him tighten. Every muscle, every
tendon, every bone pulled taut. He squeezed his eyes tightly
shut and leaned heavily against her, his head buried in her
belly. The tension was palpable and he actually quivered as he
waited for her to finish. 

"My name is Dana." 

End of part 02/02

 
Date: Mon, 17 Aug 1998

Title: Memory: Restoration of the Mind(1/2)
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-Mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: R - for violence and disturbing imagery
Category: SA MSR but safe for non-shippers
Archive: Yes, please
Feedback: Yes! Please! 

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are owned by Chris Carter,
1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are
wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny and
Gillian Anderson. I will make no profit from this, and
neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have
nothing material they can profit from. 

Comments: This is part two of a trilogy. The stories are
connected and should be read in the order listed.
Memory: Recovery of the Man
Memory: Restoration of the Mind
Memory: Reclamation of the Soul
Thanks to my X-Phriends Vickie, Rory, and Kate, for help
on all the little things that go into making a story. 

Summary: Mulder is abducted, beaten, and given a serum to
stimulate memories of the night Samantha disappeared. Scully
finds him, tends him while he recovers, then helps him deal
with new memories of that fateful night. 

Memory: Restoration of the Mind 01/05 

"Shhh, sweetie, it's OK," Scully murmured into Mulder's hair. 

Sweetie? When did I start that? Well, he hates Fox, and
Mulder sounds too - formal - for a man who is sobbing his
heart out like a six year old, his head plastered to your belly. 

His good arm was around her waist and he cried softly into
her abdomen. The sobs were quieting now, and all that
was left would be getting him to let go and getting him settled in
the bed again. She could cheerfully kill the nurse who had
come in and called her by name. 

She stroked his back, her fingers unconsciously playing with
the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. She continued to
whisper soft sounds of comfort into his ear as his breathing
slowed and he began to calm. 

When he had been quiet for a minute or so, no more silent
heaves, no more shuddering breaths, she tentatively pulled
away. She was pleased to find that he almost immediately
relaxed his hold and let her go. When they had first gotten
him to Roger Williams Medical Center in Providence, he
had been clingy, unwilling to let her go for a second,
never letting her out of his sight. 

Now, three days later, he was still insecure, confused,
easily frightened, but he was better. At times, he was
a lot better - almost normal. She took his hand,
reassuring him with her touch, and asked, "Are you
OK now?" 

He nodded, then snuffled. She reached around to
the night stand and grabbed a handful of tissues.
She held them out to him, and when he didn't let
go of her hand to take them, she gently wiped
his eyes, then held one to his nose and said,
"Blow." 

He did and she finished cleaning him as best she
could. His eyes were tightly shut, but his hand
still clung to hers. She gently brushed the hair
off his forehead and kissed him there. "Head
hurt?" 

He nodded imperceptibly. 

"Let me look." He dutifully lifted his head and gazed
into her eyes. Once again, the right side of his face
seemed most affected, bathed in perspiration, the eye
itself bloodshot, the lid drooping. He withstood her
clinical observation for half a minute, then closed his
eyes wearily. 

"OK then, let me get you something for the pain, and
I want to get a wash cloth and wipe your face.
You'll feel a lot better then." She paused and
he made no move to release her hand. "Mulder,"
she began. 

He opened one eye and looked at her. 

"I'm gonna need that hand." 

His eye slowly traveled down to focus on their
two hands entwined in his lap. He looked back
up at her and opened the other eye. She could
see the fear and indecision in his hazel orbs. 

"Mulder," she said softly, "I'm just going to the
bathroom over there." She waved at the door
across the room. "I'll keep the door open.
You'll be able to see me the whole time, OK?" 

He studied her for a long moment, then nodded
gravely, and released her hand. As she rose,
she saw him tense, and she leaned back down
and gave him a quick hug. "I'll be right back." 

She walked quickly to the bathroom, opened the
door wide, and went to the sink. She filled the
plastic basin with tepid water and grabbed a
wash cloth and small towel. She was back in
60 seconds. 

"Now, Mulder, I need to go out the door and
talk to the nurses for a few minutes." She had
hardly begun before he began shaking his head
vehemently - NO. She shook her own head
imperceptibly and backtracked. "All right,
how about if I ring the button and get one of them
to come in here?" 

His eyes widened in fear - she could hardly blame
him for that. The last time a nurse came in she
said the verboten word and caused his head to explode
in agony. The very event Scully had hoped to
*discuss* with the staff. But for now, she just
wanted to get some relief for her partner. 

"I'll talk to them, Mulder, it will be OK. We'll
ask for Janice, OK? You like Janice." She took
his hand again. "Whadaya say?" 

His eyes filled with tears, but he nodded a quick
'yes' at her before closing them and putting his
good right arm over his face. 

She pressed the call button and when a voice
answered, "Yes, may I help you?" she responded. 

"Janice? This is Dana. I'm in Mulder's room and
one of the new nurses said something that upset
him." She looked over at her partner, face screwed
up in pain and fear, arm pulled tight across his eyes.
"Could he have a couple aspirin for his headache,
please? And could you bring them?" 

"Sure, Dana, I'm so sorry about that. I'll be right
in." 

Scully stood by the bed and said, "Mulder."
He didn't respond. "Mulder, I know your head
hurts." She reached out and took his arm and
tugged gently. "Come on, let me see those
eyes of yours." She smiled when he let her move his
arm and then opened his eyes to look at her. 

"That's better. Were you listening? Janice is going
to bring you something for your headache." She
dipped the cloth in the basin of water and began
to bathe his face, lingering over eyes she knew
were sore and scratchy. He watched her every
movement, only closing his eyes when the cloth
was directly over them. She felt he was drinking
her in - feeding off her presence. 

Janice came in and Mulder obediently swallowed
the painkillers. Scully helped get him into a
semi-comfortable position - no easy task with
a arm immobilizer over his formerly dislocated
left shoulder side, a broken ankle, two cracked
ribs, and all the other various bruises, contusions,
and abrasions that covered him. 

She finally had him semi-reclined, propped on
many pillows and he was fast drifting off to
sleep. His eyes would close, and then his head
would sag, and then he would jerk himself awake. 

"Mulder," she said. "Shall I lay down with you
for a while?" He nodded at once and she kicked
her shoes off and lowered the bed rail. She climbed
carefully into the right side of the bed and took his
right hand in her own. She tenderly laid her left
arm across his belly, below the cracked ribs,
below the immobilized arm. "Is this all right?"
she asked, afraid she had hurt him. 

He nodded happily and pulled his hand from hers,
lifting his arm and putting it around her, pulling
her head and body even closer to him. 

He whispered something, and she leaned forward
saying, "What's that sweetie? I didn't hear you." 

"You're my number one." It came out in a cracked
and broken whisper. "Thank you, Dana." 

"You're welcome, Mulder," she replied as she
gently stroked his face. "Rest, now. I've got you." 

As he drifted off to sleep, she whispered, "You're
my number one, too." 

**************************************** 

Scully hadn't planned to fall asleep, but the last few days
had taken their toll, and she was more tired than she
realized. The next thing she knew a voice was whispering,
"Scully" in her ear. She jolted awake immediately,
then looked to see if Mulder had heard or if her
movement had wakened him. He was soundly sleeping
for a change. 

"Geez, Sir, don't say that!" she whispered angrily.
She carefully pulled herself out of Mulder's hold and
rose from the bed. Taking his arm, she pulled Skinner
across the room, away from the bed. "You've got to
remember, only Dana." 

Skinner looked abashed. "Sorry. I forgot," he said
in a low, apologetic voice. 

"Yeah, well, you'd have been more sorry if he had
started screaming again." 

"Again?" 

"Yeah, again. One of the new nurses called me
- well, you know - and he lost it." Both of them
turned to look at Mulder, sleeping peacefully now. 

"Look, Sir, let's step outside for a minute. I think
he'll sleep for a bit longer." 

They walked down to the small lounge area and
took seats. "You want a soda or something?"
Skinner asked. 

"That would be nice. Diet." 

Skinner looked at her, gave a small snort, and
walked over to the machine. He fed coins into
the slot, and accepted his booty. He handed one
can to Scully, opened his own, and sank heavily
onto the couch. 

"How was the trip to Mass?" Scully looked up
from opening her own soda, taking in Skinner's
expression, then said, "She's not coming, is she?" 

Skinner shook his head, then sat quietly, "I just don't
understand it." 

Scully nodded knowingly, then lowered her head. 

Skinner shook his head again. "How is he?" 

Scully straightened and put on her 'report'
persona. "It's still early, but from what I have
observed, he's lost a lot of his memories.
Questions of any kind other than innocuous
'how you feeling?' type things seriously
upset him." 

She paused, organizing her thoughts. "He
seems to know me, though not by Scully. He's
comfortable calling me Dana, knows we work
together. He responds best to you actually, Sir.
He seems most like himself when he's talking to
you. So much of the time when I interact with
him, he - regresses. I don't know what else to
call it. He seems child-like, both in a need for
comfort and reassurance, but also in a certain
stubborn, no room for compromise kinda way." 

She shrugged. "I haven't gotten it figured out
by a long shot. There were traces of sodium
pentathol, so called 'truth serum' in his blood,
along with a whole roster of other things, some
identifiable, some not." 

"Refresh me on sodium pentathol," Skinner ordered. 

"At an appropriate dosage, you get just enough neural
inhibitory effect to create an alcohol-like disinhibition
of normal behavioral restraints. 

"At a higher dosage, but not high enough to cause
unconsciousness, you may create a stupor and inhibit
independent thought and action to a greater extent. The
result is the subject becomes more suggestible and less willful.
A context for either recalling memories or constructing
new ones may then be created." 

Skinner nodded, and Scully resumed her summary. 

"He screams in panic, his head explodes in pain if
he hears my name, Scully, but he's fine with me, the
person, and Dana, the name. The pain seems localized
on the right side and there are attendant physical
manifestations - perspiration, tearing, runny nose. The
eye is bloodshot and the lid droops. I need to do some
more research on this." The last was said more as and
aside to herself than a comment for Skinner. 

He made a sub-verbal "um hmm," and she went on. 

"He cries, or whimpers, in fear and, I think pain, at the
words 'doctor' and 'partner,' the former being tough to
avoid in a hospital." 

"And your overall assessment is . . ." Skinner prompted. 

"I think someone has been seriously messing with his mind,
certainly using drugs, but probably also using hypnosis and
other forms of mind control or brainwashing. I think there
may have been some overlap with the old practice of using
ethyl ether - there were traces in his work up - to aid in
obtaining a psycho-dynamic 'catharsis,' which may or may not
relate to actual events in his personal history. The whole
procedure - if you can call what was done to him a 'procedure,'
seems to overlap with some aspects of the use of hypnosis for
similar purposes." 

"He's suffered serious physical trauma, but nothing severe
enough to account for the memories he's lost or the sudden
phobias he's developed around certain words and names." 

Skinner nodded. "So what do we do? Take him to
a reputable hypnotist and have him deprogrammed?" 

Scully snorted. "Is there a such thing as a 'reputable'
hypnotist?" she asked. She fixed Skinner with a
serious look. "He's the strongest man I know. I
think whoever did this to him may have underestimated
him. He's brilliant, driven, used to thinking in non-linear
ways. He may surprise us all and heal on his own. I'm
concerned about the headaches; I want to watch that closely.
But, I want to give him some time - and lots of support - to
deal with this." 

Skinner nodded in agreement. "He does have that
incredible memory. It may be harder to mess with than
imagined." 

Scully looked at him. "You didn't find anything at
the summer house?" 

"Nothing. Clean as a whistle. I spent all day Tuesday and
yesterday there with forensics. Whoever they were, they
were good, and they were thorough." 

"Mulder expects to see you tonight." 

Skinner nodded. "What are we going to do about
getting him home?" He stopped and looked
questioningly at Scully. "Does he know where home
is? And does he want to go home?" 

"Asking him questions is still tough. Sometimes he's OK,
other times. . ." She shrugged. "He may do better for
you. He seems to relate to you in a manner more
consistent with his true self." 

She looked at Skinner. "He's going to want to know
where his mother is. He knew you were going, and he's
asked for her a couple of times. Mostly when he seems
most regressed." 

"Shit." He looked up. "Um, sorry." 

"Yeah, well. I think you better tell him. As I said, he
seems to be more mature when he interacts with you,
but just in case, I don't want to be the one to do the
deed because he relies on me so heavily for emotional
comfort and support." 

Skinner nodded. "All right. I'll be the bad guy. Anything
else?" 

"Well, his doctors are ready to release him. If he
lived in the area, and wasn't having these weird
mental problems, I think they'd have booted him
out yesterday. I think we ought to rent a car and take
him home." 

"Really? So soon? I'm surprised." Skinner sat
quietly for a few moments. "I must confess, I'd
be a lot happier pursuing this from DC. I have
a lot more resources there." He nodded. "If
you really think he's ready to travel, then we can
leave tomorrow." 

**************************************** 

Mulder woke to an empty room. He had been
dreaming about - about what? He couldn't bring the
memory up. That had been happening more and
more often, about a lot of things, not just dreams.
He felt like whole pieces of his mind were missing.
And to listen to Dana, they were. 

He looked around for her, but she wasn't in the room.
He eyed the closed bathroom door, then called,
"Dana?" He waited a few minutes, then called again,
"Dana? Are you here?" 

When she still didn't respond, he could feel his
heart rate increase. It was so frustrating! Here
he was, a grown man, an FBI agent, and yet, not
having this one woman here sent him into a state
of panic. He closed his eyes and tried to slow
his breathing. As he lay in the bed, arm across
his eyes, another image came to him. 

He was lying in a bed like this one, and he was
injured too. But he was just a boy, not a man.
He was crying and calling for someone, but they
wouldn't come. The only ones to come were the
ones who hurt him. He wanted to go home. 

As he lay there, the present faded away and
the image in his mind became more real, until
he was the boy in the bed, and he began to cry. 

The boy in the bed was crying, "Please, I want
to go home." He sobbed quietly for some time
before someone finally came in. When the door
opened, the boy looked up and immediately
took a deep breath and tried to stop crying. 

The man was angry. He was angry because
the boy was crying. Big boys don't cry. But his
arm hurt, and his head, and he was scared and
lonely. He missed his Mom, and his room, and
- something - someone? - else. He wanted to
go home. He didn't feel like a big boy now. 

"Are you crying again?" the man roared. 

"No, Sir," the boy lied. He swiped at his face
quickly and took another deep breath. 

"You are crying! Look at me when I talk to you
boy!" the man lashed out and slapped the boy. 

The boy sobbed once, then took a deep breath
and held it. When he let it go, he said, "I'm sorry,
Sir. Please," he heard the whine creeping into his
voice but couldn't help it. He knew he'd be in more
trouble, but he couldn't stop. "Please, can I go
home now?" A tear rolled down his cheek despite
his best efforts to control himself. 

The man lashed out again. *SLAP* 

"You will stay here, and you will do as you are told,
and you will answer the questions and stop acting like
a little sissy baby. Do you understand me?" 

The boy looked at the man, 'Look at me when I talk
to you' still ringing in his ears. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry,
Sir. I'll be good, Sir." 

"All right, then. That's what I want to hear." The
man's rough voice softened somewhat, and he reached
out and ruffled the boy's hair. "Be good, help the
doctors . . . " 

The image faded away as he was abruptly pulled back
to the present . . . 

". . . call the doctor?" AD Skinner was talking to Dana. 

She shook her head - no - then looked more closely at
Mulder. "I think he's with us again." 

She reached out and stroked his forehead. "Are you
with me Mulder?" 

"I'm sorry." His voice had that little boy quality again.
"I'm sorry I cried. Can I go home now?" Tears filled
his eyes again, threatening to spill over. 

Scully pulled him up and wrapped her arms around him
as he laid his head on her shoulder. "Oh, sweetie,
it's OK to cry. Everyone cries when they hurt, and I
know you've been hurt real bad." 

He began to sob again, quiet little shudders and tiny
little gasps of air, not the huge wracking tears of
earlier, but tears nonetheless. She rocked him softly
and talked soothingly to him. 

Skinner stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed and
watched them. As Mulder settled down, Scully
began to pull away, but she was so tangled in his
arms, and wires, and tubes and slings, she was having
difficulty helping in him lay back down. He was
dead weight in her arms, offering no help whatsoever,
passively letting her move him. 

Skinner stepped forward. "Can I help, Sc - , er,
Dana?" 

"Yeah, just give me sec." She twisted to the left.
"Here, you support his weight . . ." 

As Skinner reached out and wrapped his arms
around Mulder, so Scully could scoot off the bed,
Mulder looked straight at him and began saying,
"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm sorry. I was bad, I'm sorry.
Please don't be mad at me. I'm sorry. I won't cry
anymore." 

Scully and Skinner exchanged a quick glance, then
Scully said, "It's OK Mulder. I told you, everyone
cries." 

But Mulder's eyes were fixed on Skinner and he was
still repeating "I'm sorry, Sir, I'm sorry. I was bad,
I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I'm sorry.
I won't cry anymore." A certain almost vacant
expression came over his face as he repeated his
mantra. 

Scully looked at Skinner and nodded in Mulder's
direction. 

"Er, well, that's quite all right, Mulder, it happens." 

Scully rolled her eyes. "Loosen up, Sir," she
whispered. "He needs to believe you." 

As Mulder continued to repeat the same phrases
over and over again, he began to grow agitated.
Apparently, he wasn't hearing the response he was
expecting, and his distress was increasing. Though
his face stayed empty of expression there was
obvious fear in his eyes. 

Skinner tried again. "It's OK, Mulder, really it's
OK." 

Skinner was still holding Mulder and he began to
toss, pulling away from him as his cries of
"I'm sorry" grew louder and louder. 

Scully was talking frantically to him, trying to calm
him, but his eyes were fastened securely on Skinner
and nothing seemed to break the connection. 

Skinner began to talk too, a running stream of
consciousness, repeating some of what Scully
was saying, improvising some on his own. He
kept going until finally . . . 

"Shhh, now, it really is all right. Calm down
now son, it's going to be all right." 

Something in there had been the right thing,
because Mulder visibly sagged, he stopped
pleading and the vacant look disappeared from
his face, his expression suddenly growing animated
as he shuddered and then jerked away from
Skinner. 

He didn't get far, as Skinner had a good hold on
him. "Calm down, now, Mulder," he began. 

The grown up Mulder looked at his boss, the
FBI agent eyed his superior, and asked, "Why
are you hugging me?" 

Scully and Skinner looked at each other in complete
bafflement, then Scully let out a blast of laughter.
The stress of the last few days was just too much,
and she finally gave in to the ridiculousness of the
moment. 

Skinner began to chuckle too, as he gently settled
Mulder back amongst his pillows. He stepped away
and both he and Scully began to roar as they watched
the bemused expression on Mulder's face. 

Finally getting himself back under control, Skinner
looked at Mulder and said, "It's a long story, Mulder,
but we've got time." 

**************************************** 

Mulder was asleep again, and Scully and Skinner
were once more in the small lounge, this time sipping
coffee filched from the nurse's station. 

"A flashback you say?" Skinner asked. 

"Yes, Sir. I'm no mental health specialist, but it sure
seemed that way to me. The vacant expression, fear
in the eyes, fixated on one person and not responding to
anything or anyone else." She stopped and smiled.
"What made you call him 'son' anyway? He's not that
much younger than you." 

Skinner colored, face flushing, the tips of his ears turning
bright red. "I'm not exactly - experienced - with this kind
of thing, and I was trying to remember some of the things
my mom used to say to me when I first came back to
the World." He paused, his eyes taking on a faraway
look. 

"I had some nightmares that were real doozies for a
while. It was real bad at first, got better with time. My
Mom was a godsend - got me through the worst of it.
She was always there, but never pushed." 

He looked at Scully again, and she nodded. "I saw
a few flashbacks in Nam. Now that you mention it,
it does seem like something I've seen before." He
stood, putting his coffee cup on the table and began
to pace. "But what was he flashing back to?" 

"I think somewhere - somewhen - in his childhood.
I think he fixated on you as 'Father.' I don't even
want to think about what happened that had him
saying those things." She shuddered. 

"On the bright side, though, remember what I
said about his mind not working like everyone
else's? About healing himself with help and support?" 

Skinner had stopped pacing and was gazing
intently at her, listening to her every word. He
nodded once, and she went on. 

"Well, this may be the way he does it. Dragging
it all back out, reliving it, and then putting it away
for good." 

"But dealing with childhood traumas isn't going to
help him get his adult memories back." 

"We don't know that yet, Sir. Maybe whatever
they did to him that impacted his adult memory,
also stirred up these childhood ones. Maybe if he
works through the one, he can work through the
other." 

Skinner looked at Scully for a long time. Her
eyes were bright with excitement and hope. "Scully,
don't be overly optimistic about this," he warned.
"I don't want to be the party pooper, but I also
know that Agent Mulder has a long way to go
to return to anything close to his normal, pain
in the ass, self." 

Scully smiled despite the warning. "I know.
I just have a - feeling - that we're on the right
track here." 

"Well, maybe we are." Skinner stopped and
considered. "Do you still think we should try
to take him home tomorrow?" 

"Yes, I do. I think whatever is happening may be
less traumatic in the familiarity of his adult world."
Now she paused, considering. She studied the cup
held in her lap, then looked up saying, "I want to
take him home with me. I don't want him to be
alone, and I have the extra bedroom." 

When Skinner nodded, she added, "Besides,
my place is clean." 

End of part 01/05 

Memory: Restoration of the Mind 02/05 

When Mulder woke this time, Scully and Skinner were
right there, seated in chairs on each side of the bed.
Skinner was dozing and Scully was reading a paperback
mystery. 

It felt late to Mulder, and he struggled to look at the
watch on Skinner's arm. 11:30? As he shifted in the
bed to get a better view, Dana looked up. 

"You OK?" 

He nodded, then cleared his throat. "Yeah," he croaked.
Dana immediately got up and brought him a glass
of water. He took a couple of big sips, then said,
"Thanks," in a more normal voice. 

"How do you feel?" 

At her question, a flash of pain crossed his features,
and he felt a lingering sense of panic, but he shoved
it down and answered, "Better, I think." 

"Are you up to talking?" 

Again, the pain, the flash of panic, and he could feel his
heart racing. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Dana must have realized something was going on
because she took his hand, and said, "Shhh, it's
all right. No more questions." She stroked his hand
in hers, and waited as he calmed back down. 

When he was settled again, she said, "We need to talk,
Mulder. All three of us." She nodded in Skinner's
direction. 

Mulder nodded too, and Dana pulled her hand from his
and walked around the bed to wake Skinner. "Sir?"
She shook him lightly and his eyes immediately opened. 

She stepped back and said. "Mulder is awake and
ready to talk." 

Skinner blinked, then looked over at Mulder in the bed. 

"Are you ready to discuss this?" 

As Mulder's heart began to race, Dana stepped in and
said, "No questions, Sir." She moved to the bed again
and took Mulder's hand. "No more questions." 

Skinner coughed, then said, "Sorry. I seem to have a
knack for saying the wrong thing." He smiled apologetically. 

"It's OK, Sir." Mulder smiled too. "I don't know what's
wrong with me. I shouldn't get upset over stupid stuff like this,
but I do." He shrugged. "It seems to be getting better, isn't
it, Dana? The pain isn't as bad." 

"Well, Mulder, that's what we need to talk about. That and
getting you home." 

"I can go home?" Mulder's face had lit up, eyes bright with
excitement. "When can I go home?" 

"First things first. Let's talk about how you feel first. Rather
than ask you questions, I'm going to make some statements
and you tell me if they're right or wrong. And if you want to,
if you can, you add whatever you think you need to, OK?" 

Mulder nodded. 

"Now - you feel better physically. You're still sore, especially
your arm, but you are feeling much better." 

Mulder looked at his arm and nodded again. "And my head,
Dana. My head still hurts a lot sometimes. But it's better
than it was." 

"You can sit up now, without too much discomfort. And
with the walking cast, you can move around with help." 

Mulder nodded again. "But my balance is off sometimes."
He gestured down at himself. "Everything's on the left." 

"OK. You're doing great Mulder." She smiled at him
then continued. "You want to go home." 

He nodded vigorously. 

She laughed. "Why does that not surprise me?" At his
pained expression, she quickly said, "No, no, Mulder,
that wasn't for you. No questions, I promise." 

She watched as he relaxed back into the mound of
pillows. "One more on the physical. Your breathing
is fine, despite the ribs. You are not having any trouble
with that." 

"Just when I have to cough or if I move too suddenly.
It's still a little sore. But I can breathe OK." 

"OK. Good. Now we need to talk about your
mental condition." 

A shadow crossed his face and she hurried to reassure
him. "No questions, Mulder. I promised. And I'm gonna
be as careful as I can." 

He nodded, but she could see the tension remained. 

She shot a quick glance at Skinner. He was sitting
quietly, taking it all in. She couldn't tell what he was
thinking behind his mask of impassivity. 

"Now, Mulder, you are having a lot of trouble
remembering things." 

A nod. 

"You remember Skinner." She nodded at the other man. 

"Yes. AD Skinner. I report to AD Skinner." 

There was a sing-song quality to his voice, as if he were
repeating answers he had learned by heart. 

"You remember the FBI." 

"I work for the FBI. I'm a field agent. I work in VCS."
He stopped, a troubled look on his face. His breathing
began to quicken, and he stared at Dana as he said again,
almost plaintively, "I'm a field agent." 

"Shhh, it's all right. You're doing fine. You do report
to AD Skinner, and you did work in VCS. That's as
far as we need to go there." 

Mulder was still taking big gulps of air, but as Dana
kept talking he began to calm, his breathing returning
to normal. When he was settled, she resumed. 

"You know me." 

Mulder gave a guarded nod - yes. He looked
troubled. Scully was silent, willing him to speak, to
offer anything so she wouldn't have to ask. 

Finally he said, in a low, tremulous voice, "I know
you. You came to bring me home." His voice was
breaking, and the breathing had quickened again. 

His eyes filled with tears, and Scully shot Skinner a
worried look. "It's OK Mulder," she said. "You're
right. You know me and I am going to take you home."
She smiled at him and stroked his arm. "You're doing
great!" 

But he was sinking again, falling into a place he couldn't
get out of that easily. He looked at Scully and then
gripped her hand. His eyes were bright with unshed tears,
and his breathing was uneven. His whole body shook
as he said, "You always -" he winced as if in pain, then
shook it off, holding her hand more tightly. 

Skinner could see that Scully was in some pain herself
and he rose to come to her side of the bed, but she waved
him back. 

"I always what, Mulder?" she asked gently. 

His whole body arched as a wave of pain crashed over him.
"You. Always. Come. Get. Me." He spat it out through
clenched teeth, squeezing her hand so hard she began to
worry he would break it. 

Apparently Skinner had the same concern, for he reached
out and broke Mulder's grip, freeing Scully's hand, but holding
Mulder's in his own. Scully stepped away and massaged
her sore hand for a minute, working the blood back into
the starved digits, smoothing out the tortured flesh. 

Mulder was waging some kind of internal war. His
body continued to arch up off the bed as he groaned
and winced. Skinner continued to hold onto him,
trying to keep him flat in the bed so he wouldn't injure
himself further. 

Scully soon stepped back to the bed and began to talk
to him again, but there was no response. She finally
looked at Skinner and said, "You better try the 'son'
thing again." 

He nodded, then said, "Mulder, son, it's all right
now." Nothing happened. Mulder continued to buck
and shift on the bed, his face a mask of pain now,
covered in beads of sweat. 

Skinner looked at Scully and asked, "Now what?" 

She shook her head. "I'm at a loss. Maybe we
better call for some help." 

Skinner looked back at Mulder. At Mulder. Hmmm.
Parents don't usually call their kids by their last names,
despite Mulder's claims to the contrary. He tried again.
"Fox, son, it's all right." 

Mulder body immediately relaxed and he eased back
into the pillows on the bed. He opened his eyes and
blinked owlishly around at them. When he saw Skinner
sitting on the bed, hands still holding him, he closed
his eyes and gave a sheepish little half smile. "Again,
huh, Sir? Guess this is becoming a habit." 

Scully went and filled the basin and came back, smoothly
ejecting Skinner and sliding into his place on the bed.
She bathed Mulder face, chest and arms, wiping away
the fear and pain sweat, and murmuring soft soothing
words as she worked. 

As she wiped his forehead for the final time, Mulder's
hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. He held her, but
gently this time, cradling her hand in his own. "Dana,
what's happening to me?" 

****************************************** 

It had taken some time, but they had finally gotten Mulder
settled down for the night. They had ended any discussion
after his last *episode* and simply focused on getting
him to sleep. Once asleep, Skinner had tried to
convince Scully to go to the motel room he had taken,
while he stayed the night with Mulder, but she refused.
Finally, about 2:30 in the morning, he had headed back. 

The next morning had been hectic as well. He had
rented an RV - small but at least it had a bunk Mulder
could rest in, and Scully would be able to move around
some. He congratulated himself on the decision - it
hadn't been thought out, but had just occurred to him
as he was getting ready to pick his two agents up. 

He had called around and located a rental place, then
turned his car in and picked up the RV. Both Scully
and Mulder had looked shocked when he'd pulled up
in the thing. 

But now, two hours into the trip, he was sure Mulder
was very glad to have a bed to stretch those long legs
out in. He had begun the trip sitting up with them, but
had faded fast. Scully had finally convinced him to go
lay down, and she had stayed with him until he fell
asleep, about two minutes later. 

Now she was seated in the 'co-pilot' seat, and they had
a chance to catch up and make some plans. 

"All right, Sc -" he began, then glanced behind him.
At the silence, he took a deep breath in relief, then
went on. "Sorry - almost blew it again." 

Scully was chuckling softly. "It is rather strange,
even to me. It seems sorta, I don't know, out of
context." 

Skinner laughed too, then said. "All right, *Dana,*
what do we do now? I mean, we can't seem to get
five minutes into a serious discussion with him and
it goes to hell." 

Scully sobered. "I'm not sure that this 'going to
hell' as you put it is necessarily bad. I do think
he's working through things, hopefully working
forward through them. If he is, the clincher will
be how many things from childhood he has to work
through." She sighed and pushed her hair back from
her face. "I suspect there's quite a bit." 

Skinner nodded in agreement. "Gives you a whole
new admiration for the man, beginning to know
what he had to survive just to get here. I mean, I
knew it had to have been bad for him, growing up
with his sister disappearing like that. That kind of
thing scars you for life." 

"Kids can be cruel," he continued. "I never really thought
his parents would be cruel, too." He looked over at Scully
gazing sadly out the window. "Did you know, for a while,
the local police actually considered him a suspect in the
possible murder of his sister." 

At Scully's outraged gasp, he added, "He was the last one
to see her." 

Scully shook her head, then unbuckled from the seat and
rose. "I'm going to check on him. I'll be right back." 

She walked carefully to the rear of the RV, where Mulder
lay sleeping on the bunk. His face and body were relaxed,
and for once he didn't seem to be fighting any dream dragons. 

She stood looking at him for a long moment, then gently
traced the curve of his jaw, smooth from his morning
shave. As she rested the back of her hand against his
cheek, a single tear slid down her face and she said, "Oh
Mulder, what did they do to you?" 

******************************************** 

Mulder stood in the living room, Skinner's hand still
gripping him, and looked around. "Hey," he said
happily, "I know this place. This is your new place.
Georgetown." 

He looked at Scully. "The commute was too much.
You just moved here from Annapolis." He winced
and turned his head to the side as a sharp pain washed
through his skull. 

"Mulder," Skinner was pulling him toward the couch,
"Mulder, come sit down." 

His eyes were closed and he stumbled forward, letting
Skinner lead him and deposit him on the soft couch.
He leaned back, then laid his head on the back of the
couch, eyes still closed. He heard a kind of buzzing
in the background - they were talking to him or about
him, he wasn't sure which - but he couldn't make the
effort to listen through the pain in his head. 

Before he could say anything, a cool cloth was
placed over his eyes, and soft hands were stroking
his forehead. The buzzing slowly became decipherable,
and he heard Dana saying, "Mulder, come on, open
your mouth and take these." 

He opened obediently and two pills were placed on
his tongue. He swallowed and a glass of water appeared
at his lips. He drank, swallowing again, then leaned his
head onto the back of the couch again. Dana's soft
hand was stroking him again, soothing his brow, and her
voice was still murmuring comfort. He sat still for a while,
letting her minister to him, then slowly pulled himself
up to sit erect. 

The pain was subsiding - it didn't seem to last as long
as it did when he first started having these spells. It
faded to a dull ache, but it was always so hard to remember
what had triggered them. He took the cloth from his
eyes and opened them, the right lid drooping again, to find
Dana sitting next to him, Skinner standing in front of him. 

They were both staring at him with concern. 

"Mulder?" Skinner asked. 

He furrowed his brow. Who else would it be? "Yeah?'
he answered. 

Skinner and Dana both gave a sigh of relief. 

"You OK?" 

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "It hurts but
it's easing up." He looked around. "What triggered
it this time?" 

"Apparently recognizing my new place." 

Mulder looked at Dana. "Why would that bother
me? I know you, right? We work together - we're
friends aren't we?" 

"Yes, we are, Mulder." Scully sighed. "It's hard
to explain. Every time we -" she looked at Skinner,
"try to talk to you about what has happened and is
happening, we seem to trigger this 'pain reaction'
in you." 

She lowered her voice and took his hand. "And
you are my friend. I don't want to hurt you." 

He nodded, the reached out and hugged her with
his right arm. "Dana, 's OK, really. I'm all right." 

She stayed in his embrace for a moment, letting him
hold her, then gently pulled away. "If you're feeling
more like yourself, Mulder, maybe we should try and
talk about some of this." 

He nodded, then looked up at Skinner. "Excuse me,
Sir, I don't mean to offend, but I don't understand.
Why are you here?" At Skinner's rather startled look,
Mulder hurried on. "I mean, I know that I'm missing
some chunks of memory regarding Dana, here, but
I do remember you. And if I may say so, I don't
recall us having a relationship outside of the workplace.
He paused, then asked, "Are we friends, too?" 

Scully and Skinner exchanged a glance, then Skinner
replied. "Well, Mulder, we don't usually socialize, but
our relationship does extend beyond the normal manager
and direct report." He looked at Scully again and was
relieved to see her nod her head in encouragement. 

"Our relationship has been adversarial at times, but
only over method, never over results." Mulder was nodding
in agreement now. "We are working for the same thing,
and," Skinner swallowed hard, and included Scully in his
next statement, "I trust you and I believe you have come to
trust me." 

Mulder stared at the older man, then nodded gravely, as
if a serious concern had been allayed. 

"Your welfare, and the welfare of your partner -"
Skinner paused as Mulder let out a sharp gasp
and lifted his hand to his eyes again, "sorry -
the welfare of you and Dana, is and will continue
to be of utmost concern to me." 

Mulder nodded again, then asked, "So what happened
to me? What is happening to me?" 

******************************************** 

Skinner and Scully had spent the rest of the evening
explaining to Mulder what they had extrapolated so far. 

The confirmed use of drugs, the suspected mental
manipulations, the indoctrinated pattern responses
to certain questions, the pain and fear reactions to
other questions and certain words. The flashbacks
to childhood trauma, the seeming age regression -
from grown man to young boy. And of course,
the gaping holes in his memory. 

"And my sister disappeared when I was twelve?" 

"Yes, Mulder." Scully was frustrated. Skinner had
finally left and she and Mulder were alone in her
apartment. She was tired, and ready for sleep,
but Mulder seemed set to stay up all night.
"It was the defining moment of your life, I would
venture to say." 

"And her name was Sam, you say?" 

"Samantha, yes, you called her Sam." 

"I just don't remember any of it. Not having a sister,
not having her disappear. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
Not a thing. If you asked me about Sam, I would
have thought you were talking about a man, or
a boy." He was obviously distressed, and growing
more so by the minute. 

Scully shook her head. "Mulder," she said, "we're not
going to solve this tonight. You've done really good at
talking about all this. Let's not let you get all upset
now. Please?" She reached out and took his hand,
holding it in her lap. 

"I'm tired. I need to sleep. Let's call it a night and see
what comes up tomorrow. We can always go back
over anything you need to, OK?" 

Mulder started to object, but then he looked more
closely at Dana. There were the beginnings of circles
under her eyes, and she did look tired. He looked
closer. Actually, she looked exhausted. "Have you
been sick recently, Dana?" he asked. 

She shook her head. "Let's not get into that now.
Tomorrow, OK? I promise, we'll talk about anything
you want tomorrow." She smiled. "You better take
that offer while you can - I'm not usually willing to
let you pick the topic for discussion." 

He smiled back at her. He felt connected to this small
woman in a very deep, very real, way. Concern for
her felt natural to him, like she was the most important
person in his world. His smile grew. Well, she *was*
his number one. 

"All right, Dana. Do you need any help with this?" He
gestured at the glasses and plates spread around the
living room. 

She sighed and rose, gathering dishes as she moved
through the room. "Just sit for a minute. I'm gonna
stick them in the dishwasher and wipe up." 

He heard the sounds of clean up from the kitchen, then
she came back to the living room, a damp cloth in her
hand and wiped up the tables before heading back to
finish in the kitchen. When she returned, she had a glass
of water for him, and his meds. He swallowed
obediently, then reached out and stopped her as
she started to make her way back to the kitchen. 

She stood looking at him as he lifted himself from the
sofa, then took the glass from her hand. "Wait,"
he said, and he walked very slowly, very carefully
to the kitchen and put the glass into the dishwasher.
When he got back to the doorway between the two
rooms, she was waiting for him, a smile on her face. 

"Thanks," she said softly. 

"No, thank you." He reached out and hugged her. "I
have a feeling I owe you a lot more than just cleaning
up behind myself." 

She shrugged. "That's what friends are for." She turned
and they walked down the hall to the bedrooms. When
they entered the smaller room, she helped him strip down
to his boxers. 

"I'd really like a shower," he said. 

"I know, but not tonight." She took clean underwear
out of his suitcase and handed them to him. "Can
you change on your own?" 

He flushed slightly, then said, "I think so. Let me go
to the bathroom." 

She nodded, then pulled his shaving kit and toothbrush out
and walked with him to the bath. Placing his essentials on
the counter by the sink, she said, "I'll be right outside.
Call me if you need me." 

He nodded and she walked out, closing the door behind her. 

When he was finished, he hobbled out and, sure enough,
she was standing in the hall waiting for him. He was pale,
his exertions had tired him and he was now ready for bed
as well. She walked with him to his room, and helped him
get settled in the bed. 

"So why do I remember you - the person - Dana,
but not that your my, um, that we work together?"
His mind unconsciously skittered away from the
word. 

"Hmmm - that's a tough one Mulder." She sat
next to him on the bed. "You're the psychologist -" 

"From Oxford." he interjected in a posh accent, and
they both laughed. 

"Yeah, well, you're the psychologist, but I have my
theory. Wanna hear it?" 

He nodded. "I always want to hear what you think." 

Dana froze. That was so like the before Mulder - her
Mulder. Her eyes filled with tears. 

"Hey, are you all right?" He was looking at her with such
concern. His hand came out and slowly reached up to
wipe away the tears. "I'm sorry - what did I say?" 

"Nothing, Mulder, nothing." She brushed his hand away,
but gently, and smiled at him. "You just sounded like -
well, like you for a minute there." 

"Oh." 

"All right. One theory - here goes. First and foremost, I
think they focused on removing me from your mind by
using my name as a catalyst." She glanced sharply at Mulder
but he was calm. "My name is the trigger for your worst, and
most painful episodes. But I also think you have built me into
two different places in your life." 

He looked quizzically at her. 

"Bear with me," she said, "I told you I'm no psychologist.
I think that the me they worked on, the name that is the trigger,
is the me that you work with, your - sorry - partner." 

He winced, and she took his hand, then moved on quickly.
"That's why so many of your work life memories are missing
or fuzzy. They're associated with that me." 

"But now, Dana, the Dana me, I'm the one you look to for
friendship, for support, for comfort. They either didn't know of,
or couldn't affect, that part of your memory, and your relationship
with me." 

Mulder nodded, then turned their hands so he was holding hers.
"And what exactly, Dana, is our relationship?" His thumb stroked
her palm and she shivered slightly. His eyes were staring at her,
into her, melting her, and she felt warm all over. 

She shook herself mentally and said, "We're friends, Mulder."
She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the head, then
added, "Very good friends." She extracted her hand, rose
and walked to the door. As she turned out the light she
looked back. He was still looking at her, his eyes dark
with - no, Dana, don't go there. 

She smiled and said, "Good night Mulder. Sleep well."
and went down the hall to her own room. 

End of part 02/05 

Memory: Restoration of the Mind 03/05 

Scully woke to crying - not frenzied, hysterical sobs
but tiny little whimpers. She threw off her covers and
raced to Mulder's room. 

He had managed to turn onto his right side, was
hunched up under the covers in an almost fetal
position. Long legs pulled up towards his chin,
the heavy walking cast making a large bulge under
the comforter. 

His left arm was immobilized, but as she entered the
room, she could see his right hand peeking out of
the covers as it clenched and unclenched repeatedly. 

"I'm not crying," he said raggedly, as another sob
escaped him. "I'm not crying, Dad, I'm not." 

Scully experienced a moment of sheer panic. He was
- dreaming? - having a flashback? - to something
that happened with his father - and Skinner was
home in his own snug bed. She stood undecided for
a moment. Should she try to wake him and risk sending
him more deeply into whatever terror he was reliving,
or call Skinner? 

She looked at her friend, tears still dripping down his
face, as he continued to assert, "I'm not crying, Dad.
I am a big boy." Her heart hurt to think of the pain
he had lived through as a young boy. How had he
managed to turn out as well as he did? 

She turned and padded back to her bedroom and
lifted the phone. 

Within a minute a gruff voice answered, "Skinner." 

"Scully, Sir. He's experiencing something that
involves his father. He's upset, but not frantic,
and I'm afraid if I try to wake him, it'll just push
him deeper." 

"How far is the metro station from your place, Scully?" 

"About a block." 

"All right." She heard him yawn. "I'll throw on
some clothes and come on over." 

"Thank you Sir." She hung up. She quietly dressed,
then went to the kitchen to make coffee, quiet tears
and small sobs her accompaniment as Mulder continued
to fight his memories. 

When Skinner arrived, he nodded to Scully and
went straight back to Mulder's room. He walked
over to the bed listened for a minute. When Mulder
was quiet, except for the tears, he spoke. 

"Fox, it's all right now son." 

Mulder's eyes flew open and he stared right through
Skinner. "Dad, I'm sorry. I won't cry anymore, I
promise. Please don't let them hurt Sam again.
They can test me - I won't cry, I won't." His
voice broke, and he continued, "Please Daddy,
let Sammy go home." 

Skinner and Scully stared at each other in shock.
A long moment passed as silence filled the room.
Mulder was obviously waiting for an answer.
Skinner didn't know what the right one should be.
Finally, he spoke, saying, "Fox, son, no more
tests for anyone right now." He reached out
awkwardly and hugged the younger man.
"No more tests, all right?" 

Mulder nodded, gulped a couple more times, and
his gaze began to clear. Skinner stepped back and
Scully moved more fully into the room and over to
the bed. 

"Dana?" Mulder asked. "I - uh - did I have a bad
dream?" His voice still had that lost youngster
quality, and Scully reached out to embrace him. 

"Yeah, sweetie, you did." He laid his head against
her shoulder and she rubbed his back for a minute
before lowering him to the bed. "But you're all right
now, and I think you need to go back to sleep." 

He nodded, then closed his eyes. Skinner stepped to
the doorway, waiting, as Scully sat beside the bed
until Mulder was asleep. She rose and they walked
out to the kitchen, where she poured coffee for them
both. 

They sat at the table and stared at their cups. At length,
Scully said, "We found some files, you know. Out in
West Virginia. Lots of files. One on me." She looked
up at the AD. 

Skinner cocked his eyebrow and she nodded. She dropped
her gaze to her cup again and went on. "One on Samantha.
Under the label with her name, was another name. Fox
William Mulder." She lifted her gaze. "They could have taken
him first and erased the memory." 

"Come on Scully, erased his memory?" Skinner snorted. "You
sound like your partner. I know something strange is going
on here, but going back 25 years?" He snorted again. "Why
do this to him now? Why risk stirring it all up again?" 

She shrugged. "Who knows? I've come to believe
nothing is beyond these people. Any tactic, any means, nothing
is sacrosanct when it comes to furthering their cause, whatever
that may be." 

She shrugged again. "Maybe Mulder found something, or saw
something, something that made him a liability - more of one than
he already was. Maybe they just have a new drug or technique
and he was a convenient guinea pig. Who knows?" 

Skinner sat quietly, musing, as he slowly sipped his coffee.
At length, he lifted his head and said, "All right. I'm getting
more confused every day. Let's go over what we know." 

"One - he doesn't remember his sister. Doesn't remember
having a sister or anything about her, including her disappearance.
Two - he doesn't remember you." Skinner shook his head.
"No, that's not right. See what I mean? Confusing." 

"Let's try again. Two - he's been - conditioned - to experience
blinding pain when he hears - or thinks?- your name, Scully.
He experiences a lesser level of discomfort at the words
doctor and partner." 

Scully interrupted. "Let's go from there for the moment. Why
would they want to make him forget Samantha and me?
Because I think the goal was to make him forget me. I
don't think they realized how deep his - attachment - to me is."
She shook her head ruefully. "I didn't begin to realize it
until this past summer. His - reaction - to me throughout this
has made me even more aware of how much he needs me."
She paused thoughtfully, then added under her breath, "And
how much I need him." 

Skinner cleared his throat. "Well, um, yes, to continue. He
is attached to you and relates well to you, looking to you for
comfort and support. You're his emotional anchor it would seem." 

She nodded, thinking of Mulder, and he went on. "From his
flashbacks we can conjecture that he had some very bad
experiences with his father as a young boy. Probably from
around the time his sister disappeared." Scully was nodding
in agreement now and he asked, "Do you think we'll see
more of this? Be able to get a better handle on what actually
happened?" 

Scully nodded again. "I'm afraid so. I think we're going to
see a lot of things that have been buried for a long time." She
gave her own snort of frustration. "I don't know why whatever
they did to him had this effect, but I bet they didn't expect
it. When we first got to the summer house, or maybe on the
phone before hand, he kept saying to me 'I learned all the
answers. I don't miss them anymore so I can go home.' or
something like that. Maybe he just used that incredible mind
of his to figure out what they wanted him to say, and then
fed it back to them, convincing them their procedure had
worked." 

She yawned then, and said, "This is getting more complicated
by the minute. And all of this is just speculation. We still
don't know what happened to Mulder, or what we need
to do for him. I think we're just going to have to confront
him with what we've seen and heard, and see what happens." 

"Confront me with what?" Skinner and Scully both
turned and looked at the door to the kitchen. Mulder was
standing there, leaning on the door jamb, clad only in his
boxers and the arm immobilizer. His hair stuck up from his
head and it was obvious he had just woken up. 

Skinner reacted first, jumping to his feet and stepping to the
door. He took Mulder's arm, saying, "Come on, Mulder,
you shouldn't be moving around more than you need to.
Come sit down." As he led the younger man back out to
the living room, and the couch, he thought how fortunate
it was he hadn't called Dana 'Scully' before they realized
Mulder was standing there. Being awakened at 4:30 in the
morning to ride the subway across town was enough for
one night. He didn't want to have to deal with a screaming
fit as well. Though it might still be coming if Mulder reacted
badly to what they were going to share with him. 

Scully had refilled the coffee cups and brought Skinner his,
while bringing Mulder a glass of juice and several pills. She
went back to the kitchen, retrieved her own cup, and
joined them in the living room. She sat on the couch with
Mulder, but at the other end. 

"Confront me with what?" Mulder asked again. 

"Not really confront, Mulder, but just let you know
what's been happening. You've been having some
experiences when you sleep that you don't remember
when you wake up." 

He frowned. "That's sorta become the story of my
life - full of experiences I don't remember." 

Scully gave a little laugh and continued. "Mulder,
I'm not an expert on this. But I'm not sure there
is an expert that could help you with whatever has
happened. I think it is so far removed from the
ordinary, that we're really very much on our own." 

As Scully had spoken, Mulder had been watching
her, his eyes widening more and more as she
continued. "Why, I do believe you sound more like
me than you do like my rational, skeptical . . ."
He stopped and winced, a small sheen of sweat
breaking out across his forehead as he took a deep
gulp of air. 

Scully leaned over and laid her hand on his arm.
"Mulder?" 

He shook her off. " 'S all right, Dana." He closed
his eyes briefly then looked at her. "I should be getting
used to this by now. It's like there are 'off limits'
areas in my head." He gave a little shudder. "You
try to control where your thoughts go all the time." 

Scully nodded sympathetically, then rose and got
a damp face cloth for him. He wiped his face
then folded the cloth and left it sit on his knee. 

"OK you two," he began. "Enough conspiring
about me. Let's get this done. I can handle it -
I'm a big boy." 

Scully and Skinner exchanged a glance, then Skinner
spoke. "Actually, Mulder, that's probably a good place
to start." 

At Mulder's confused look, Skinner continued.
"Sc - er - Dana told you about your sister, right?
But you don't remember her." Mulder nodded and
he went on. "From the dreams and flashbacks you
are experiencing, we believe you were taken at
the same time she was. Some things - we don't
know what - were done to you. We think some of
the same things were done to you while you were
missing last weekend." 

Skinner looked at Scully, turning the rest over to
her. She said, "Mulder, you have these pain reactions
to my name - and to other words. I - we - think they
were trying to condition you into forgetting me,
as well as your sister. Instead, it just seems to have
awakened some other memories that are struggling
to break through. You're dealing with them in your
subconscious, but I think you need to bring them out
and deal with them consciously." 

She paused, studying him. He was gazing intently
at her, a half-worried, half fearful expression on
his face. "I think it's going to hurt Mulder. At least
I'm pretty sure it won't be fun. But Mulder," she
took his hand, "I don't want to risk having you
completely forget me." 

He looked seriously into her eyes, and she felt the
world drop away. His voice was low and tender as
he said, "I could never forget you, Scully." 

And then he screamed, clutching his head, and then,
he passed out. 

******************************************** 

Mulder lay quietly on the sofa, all plans to 'confront' him
flown out the window. His eyes were closed, a cool cloth
covering them. He wasn't asleep, but somewhere in that
lazy, hazy halfway place, where he was half-aware of what
was going on , but had neither the energy nor inclination
to participate. 

"No," Scully was saying. "No more. This pain was too
severe, lasted too long. We can't risk it - it may be damaging
him." She moved to the sofa and he felt her hand removing
the cloth. Whisper soft touches crossed his brow, then her
voice asked gently, "Mulder? Are you awake?" 

He murmured an affirmative. "Hurt really bad this time, Dana." 

"I know." Her voice was soft, her touch soothing. 

"I don't know if I can do this if it's gonna hurt like
this." 

"Shhhh, it's all right." She smoothed his hair, her fingers
lingering on his forehead. "We'll think of something." The
cloth returned. "For now, you rest." 

The sofa shifted as she rose, and he was left alone. He could
hear Skinner on the phone in the kitchen. "Sick leave for
Agent Mulder." Pause. "Yes, it's approved." A bit snappish.
"I approved it!" Definitely out of patience. Kim must not
be there today. "Look, just fill out the paperwork and put
it on my desk. I'll sign it when I get in." A sigh. 

Mulder was almost smiling at the thought of someone actually
giving Skinner a hard time - and a temp at that. Then he
heard him say, "No, Agent Sc -" Mulder felt himself tense, but
Skinner abruptly cut himself off, the continued, "she is not on
leave. She is currently assigned to a case." A case? What case?
She's been with me for days. "That information is classified."
Another pause. "I don't know when I'll be in the office. Just
cancel all my appointments and I'll talk to you when I get there."
Mulder could vaguely hear the click of the receiver being placed
on the hook followed by another sigh from Skinner, this time
one of disgust. "Useless temps," he muttered. 

"I'm on a case, Sir?" Mulder could imagine the raised eyebrow
that had to accompany that query. "What case would that
be?" 

"Pursuing information regarding the abduction and beating of
an FBI agent, and the subsequent actions that were taken against
said agent." Spoken rapidly, with some anger. "I've assigned a case
number to this. If it was a straight forward abduction and assault,
I'd turn it over to someone else. But given what we know so far,
and what we suspect, it certainly seems like an X-file to me." 

'So now I'm an X-file,' Mulder thought. 'Who'd have thought?'"
His head wasn't as bad now, the sharp pain receding to a dull
ache, almost an echo of the original, fading with each passing
minute. He rested, content to let Skinner and Dana hash things
out. Mulder felt, more than heard, the alternating deep rumble and
softer alto continue in the kitchen and he drifted off to sleep
secure in the knowledge that, whatever happened, he wasn't alone. 

***************************************************** 

"I want to take him to the hospital. I'm worried about the
severity of this last attack. I want a CT scan. I want to be sure
I haven't missed something." She paused then added, almost
berating herself, "I should have had this done sooner." 

"It's not your fault, uh, Dana," Skinner said, with a
quick glance through to door to the living area. "Let
me make a few calls and then we can take him in when
he wakes up." 

"Don't you have to go to the office?" 

"Apparently, since Kim is on leave, and my temp can hardly
find anything, and seems to know even less." He grunted
in frustration. "But I can go later, or tonight. I think
you - you both - may need me for a while." 

Scully nodded gratefully. 

"So, ignoring the obvious mental and memory problems,
what do you think is going on physically?" 

"Well, I originally thought it was an offshoot of whatever
had been done to him. Do you know anything about
headaches?" At Skinner's negative shake, she went on.
"Vascular headaches, those suspected to be caused by the
constriction and dilation of the blood vessels, have been
shown to be affected through biofeedback controls." 

At Skinner's confused look, she clarified. "Controlling
the normally autonomic body functions through mental
techniques. It can be used for controlling pain. In Mulder's
case, I think he's been 'conditioned,' to unconsciously
use biofeedback to *cause* the headaches." 

"Anyway - he has the symptoms of CPH - chronic paroxsymol
hemicrania. Virtually unilateral pain, in the eye and temple area,
sometimes extending through the cheek and chin. It is almost
exclusively found in females, but if it was induced in him, then
that could account for his condition." 

She was in familiar territory here, discussing medical conditions,
and potential treatment. "If this is what is occurring, then I can
treat it. There are drugs I can give him, prophylactic to
prevent the attacks, and abortive to stop one if something
slips by us. If he responds well, we should then be able to
pursue what's going on in his head a bit more aggressively." 

She stopped. "I just don't want to assume that this is
all that's going on. He could have a small subcranial
hemorrhage, a blood clot, an aneurysm, or any number of other
real, physical problems, and I want to rule those out
before we proceed. 

Skinner had listened attentively throughout Scully's summation.
"All right then, let's make arrangements to get him in and
scanned this afternoon. Will he need to stay overnight?" 

"No Sir, but I'm going to need help just getting him to the
hospital and back. He's still weak, and all those injuries
make movement hard for him." 

"I'll be here, Scully," Skinner paused, chagrined once
more, "Sorry - *Dana,* - just tell me what you need." 

********************************************** 

Fox was scared. He knew the doctors would be coming
again, and it would hurt. He huddled down into the
blanket even more, his arms wrapped tightly around
Sam. At least she was asleep. She didn't cry as much
when she was sleeping. Fox wished he could sleep too,
he was so tired - but he was afraid they'd come for
Sam if he fell asleep. If he was awake, he could volunteer
to go, and they might leave her alone and let her sleep.
He swallowed hard and a tear slipped down his face as
he thought of what he was *volunteering* for. 

Sam shivered and he pulled her closer to his chest, tucking
the thin blanket around her tightly. He was cold, too.
Both of them only had on underpants. It was bad for
him, but at least he was a boy - boys went without shirts
all the time. Sam might only be eight, but she knew
girls weren't supposed to be without shirts, and she
was embarrassed. 

He didn't understand it. When they had first gotten
here, they took them to different rooms and - did things -
to them. It had hurt. He had finally fallen asleep or
something and when he woke up, he was here, in
this little room. With Sam, in this little bed. She was
asleep then, but she was crying. He had woken her,
then held her while she cried. Whatever they did to
her really hurt - and she was just a little girl! 

She had just stopped crying when she realized she
didn't have on a shirt, and started all over again. He
had on his underpants and a t-shirt, so he had taken
his shirt off and put it on her. He had tried to make
her feel better, rubbing her back and helping her braid
her long hair so it would stay out of her face. He had
tried to look at her, to see if she was hurt bad, if there
were bruises or marks or something. But she got upset
at him for staring at her, so he had just wrapped her in
the blanket and told her to go back to sleep. 

When they woke the next time, a big man in a white
lab coat was pulling Sammy out of his arms, and
yanking the t-shirt off her. Fox had jumped up and
yelled at the man, hitting him and trying to make
him let go of Sam, but he was just too big. He had
pushed Fox down, and laughed, saying, "Don't be
so eager, little Fox. You'll get your turn." Sam
was crying and calling him, but the man just dragged
her out the door. When Fox got back to his feet
and raced to the door, screaming for Sam, the door
was locked. 

They had come for him sometime later, and it
had hurt - really bad. He had cried and they
told him "Big boys don't cry." Being here, alone
in this strange place, with only Sam, he didn't feel
like a big boy, but he had tried not to cry after that.
His Dad didn't approve of crying anyway. But it
was really hard not to, because the things they did
really hurt. 

When he had next awakened in the little bed with
Sam, she had been curled into a ball and wouldn't
wake up. Even when her eyes were open, she
wouldn't talk to him, and she didn't even seem
to see him. When the big man had come back,
he had jumped out of the bed and begged the
man to leave Sam and take him. He had promised
he wouldn't cry. The man had laughed, then
taken him out the door, leaving Sam. 

He was gone for a long time that time, and he
broke his promise. 

But they hadn't bothered Sam, and when he came
back, there was some food in the room, and she
let him feed her some. She drank some water,
and said, "Thank you, Fox." He was tired, and
sore, and scared, but he knew Sam needed him.
When he sat on the bed, she crawled into his
lap and laid her head on his shoulder. He tucked
the blanket around her, and rocked her til she
fell asleep. 

As he sat there on the small bed, rocking his sister
gently, he realized he was going to cry again. It
was all so unfair. He didn't understand any of it!
Why were they here? What was the point of all these
*tests* they were doing that hurt so much? He
missed his Mom and he wanted to go home. As he
rocked his sleeping sister, tears rolling down his face,
he whispered, "I don't want to be a big boy anymore." 

******************************************* 

"I don't want to be a big boy anymore. I don't want
to be a big boy anymore. I don't want to be a big boy
anymore." 

"Mulder? Come on, Mulder, you need to wake up." 

He was rocking back and forth on the couch, tears
rolling down his face as he chanted over and over,
"I don't want to be a big boy anymore. I don't want
to be a big boy anymore. I don't want to be a big boy
anymore." 

Scully turned to Skinner, standing behind her, "I don't
know, Sir, I don't seem to be getting through. Maybe
you better try." 

Skinner stepped forward and touched Mulder's shoulder.
When the man immediately stopped his rocking, he took
it as a positive sign. The tears continued however, as did
the chant. 

"I don't want to be a big boy anymore. I don't want
to be a big boy anymore. I don't want to be a big boy
anymore." 

"All right, Fox," Skinner said gently, "You don't have to
be a big boy anymore. It's all right now." 

Mulder's eyes cleared and he began to focus in Skinner's
direction, looking at him, but not seeing him. "I want my
Mom," he said. "Where's my Mom?" 

Skinner looked to Scully for assistance, but she shrugged.
Skinner turned back to Mulder - but which Mulder was this?
The man, the adolescent, or the boy? "Fox?" he asked.
"How old are you?" Scully nodded approvingly. 

"Twelve," came the immediate response. He sounded
calmer, a bit more in control, and the tears had stopped.
"Well, Fox, your Mom can't be here now. She, uh,
hasn't been feeling well and she can't travel." 

"I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home." 

Scully was scribbling on a piece of paper. She passed
it to Skinner and he read, "Where are you, Fox?" 

The man before them began to cry again. "Here, in
this place. I don't like it here." His voice was growing
louder, and his body shook. "I want to go home," he
wailed. 

Scully reached out and pulled him to herself without
even thinking. She began to soothe him, murmuring
assurances, kissing his head, and rocking him gently. 

"Shhh, it's OK now sweetie. It's OK. You're safe.
No one's going to hurt you. It's all right." She rocked
him for long minutes as his sobbing quieted and the
tears ceased. Finally, he was leaning against her,
his arm around her waist, silent but for soft breathing
as she slowly swayed from side to side. The gentle
movement had calmed him and she still spoke softly,
her mouth brushing his hair. 

"Shhh, now, it's all right. No more hurts. It's over.
You're home now, sweetie. It's all right, you're
home now." 

He lifted his head slowly and looked at her, the man
Mulder, confused, unsure, but very much a man, and
said, "What did you say, Dana?" 

Scully looked down and saw the change in his eyes.
This wasn't a scared little boy anymore, but a grown
man, a man who wanted to understand the complex
relationship they had, but that he couldn't remember. 

She looked at him and saw he was waiting. She glanced
at Skinner. No help there. He had the slightest hint of
an almost smile on his lips. Traitor. She looked again
at the man nestled trustingly against her. 

Her friend, her best friend, the man who had been willing
to do anything, go anywhere for her. The man who had
almost been destroyed when he thought she was dying.
The man who had risked everything to save her time and
time again. The man who stirred up deep and confusing
emotions in the reaches of her heart and soul. 

She looked at this man and said, "You are home, Mulder.
You are home." 

End of part 03/05

Title: Memory: Restoration of the Mind (2/2)
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-Mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: R - for violence and disturbing imagery
Category: SA MSR but safe for non-shippers
Archive: Yes, please
Feedback: Yes! Please! 

Disclaimer: In part 1 

Comments: In part 1 

Summary: In part 1 

Memory: Restoration of the Mind 04/05 

The ride to Georgetown Medical was uneventful.
Skinner drove Scully's car, and she sat in the back
with Mulder. He was better, the lingering head pain
subsided, his right eye looking clearer. 

Skinner had worked through the medical support
staff at the Hoover building to have Mulder cleared
for immediate processing. They wanted to get the
scans done, and get him back to Scully's place. Neither
he nor Scully wanted to risk another episode like the
last one. And if it happened in the hospital, they
might never get Mulder out again. 

When they arrived, they were met by an orderly with
a gurney. Mulder groaned. "A gurney? Come on,
Dana, at least make them get me a wheelchair," he whined. 

She laughed and said, "Fox Mulder, asking for
a wheelchair! I never thought I'd hear that! Next
time you're fighting me over using a wheelchair, I'll
remember this, and just tell them to bring a gurney!" 

"Ha ha. No fair. Anyway, at least you can remember,"
he grumbled. 

Scully turned serious and looked at him, "You'll
remember too, Mulder. You'll remember everything.
Just try to be patient." 

He grumbled again, "If I *remember* correctly, patience
isn't my strong suit." Then he relaxed and smiled at
her. "But I'll try." 

Skinner opened the back door and helped Mulder out,
as Scully slipped from her side. They helped Mulder
over to the gurney and got him on it and situated
comfortably. The orderly asked Mulder his name,
looked down at a bulky chart he was holding, then slid
it into a pocket at the head of the gurney. He released the
wheel locks, placed both hands on the guide, and began
pushing Mulder through the doors back into the hospital. 

Skinner called, "I'll park and meet you inside. Where?" 

Scully was following the orderly and asked, "Where is
he going first?" 

"CT, then the MRI." He was still pushing Mulder down
the hall. Getting further away from her and Skinner.
"Wait a minute," she ordered. 

"Can't Ma'am. They've held everybody up to get him
in. I'm to take him there immediately." He was still
moving away, further down the hall. 

Scully was torn, to follow, or to tell Skinner where
they'd be. She waved to Skinner - wait a minute -
then ran after Mulder. 

Mulder was getting concerned. "Dana - aren't you coming?" 

"I am, Mulder, I'll be there," she called. "Orderly, wait
a minute." Reluctantly, he stopped and waited as she caught
up. "Mulder, I need to tell Skinner where we are." 

The orderly interrupted. "Someone's got to do his
paperwork, too," he reminded. 

Scully took a deep breath. "All right." She took
Mulder's hand. He was breathing heavily and looked
scared. "You OK?" she asked. 

He took a deep breath. "Yeah - I think so." 

"Good. I'm going to go get Skinner, swing by the outpatient
desk and sign for you, and then we'll meet you in X-ray." 

Mulder squeezed her hand tighter. 

"It will be OK, Mulder. I can't come into the X-ray room
with you anyway. I'll be there - Skinner and I both will -
when you come out. OK?" 

Mulder nodded reluctantly, then slowly released her hand. 

The orderly gave an exasperated sigh, and began to push
Mulder down the hallway. Scully watched until he went around
the corner, then turned and hurried back out to the front drop
off area. 

She walked out to the car where Skinner waited patiently.
"I've got to get his paperwork done. Why don't you park
and meet me in outpatient admitting?" 

Skinner nodded, then got in and drove off. She went back
in and spent several long minutes trying to find someone
who knew of the special situation regarding Mulder. One of
the clerks at last agreed to find a supervisor and wandered off.
Finally, just as Skinner reappeared, the supervisor produced the
correct forms, and took Scully through all the standard releases
and promises to pay. After a good twenty minutes, Scully signed
and took her copies, and she and Skinner made their escape. 

"I can't believe how long that took," she fumed as they
walked towards the X-ray department. 

"Isn't bureaucracy great?" Skinner teased. 

They talked quietly about what to do next. If the tests were
clean, and showed no threatening physical abnormality, then
they could proceed with their plans to openly discuss some
of the things they had heard with Mulder. Using a combination
of verbal and physical reassurances, a safe environment, and
appropriate drug therapy, Scully felt sure they could induce
Mulder to deal with these issues on a conscious level. 

They reached the X-ray department and Scully walked to
the desk, saying, "Fox Mulder." 

"Is he a patient?" the clerk asked. 

Scully turned to Skinner and rolled her eyes. He smiled and
made an 'all yours' gesture, then turned and took a seat. 

Scully produced the paperwork, the orders for complete
CT scan and the consent forms. The clerk looked at them,
then shook her head. "Sorry, Ma'am, he's not here yet." 

"He was brought directly here some -" she looked at her watch,
"thirty minutes ago. He must be here." 

"What does he look like?" the clerk asked. 

"Tall, dark hair, jeans and a sport shirt, but he was on a
gurney. He's in an arm brace and has a walking cast on his
left ankle." 

"On a gurney? Oh, no ma'am, he definitely hasn't
been here. I would have remember someone in street
clothes on a gurney." 

Skinner had been watching this little scenario play out,
amused at first but beginning to grow concerned. He stood
and walked to the desk. "Is there a problem, Dr. Scully?"
he asked pointedly. 

At his use of the title 'Doctor,' the clerk blanched. 

Scully looked gratefully at Skinner, then turned back
to the clerk. "Would you just check, please?" she said
through clenched teeth. "Fox William Mulder." 

The clerk scurried through the back of her cubicle and
hurried down the hall. 

Scully and Skinner waited. "It has to be a mistake, doesn't
it, Sir? I mean, surely, he's not - " Her voice trailed off, unable
to complete the thought. 

"I'm sure it is just a mistake, Scully." Skinner laid his
hand on her shoulder briefly. "He's probably back there
flirting with the nurses - well, at least the female ones."
He smiled, and was pleased to see her try to smile back. 

The clerk came back, shaking her head. "I checked all
the rooms, Doctor, not just CT. He's not here. And I asked
the techs. No one recognized the name." 

Scully turned frightened eyes to Skinner, but he was focused
on the clerk. "Call security," he ordered. She lifted the
phone and dialed, then handed him the phone. 

"This is Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI. I want
this facility locked down immediately." Pause. "I don't give a
good god damn about any of that. You lock this building down,
NOW! One of my agent's life may be at stake." 

Skinner was nodding now, and Scully had pulled her cell phone.
The clerk had retreated into the background, watching them
both with wide eyes. Scully was dialing Hoover, getting one of the
Section Chiefs who reported to Skinner on line. As he hung up
from talking with hospital security, she said, "Section Chief Jacobs?
Please hold for the Assistant Director." At his raised eyebrow, she
shrugged and said, "He'll listen to you without a lot of crap." 

Skinner nodded, taking her phone, and said, "Jacobs? I need everybody,
and I mean everybody down here to Georgetown Medical. We have
a missing agent. Scramble and get the first teams here in 15 minutes.
You liaison with local police. I have the facility locked down - no
one's coming in or out. I need help - now." 

Skinner took a breath, listening, then said, "Agent Mulder." "Yes, he
is injured. That's why he was here to begin with." "I am putting you
in charge. Get down here now, make sure security keeps this building
shut tighter than a drum. Agent Scully and I will begin to search for
him now. Call me on my cell when you get here." 

He closed the phone, handing it to Scully, and said, "Come on, let's
go back to where we first saw him. We'll start from there."
They walked quickly back down the hall, heading toward the front
drop off. 

As they walked, Scully said, "I shouldn't have left him. He was
scared, I know. He didn't want me to go." 

"We'll find him, Scully." 

"It's been over half an hour, Sir. They could have taken him
out another door, he could be anywhere by now." 

Skinner stopped. She stopped and turned to face him, a
question on her face. He placed a hand on each of her arms,
holding her loosely and said, "Agent Scully, I need you to
focus. You are going to be the lead agent on a search and rescue
operation. Please, advise me of how you plan to proceed." 

Scully looked at Skinner, then drew a deep breath. She stood
for a moment, hands clenched, eyes closed as she willed herself
to focus, to function. She relaxed her hands, then opened her
eyes. "We need to go back to where I lost visual with him, then
follow and track down witnesses." Skinner nodded approvingly,
and let his hands drop. 

His abrupt insistence on protocol, procedures, formalities,
had settled her. Making a plan, having a goal, these were things
she knew and was familiar with. She calmly met Skinner's
eyes and went on. 

"When the others get here, we can spread out and do a floor by
floor, room by room search. We can also get people into the
surrounding area, in the event he was taken out of the building." 

"Excellent plan, Agent Scully." He took her arm, turned, and
began walking again. "Shall we execute it?" 

*************************************************** 

Mulder closed his eyes. Watching the ceiling tiles pass was
making him dizzy. The orderly apparently wasn't the talkative
type, and he continued to wheel Mulder through the halls in
silence. They made several turns, went through doors,
and then entered an elevator. 

"Is this him?" 

Mulder jerked his eyes open. He started to sit up, but
was met with a hand on his chest, pushing him insistently
back down to the thin mattress. 

"Who are you?" he demanded. 

"Nobody you need to remember, Agent Mulder." 

As he struggled against the hand holding him down, he
felt a prick at the base of his neck and almost immediately
his whole body began to relax. He tried to resist but his
limbs wouldn't obey his mind's commands. He felt an
unwanted lethargy slide over him, and movement became
increasingly difficult. 

"What the . . ." he tried to yell, but a hand quickly covered
his mouth, soon replaced with wide surgical tape. His only
free hand, the right one, was quickly taped to the rail. He lifted
his head mere centimeters, then collapsed, exhausted. He
turned his head slowly, taking in the two men standing
by the gurney, the orderly and the one who had been waiting
in the elevator. That one looked familiar. 

As the thought came to him, he felt a sharp pain in his
right temple, and his eyes began to water. He closed both eyes
tightly and began to concentrate on his breathing. He could
feel a panic attack coming, something he didn't think he
could afford with these two. Oh God, where was Dana? 

The elevator stopped and he was pushed out. He had
turned his head to the right, to attempt to alleviate some
of the pain, and was able to see, through the rails, that
they were in the basement. The men wheeled him through
the lower corridors, and came to a door. They pushed
open the door and parked him in a small storage room. 

"What do we do now?" the orderly asked. 

"Let's go get a drink until he's ready," the elevator man said. 

"Is it all right to leave him alone?" 

"Where's he gonna go, all drugged up like that?" 

The door opened and the men left. 

Mulder immediately began to work on freeing himself
from the arm immobilizer. With his right hand taped
to the rail, he was going to have to get the left one free
if he was going to get loose. It was hard to think, to plan.
His brain felt fuzzy. He was dizzy, unbalanced, and his
thoughts were sluggish and foggy. 

Movement of any kind was extremely difficult too. He
stopped to try to analyze the sensation. It was a combination
of feeling like his limbs weighed hundreds of pounds each,
and trying to move through molasses - heavy, slow,
exhausting work. 

He rolled on his right side and scooted away from the
right rail, until he was up against the other side rail.
He curled his head and neck down, toward his left
hand, secured by the brace, but with fingers peeking out.
He finally had his mouth low enough that he was able to
grasp the tape in two fingers and pull it from his face. 

He took a deep breath and licked his lips. He was
exhausted. He lay quietly for a moment, feeling his
heart race. He rested for as long as he dared, then began
to pull the Velcro straps on the arm brace apart with
his teeth. He loosened the brace enough to be able
to move the left hand. It hurt like hell, stressing the
still healing shoulder. He reached a bit further and felt
the shoulder separate from the socket again. He bit
his lip and felt blood trickle down his chin as he tried to
keep from screaming. But he was able to pull the tape
off his right wrist and free himself. 

Now what? He was loose, but he was so exhausted
he didn't think he could move. Whatever he had
been given had effectively semi-paralyzed him, and it
seemed to be getting worse with each moment. He
lay there for a few minutes, looking at the floor, the
room spinning around him as he fought the effects of
the drug. It was a long way down from the gurney. 

He struggled to shift his body down the gurney, hoping
he could slide off the end, rolling to the right, and
land on his feet. As he slowly worked his way down
mattress, he tried to roll more and more onto his right
side. When his legs were hanging off the end to
mid-thigh, he made one last push, and slipped off the
bed. He felt the walking cast touch first, then his right
foot. As he tried to bring himself erect, he felt both
legs give and he continued to slide right off the gurney. 

His head connected solidly with a metal corner on
the bed, and he felt blood drip down his cheek. He
continued to slide down into a boneless puddle on the
floor, listing sideways, and landing heavily on his
injured shoulder. 

He lay panting for some time. Getting off the bed had
jarred his again dislocated shoulder painfully, and he slowly
refastened the immobilizer. He was trapped on the floor
now, muscles refusing to function again. He knew he had
to get out of this room, find a way out, find his -. His mind
rebelled again, and he reworded the concept in his mind.
"I have to find my Dana." 

********************************************* 

Skinner and Scully had retraced Mulder's path as far as
the last turn she had seen made. The followed the hall
to an intersection, then turned right and began to question
the clerks, technicians, and patients in the departmental
waiting rooms they passed. 

"Did you notice a man in street clothes being wheeled
by on a gurney in the last hour?" 

Over and over, the answer was no. They reached another
intersection, then turned and went back the to the last
one and started their inquiries down the hall the other way. 

Skinner's cell phone rang. "Skinner." He listened. "Good
work, Jacobs. Get teams on every floor, I want a room to
room search. Lock this place down even tighter. No
movement between floors without police escort. I'll deal
with the political fallout later." 

He listened again. "Scully and I are on the ground floor.
Send me 4 agents, and a radio, then deploy the rest throughout
the building. Call me if anyone finds anything. And let the
locals help. Form some mixed teams and get some people on
the street. This is one of our own - I won't loose him." 

Skinner closed the phone and he and Scully resumed their
inquiries. When the new agents joined them, Skinner sent them
down the other corridors they hadn't gotten to yet. When he
and Scully reached the lab, they split up to cover the full waiting
room. 

"Did you notice a man in street clothes being wheeled
by on a gurney in the last hour?" 

At last, a young woman said, "Good looking guy?
Dark hair - killer eyes? Had a cast on his foot, right?" 

Skinner smiled at that - killer eyes. Scully was hurrying
over to them, and he said, "Yes, that's him. Where did
you see him?" 

"In the hall. I was going out for a smoke, and he was
just lying there waiting for the elevator. He looked really
scared and I remember thinking I wouldn't mind comforting
him." She grinned. "That aide could have been talking to
him or something to try and calm him down." 

Scully swallowed hard, then asked, "When was this?" 

"Oh, maybe 15, 20 minutes ago?" She shrugged. "I'm
not sure." 

"Could you show us the elevator, please?" 

Skinner pulled the radio, talking as they followed the
young woman down the corridor. "Jacobs, Scully and
I found someone who saw him." He looked up as they
reached the bank of freight elevators. 

"I thought it was weird they were transporting patients
in the freight elevator." The young woman shrugged
again. 

"Freight elevators, Jacobs. Get me people." 

Scully was thanking the young woman and sending her
back to the lab, as the first of their assistance arrived. 

Scully looked at Skinner. "If they used the freight
elevators, I'm betting they took him to the basement." 

Skinner nodded. He gestured, "You and you, west stairs,
you two, east stairs. Scully and I will go in the elevator.
Be careful, we don't know what we're getting into here." 

*********************************************** 

Mulder was running out of time and knew it. He had to get
moving now. He half-crawled, half slithered to the closest
wall, and dragged himself up. He could just barely make
himself move, but he'd have to hang onto the wall. He slowly
pulled himself around the room to the door, his muscles
protesting every step of the way, his shoulder screaming for
relief. 

He was at the door now, and stopped, breathing ragged. He
looked at the gurney, the chart still visible in its vinyl pouch.
With trembling legs, he stepped forward, caught himself on the
edge of the gurney, and lifted the chart. He glanced inside,
then paled. He looked around the small room, then closed
the chart, tucking it securely into the arm brace. He turned
and made the one step journey back to the door. 

He slipped into the hallway, and stood, resting. He was still
dizzy, and blackness threatened to overtake him. He pushed
it back by sheer strength of will and tried to assess his options.
No way could he go forward, too much open ground to cover
and he'd never make it without support. To the right were
the elevators, and potential aid, but they'd probably come that
way when they came back. 

He turned left, propelling himself sideways with his back
against the wall to keep the strain off the injured left shoulder.
He came to another door. Locked. He went on. Another
door. He opened it. Empty room. He closed it and went on.
As he reached the third door, the elevator chimed, and he
knew his decision had been made for him. He slipped inside,
closing the door as he heard the elevator open and laughter
wafted out. 

It was the elevator man, laughing at the orderly. "Stop
worrying. They can lock the damn building down all
they want. He's out for the count by now, and they won't
look down here at first. They may suspect something, but
they'll still be looking for him on the patient floors, assuming
he's a victim of hospital mismanagement. We can play the tape,
give him the last dose, and get out of here in another hour." 

"What do we do with him then?" 

"Leave him here. They'll find him eventually." 

They were opening the door to the storage room. "Out for the
count, huh?" the orderly said snidely. "Now what do we
do?" 

Mulder had collapsed inside the room, unable to move another
step. He reached up and rubbed his face, smearing blood
over his eye and cheek. He looked dazedly at his bloody
hand, then wiped it on his shirt. He couldn't run, he couldn't
hide, he couldn't fight. They were going to find him. 

He heard the elevator chime again, and the doors' soft
whoosh as they opened. 

"Freeze!" a voice called. Skinner? 

There was another yell, then the sound of running. The running
passed his door and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Stop, or I *will* shoot!" Skinner bellowed. He was running too.
Mulder heard him go by the closed door. 

"Mulder! Where are you?" Dana? Was that Dana? He was so
tired. It hurt to move, it hurt to think, and he didn't think
he'd be able to stay conscious much longer. What had they
given him? 

"Dana!" he called weakly. "I'm here." 

He heard the first door open, and she called again, "Mulder!" 

"Here," he whispered. "I'm here." 

The locked door - a shot. She must have shot the lock. Again,
"Mulder!" 

The empty room. She was calling him again. Skinner came
back into the hallway. "Pearson and Smith got the orderly.
The other one got away. I heard a shot." 

"The door was locked." 

"You didn't find him." 

"Not yet. MULDER!" 

"I'm here, Dana," he whispered again, unconsciousness rapidly
creeping up on him. He knew she'd find him, but he wanted
to see her, to touch her, to know she was all right. 

At last, the door to his room opened and she was there.
"Mulder!" she cried as she knelt before him. He saw her
take in the blood on his face, his hand, his shirt. Then she
was touching him, checking him, her touch sure but gentle.
She located the cut on his head, the split lip. He wanted to
tell her he was all right, but he couldn't seem to find the
words. 

She was talking to him now, soothing sounds that made him
feel safe, protected, cared for. She looked at his shoulder
pulling the chart free from the brace, and handing it to Skinner
without thought. 

'That's important,' his mind said, but the words never reached
his lips. But it was all right. She would know. She always
knew. He saw her wince as she realized the shoulder had
separated again. 

She was looking in his eyes now, and he saw that she
recognized he had been drugged. He saw the worry fall
over her like a cold, damp blanket, weighing her down,
chilling her soul. She looked so sad, he had to do something -
say something. He closed his eyes to gather his strength.
He felt her reach out, her arms wrapping around him,
holding him, supporting him, protecting him. 

"Here, Dana," he whispered yet again. "I'm here. I knew
you'd find me." He leaned into her embrace, trusting her to
keep him safe. "You always come and get me." He put his
head on her shoulder and let the blackness carry him away. 

End of part 04/05 

Memory: Restoration of the Mind 05/05 

The weekend at last. Had it really been only a week since this
whole thing had started? Scully sighed as she sat vigil by
Mulder's hospital bed once more. Mulder had been taken last
Friday, and now it was Saturday, a week later. And he was
being discharged from the hospital soon - for the second time
in a week. 

With Skinner and the other agents' help, Scully had gotten
Mulder back on the ill-fated gurney and hauled him up to
the ER. He had been treated for the minor cuts and abrasions
he received, and then an orthopedist had come in and reseated
his shoulder. 

Given the unknown nature of the drugs Mulder had been
given, they had opted not to medicate him for the procedure,
and it had hurt like hell. It had taken four strong men to
hold him and manipulate the shoulder back into place. 

Though the hospital would have supplied someone, Skinner
had held him, while the doctor moved the bone. Scully
smiled slightly at the remembered sight of their dour boss,
his arms wrapped tightly around Mulder, holding the
younger man against his broad chest, as his arm was pulled
and shifted. 

Mulder had screamed, his head thrown back on Skinner's
shoulder, mouth open and tears streaming down his face.
Skinner had held him firmly, turning his head slightly to
whisper encouragement into the ear that rested there. 

When it was over, when the doctor was done and the
aides had released Mulder's legs, Skinner had continued
to hold him for few minutes longer, giving him time
to recover somewhat - offering comfort through his solid
presence. 

Scully cringed just thinking about it. She had felt so
helpless watching as her partner, her friend, had once
again been tortured. And though it may have been done
with the best of intentions this time, and with Mulder's
best interest in mind, make no mistake, it *was* torture. 

The tox screen on Mulder's blood had come back with a
similar mix of chemicals as had been found in his system
Tuesday. The only new aspects were a heavier percentage
of narcotic and a paralyzing agent. It was obvious the
men who took him were trying to knock him out and
keep him still. It was incredible he had been able
to move at all! 

And now, at last, the doctors had decided it was safe to
give him something for the pain he was suffering. An IV
hung beside the bed, filled with 'the good stuff' as Mulder
called it, and he, himself was curled in the bed, asleep
at last. When he woke, they would be leaving the hospital. 

An agent stood guard outside the door, with two more
further down the corridor, one in each direction. No one
got near Mulder without proper approvals, identification,
and an escort. Skinner himself had refused to let Mulder
or Scully out of his sight until a few minutes ago, when
he had departed to arrange Mulder's discharge, transport,
and a safe house for them to stay in. Given what had
happened, they were taking no more chances with Mulder's
safety. It appeared the people who were after Mulder
had way too much access to his movements as it was. 

Mulder moaned, and his eyes fluttered, and Scully was
immediately at his side. 

"Hey buddy," she whispered, "You gonna wake up and
keep me company now?" 

His eyes struggled open, and she saw the recognition
pass over them, then the relief. He gave a tentative
smile and started to speak. He was interrupted by
a brief coughing fit, and he winced as his movement
jarred his shoulder. 

Scully poured water into a cup from the pitcher by
the bed, and held it up to his lips. He took several
sips, then cleared his throat and tried again. 

"Dana," he said. One word but in it she heard everything,
all the things that went unspoken. 'You're here, you're
all right.' 'I trust you, I need you.' 'I'm scared, don't
leave me.' 'I hurt, make it better.' 

She smiled and stroked his hair back from his face,
carefully skirting the bandage over his eye. "How you
feeling?" she asked gently. 

He paused and she could see he was making an assessment.
"Better, I think." He smiled too, then added, "I was pretty
out of it for a while. Maybe you should tell me - how
am I?" 

She straightened then pulled the chair closer to the bed and
took a seat. "Well, you dislocated your shoulder again, but
it's been put back in. You ab-so-lute-ly *cannot* injure
it again or you risk surgery and possible permanent damage. 

She reached out and carefully touched the bandage over his
eye. "You've got some bumps and bruises, but you're mostly
OK. The ankle wasn't hurt any more, the ribs are OK.
Considering how things normally fall for you, you actually
came out of this one surprisingly intact." 

He chuckled and said, "I didn't feel very intact when they
were yanking on my arm earlier." He paused, reliving the
experience, then his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Skinner
was holding me! Why was Skinner holding me?" 

"He volunteered, Mulder. He knew it was gonna hurt
like the devil with no anesthetic, and I think he thought
having someone you know right there, might help." She
grinned, then teased, "It was really very sweet of him." 

Mulder snorted, "Skinner, sweet? Oh yeah!" And they
both began to laugh. 

Just as they began to get themselves under control, the door
opened and the source of their mirth entered. They looked up
at Skinner and then at each other, and collapsed in laughter
all over again. 

Skinner stood silently, just inside the door, his arms crossed
over his chest, and stared at them. 

Scully struggled to control herself, forcing out a strangled,
"Hello, Sir," before giving in to the laughter again. She took
several more deep breaths, then said, "Sorry, Sir." 

When they once again began to settle down, he spoke. 

"Agents. I came to inform you that the safe house is arranged
and transportation is waiting for you downstairs." 

Mulder looked at Scully and said, "Gee Dana, isn't that sweet?"
and that set them off again. 

Skinner just stood there, looking at them as if they had both lost
their minds. 

*********************************************** 

The safe house was a lovely old Victorian in the heart
of Alexandria. Scully had questioned the advisability
of being so close to Mulder's apartment, but had been
overruled when Skinner had pointed out that they needed
to be near Headquarters, and the resources that offered. 

The drive from Georgetown to Alexandria had exhausted
Mulder, though he had struggled to stay awake en route. 

When they arrived at the house, Mulder had immediately
opened the car door and gotten out, determined to take some
responsibility for himself. He stood holding onto the door,
cautiously eyeing the flight of steps up to the porch on the
old house. Scully came around beside him and put her arms
around his waist. 

"Long way up," he commented. 

"It's OK, Mulder, I'll help." 

"It always comes down to you having to help me doesn't it?" 

"You help me all the time, Mulder. It's what we do. It's
who we are." 

He nodded, then said, "I'm really tired, Dana. It hurts to
move," he confessed. 

"I know," she responded. "It'll be all right. Come on,
Mulder, up you go." 

They had walked slowly up the sidewalk, Mulder leaning
heavily on Scully, when she faltered slightly. Mulder
stopped, pulling himself as erect as possible, and looked
down at her. "Are you all right, Dana?" he asked. 

"I'm fine, Mulder," she answered. 

"Now why don't I believe that?" he asked wryly. 

"Let it go, Mulder." She braced herself and began to move
him slowly towards the steps once more. As they reached
the bottom stair, she felt Mulder's weight lift away from
her and redistribute to his other side. 

She looked to her left and saw that Skinner had come up
on Mulder's side, and was supporting him, helping him
move, and keeping the weight off her so she could focus
on guiding him. 

They maneuvered him up the stairs, then into a downstairs
room that had been converted to a bedroom for him.
He sat gingerly on the bed and toed off his shoes. His
eyes scanned the room, taking in the security windows,
alarms, and the small camera in the corner. 

Nodding in its direction, he commented, "I hope there's
not one of those in the bathroom, because I *am* taking
a shower." 

Scully had followed him in and now walked over to
the bed. "Mulder, you need to rest." 

"I *need* to take a shower," he growled. "Sponge
baths for a week, Dana." He scrunched up his face.
"I can't even stand myself - I don't know how you can
stand to be near me. Yuck." 

She smiled. "Feeling a need for fastidiousness, are
we?" He smiled back, but she saw he was determined on
this. Nodding, she said, "Let me get a chair. We can put
it in the shower and you can sit if you get tired, OK?" 

He made a moue of distaste, then reluctantly agreed.
He had started to undo the arm immobilizer when she
reached out and stopped him. "Mulder," she said, "Let
me get the sling. Remember what I said about your arm?
You *cannot* put any weight on it, or do anything with
it. The sling can get wet, the arm can get wet, but the
arm *does not* move - got it?" 

He nodded, then waited patiently while she unpacked
his bag to pull out the sling. She stepped out to
get a chair, and Skinner himself brought it in and
placed it in the bathroom. 

Scully helped him take his shirt off, then gently undid
the immobilizer, having Skinner support the arm while
she pulled the brace off, put the sling on, and settled
it around the arm. She knelt and took off his socks,
the started to unbutton his jeans. 

"Enough, Dana," he said quietly. "I'll take it from here." 

She looked up at him and flushed. "Sorry, Mulder." 

He smiled to tell her it was all right, then stood. "If
I'm not out in an hour, come get me." 

She looked at him and said, "If you're not out in 15 minutes
I'm going to come get you." 

"Aw, Dana, give a guy a break," he whined. "It's been a
week! Give me half an hour at least." 

"Twenty minutes, Mulder," she said, "No more. If you
don't want company, you be out in twenty minutes. And
don't lock the door." 

He nodded then walked shakily to the bath, grumbling all
the way. 

"Will he be OK, Scully?" Skinner asked when the door had
shut and the water had started. 

She shrugged. "He needs to feel like he's in control of
some part of his life. We're here. As long as he sits,
and doesn't move the arm, he should be able to do this."
She wrinkled her nose. "And he's right - he does need a shower." 

*************************************************** 

Mulder stood under the flowing water, eyes closed, leaning
slightly against the wall. Despite the awkwardness of having
to wear the sling, and the ache from his shoulder, he felt
wonderful! Who knew water could be such a treat? 

He stood, enjoying the sensation of the spray hitting
his back, then turned and lifted his face up, letting
the warm water wash over him. He sighed, thinking
of the time, and reluctantly took the soap and began
to clean himself. 

After he was clean, he looked at his arm in the heavy,
wet sling. He wanted desperately to wash it, too, and
his underarm, but Dana had said no movement. He was
debating on washing it anyway, when the strangest
feeling of 'been there, done that' came over him. 

He looked at the sling, then felt himself grow dizzy. He
reached out, steadied himself on the chair. The dizziness
increased and he forced himself to sit before he collapsed.
There was something about the sling - and the water . . . 

***************************************************** 

Fox stood in the shower and tried to wash himself. He knew
he better do a good job, or his Dad would get mad. His arm
really hurt, and it was hard to wash good with the sling on
it. Even though he was twelve, he wished his Mom would
come help him. It was just so hard to do it all himself! 

He'd been having to do a lot more things himself, since
Sam was gone. Mom hardly did anything around the
house anymore, and Dad was away a lot. When he was home,
he was always angry, his temper on edge. 

The reason Fox had his arm in a sling was because
he'd gotten on the edge of that temper, and Dad had
grabbed him and thrown him into a wall. He choked
back a sob as he thought of how much it had hurt. 

Dad had made him sit there, by the wall, all night, before
he let him speak and tell that his arm was really hurt.
He'd been so afraid, and then he'd wet himself, and Dad
was even more angry. When he realized Fox had wet
his pants, he said "No wonder they didn't want you." 

Finally Fox had been allowed to rise. He'd cleaned
the floor where he had been sitting first, then he'd been
allowed to go and clean himself, changing into other
clothes. He'd moved slowly, trying not to jar his sore
arm, but it had hurt terribly. He had managed not
to cry in the study, though, and he knew that was a
good thing. 

He'd asked if he could go to bed, and been given
permission. He'd scrounged in the bathroom cupboard,
and found an old sling from when Sammy had hurt
her shoulder when she was little. It was way too small
for him, but it was the best he could do. 

Now, the next evening, the whole arm was horribly
swollen, and it hurt so bad. He had slept fitfully most
of the day, but a little while ago, his Dad had come
and told him to get up. Mom didn't feel up to
cooking, and Fox had to get dinner. Dad told him
to shower - get the urine stink off him - and come
downstairs. 

Fox knew he didn't stink. He'd cleaned up real good
this morning, but he also knew, if Dad said shower,
then you better shower. He peeked in the sling again.
His arm was *really* swollen. It was bruised and
purple looking, and it hurt so bad. 

He didn't want to touch it, to move it, to do anything
to it. He didn't want to do anything. He was so tired
and he felt so bad. But Dad was waiting and time
was running out. 

Very carefully he lifted his arm out of the sling, and
began to wash. Every touch brought a stab of
pain radiating through his whole body. He felt dizzy,
and he knew he better sit down. As he started to
lower himself to his knees, he banged the arm on
the soap holder, and screamed. Blackness washed
over him and warm water beating over his face as
he lay under the water, searing pain in every inch of
his arm, was the last thing Fox was aware of for a
long time. 

**************************************** 

Skinner and Scully were sitting in the living room,
the door to Mulder's room open and the sound of the
water from the shower carried out to them. They
were discussing Mulder's scans. All negative. At least
there was a bit of good news in the midst of all that had
happened. Scully had begun to discuss which drugs
might be appropriate to treat and prevent the headaches
that were so incapacitating to him, when from behind
the bathroom door, they heard a tremendous scream. 

They were both on their feet and moving instantly,
Skinner reaching the door first and bursting through.
Scully was a second behind him, and two other agents,
assigned guards, were right behind her. 

Mulder lay on his back in the shower stall, long legs
curled over to one side. The sling was off, and the
chair had tipped over and lay half on top of him. The
water beat down on him, and he moaned quietly. Skinner
reached in and lifted the chair out, then turned the
water off, heedless of the wetness soaking his shirt. 

"I need to get to him, Sir," Scully said. Skinner
nodded, then stepped back, eyeing the sliding
door on the shower stall. He lifted one door out
of the track and passed it to one of the agents in
the doorway. He lifted the other door out and passed
it out as well. 

They now had an open accessway to Mulder and
Scully stepped in and knelt by his head on the
wet tile floor. She reached out and touched him
gently, saying, "Mulder, come on, Mulder, look
at me." 

He moaned again, then opened his eyes, fixing
his gaze on her face. 

"Please," he gasped. "Hurts." 

"I know, sweetie," she responded. "Just hold on
a minute. I'm gonna get you out of here and
then you'll feel better." 

She looked up at Skinner. "Get a pillow for his
head for now. And a couple towels. One to dry him
and one to cover him. And get the arm brace." 

The towels appeared immediately and Scully lay
one across Mulder's mid-section, covering him from
the waist to knee. She began to pat his left
arm, gently, carefully, the towel barely connecting
with the wet skin. But even this slight touch
caused Mulder to moan, and tears began to trickle
down his cheeks. Scully was cooing as him,
trying to ease his discomfort, as she worked
quickly to finish drying him so she could secure
his arm. 

The pillow had appeared, and Skinner carefully
lifted Mulder's head, slipped it in, then helped
Mulder drop back against the welcoming softness. 

At Skinner's touch, Mulder's eyes flew open and
he stared at the older man, pure terror in his face.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he cried. He began to struggle
to sit up, but the movement aggravated the shoulder
and he collapsed back into the shower. 

"I'm coming, Dad," he whispered. "I'm gonna get
dinner in just a minute." They watched as he
drew a deep breath and again, struggled to rise.
He pushed Scully away, and managed to pull himself
up into a sitting position. 

But he seemed oblivious to her presence, aware
only of whatever was occurring in his mind. Scully
cast a pleading look at Skinner - do something -
and returned her attention to Mulder's arm. 

Skinner said, "It's all right, Fox, calm down." 

Mulder relaxed marginally but kept his eyes on
Skinner. 

"Fox," Scully said, taking his chin in her hand and
forcing him to look at her. "Fox, I need to put
the brace on your arm." 

He looked at her then, and confusion flooded his
features. "You're here," he said, wonder in his voice.
"How can you be here?" He was tightly gripping the
left arm against his chest, holding it with his
right. 

"You need to let me put the brace on, Fox," Scully
said again. 

He looked down at his arm, then up at her again.
"You're not real," he said at last. "I dreamed
you up." Scully and Skinner exchanged a glance.
Keeping up with Mulder's scattered psyche was
a difficult task. 

"Fox, sweetie," Scully said, "it's me, Dana." 

"You can't be here," he said. "I don't know
you yet." 

Another quick glance at Skinner, then she
said, "You're just remembering, Fox. It's all
right." 

Now he looked even more confused, and he pulled his
legs up to his chest. He looked down at himself and
seemed to realize he was naked for the first time.
He flushed, then looked up again, and whined, "No,
you can't be here. I'm gonna get in trouble again
for not paying attention." 

He looked down at Scully's hand on his right arm,
and then at Skinner, hovering over them both. "You
have to let me go," he pleaded. "Please, let me go."
Tears began to fall. "See, you made me cry. I'm
gonna get in trouble." 

Skinner reached out and laid a hand awkwardly on
Mulder's head. "It's OK to cry, Fox," he said. "You're
not going to get in trouble." 

Mulder looked up, then looked at Scully. He seemed every
bit the damaged, hurting twelve year old his voice betrayed.
His eyes were filled with tears and there was a faraway,
almost dreamy cast to his voice as he said, "I dream of you
a lot. When it gets really bad, I dream of someone
coming to take me away. 

"I used to dream that Sam would come back, and everything
would go back to the way it was. But she never does." A
tear fell, crawling slowly down his cheek. "Mom never
looks at me anymore, and Dad is always angry. I'm
always in trouble. 

"So I started to imagine someone will come and take
me away. It's always someone who will love me and keep
me safe." He looked at Scully sideways, then added,
"It's usually someone bigger than you, though. I don't
think you'd be much help when Dad gets mad." 

Scully reached out and turned his head, so he was again
looking in her eyes. "Fox, you *do* know me. I *am*
real. You're remembering a very bad time, but it's over
now, and you're safe. I'm here and no one is going to hurt
you." She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him
into herself, surrounding him with her presence. 

He began to cry for real then, huge wracking sobs that
shook his frame, and left him gasping for breath and
exhausted. Scully clung to him, rocking him, crooning
soft words of comfort in his ear. She stroked his back, and
kissed his head, and made soothing sounds. 

When he finally stilled, there was quiet in the small room.
Mulder hung, depleted, in Scully's arms. Scully herself
was fighting exhaustion. Her knees ached from kneeling
for so long, and her arms from supporting this big man.
Her back was screaming for relief, and her head ached. 

Skinner had stood quietly through it all, unsure of how to
help, unwilling to leave them alone, afraid to speak for
fear Mulder would relate him to his father. He watched as
Scully began to tremble, then stepped forward, and said,
"Dana, let me take him for a while." 

At his voice, Mulder lifted his head from Scully's shoulder,
and looked up. He took in Scully, then Skinner, and then
down at himself. He whispered, "Tired," and Scully nodded.
Skinner knelt in the shower beside them, and shifted Mulder's
weight to his own arms. Scully sat back gratefully, and
then stretched slightly. 

Mulder had stiffened at the unfamiliar touch, then relaxed
into Skinner's supporting arms. His eyes were closed and
he seemed almost unconscious. Scully glanced at Skinner,
then said, "Let me get him in the brace, then we can move
him." The AD nodded, then moved slightly to support
Mulder from behind. 

Scully quickly dried Mulder's arm, then fitted the immobilizer
around his chest and settled his arm securely within its
confines. Mulder hardly stirred during all of this. When his
arm was secured, she rose and called the agents back into
the room. With Skinner supporting his head and chest,
the three men lifted Mulder and carried him to the bed. 

Scully had pulled the covers back, and they placed him on
the clean sheets. He never opened his eyes, but somehow, Scully
knew he was with them again. She shooed the guards out and
pulled the comforter over Mulder's still nude body. She quickly
retrieved his meds, shaking two tablets for pain into her palm.
At her glance around the room, Skinner trotted out, returning
shortly with a glass of water. 

She shot him a grateful look, then sat carefully on the bed next
to Mulder. She gently stroked his arm, saying, "Fox . . ." 

"Mulder," he replied. "Everyone calls me Mulder." One
eye opened. "But you know that, Scully." His eyes followed
her movement as she turned to look at Skinner in astonishment,
then quickly refocused on him, looking for any hint of new pain. 

"You know who I am?" she asked. 

He nodded, then indicated the pills in her hand. "For me? 'Cause
I could sure use something now." 

She placed the pills on his tongue, then held the glass to his
lips as he drank. 

"You know who I am, Mulder?" she asked again. 

"I remembered in the shower. I remembered a lot of things. Some
of it's in the chart." He sighed wearily. "I'm really tired, Scully.
Can I sleep now, please? We'll talk later." His right hand gently
patted her arm and his eyes drifted shut. 

"OK, Mulder, later." 

Skinner stepped out of the room, and Scully rose to leave. She leaned
over and kissed him tenderly on the forehead, her hand smoothing his
hair back. "I'm so glad you didn't forget me Mulder," she murmured. 

As she stood, his hand reached out and took her wrist, holding her
loosely for a long moment, his thumb stroking her skin. "I could
never forget you, Scully," he whispered. "Never." 

End part 05/05

Title: Memory: Reclamation of the Soul
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-Mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: R - for violence and disturbing imagery
Category: SA MSR but safe for non-shippers 
Archive: Yes, please
Feedback: Yes! Please! 

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are owned by Chris Carter,
1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are
wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny and 
Gillian Anderson. I will make no profit from this, and 
neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have 
nothing material they can profit from. 

Comments: This is part three of a trilogy. The stories are
connected and should be read in the order listed.
Memory: Recovery of the Man
Memory: Restoration of the Mind
Memory: Reclamation of the Soul 

Summary: Mulder is abducted, beaten, and given a serum to 
stimulate memories of the night Samantha disappeared. Scully
finds him, tends him while he recovers, then helps him deal 
with new memories of that fateful night. 

Memory: Reclamation of the Soul 01/05 

"You couldn't find anything?" Scully asked again in disbelief. 
She sat slumped on the overstuffed couch in the living room
of the safe house. 

Skinner shook his head. "I've exhausted all my resources," he 
paused, fixing her with an unblinking stare, "and I do mean *all* 
my resources, and I can not find one iota of corroborating evidence,
not one shred of supporting documentation." He shook his head
again. "If the information in that chart is accurate, then this has
been the biggest cover-up since Watergate." 

Scully snorted in frustration, "And we all know how that ended.
I just can't believe the chart is a total fabrication. Someone
had to remember something." 

"Well, I did talk to his 9th grade teacher - that was the year his
sister disappeared." 

"Ninth grade at 12? Isn't that a little young?" 

"Apparently he was advanced - fairly gifted as a child. It may
have been tough on him, being so much younger, but he was 
tall for his age. That may have helped. But anyway, the teacher
thinks she remembers he had a broken arm that spring. X-rays 
confirm, the arm's been broken, but I couldn't find records of 
treatment anywhere." 

"That could be the incident he remembered in the shower the
other day." She stopped and closed her eyes in horror, her
face resting in her hands. "My God, his father made him sit
up all night with a broken arm." She looked up at Skinner.
"What kind of a monster was he?" 

Skinner nodded grimly. "A monster, yes, but maybe a man
with demons of his own." He rose and moved to the small
desk, taking up a position there, arms crossed, eyes on the
petite woman on the couch. 

Scully wrinkled her nose and made a sound of disgust. "No
excuse," she said shortly. "Well, he can't hurt him anymore." 
She straightened, then asked, "What about England? Did 
you find anything on a time he may have been missing when 
he was in England?" 

"Actually, yes, there was a period of about a week during one
of his terms, second year, when he just never showed for class.
When he came back, he explained it as a spontaneous trip
with friends, and of course, he made up the work so it wasn't
a problem academically." Skinner took of his glasses and
rubbed the bridge of his nose. "However, I couldn't find 
anyone who actually went on the trip with him, and the folks
we did get to talk to all remember how odd it was that 'Fox' 
went missing like that. Apparently he was pretty studious
and it was out of character for him to take off like that." 

Scully nodded, then bent to look at the chart resting in her lap. 
"I was there at Ellens Air Base. I mean, I know he was missing
then. I was there when he came out. He looked like a zombie, 
drained, dazed, confused. Lost. I know they did something to
him that time." 

She studied the chart some more, then closed her eyes in
thought. "Lost. That really is the right word. He just seemed
lost that time. Whatever was done had a profound impact on
his thinking processes, and his memory. But he wasn't hurt
physically." She opened her eyes and looked at Skinner. "I 
mean, the chart lists specific physical trauma inflicted as 
reinforcement for the mental conditioning exercises, but there 
was no sign of physical abuse that time." 

"Are you sure, Scully? Maybe it was, well, somewhere, out of
sight?" 

"There was no place out of sight." She got up and began to pace.
"I made him strip down, everything, and I gave him a complete
physical." She smiled at the memory. "He, well, he objected, - we
still didn't know each other that well - but I insisted. He wasn't 
even bruised." She stopped by the window and gazed out. 

Skinner stood and walked to her. "So, what the hell have
they done to him? And why are they still doing it? And how
do we stop it?" 

She turned and looked up at him. "Exactly," she said. "Those
are the questions for the day." 

Skinner sighed and went back to his seat. "I'm still carrying him on
sick leave, injured in the line of duty. You're still assigned to his
case. I've got 4 other agents working the background on the chart,
and 4 more splitting the investigation into his first disappearance, 
and the little incident at the hospital last week. I don't know what
else to do." 

Scully was nodding as Skinner spoke. "I know you're doing everything
you can. And I appreciate it. Mulder does too, I'm sure." 

"I can keep him here in the safe house, under guard, for a bit longer,
but if nothing turns up, and no more actions are taken against him,
I'm gonna have to cut him loose." Skinner sighed again. "I'm 
sorry. I don't want to even consider it, because I have a feeling that
they - whoever they may be - are just waiting, biding their time, and
the minute Mulder is vulnerable again, they're going to swoop down
on him, and God only knows what they'll do this time. I just don't
know what I can do to prevent it." 

Scully walked to where Skinner sat, and laid her hand on his shoulder
squeezing gently. "I know." 

Skinner looked up and met her eyes. "I'm sure you do," he said.
Scully took a step back, and he rose again, nervous energy forcing 
him to his feet once more. 

He turned, saying, "We have got to come up with some kind of a 
plan that will reduce his vulnerability. If having them come after him
is inevitable, we can still make it as hard as possible." Skinner cocked
his head and looked thoughtfully at Scully. "Is he coming back to your
place when we have to leave here?" 

She flushed slightly, then said, "I'd like him to, just because I really
don't want him to be alone. But I have a feeling he's gonna fight me
on it." She shrugged. "He says he's worried about imposing. I think 
he's worried I'll get caught up in whatever is going on. Anyway,
I'll try and we'll have to see." 

Skinner nodded. "I'd rather you two be in one place, his or yours. And
as you've said, yours has the extra bedroom." Skinner gave the slightest
hint of a smile as he said the last, then went on. "I want to work out 
a tentative schedule to have someone watching your place for while. I
also want to map out some other options." He gestured toward the 
table in the small dining area, already spread with papers, files, notes,
and folders. "Shall we?" 

Scully rose to precede Skinner and was halfway to the table when,
from the small bedroom, came the now familiar sound of a man crying. 

****************************************************** 

Fox was frantic. He'd fallen asleep and sometime while he was 
sleeping, they'd taken Samantha. She was there when he drifted
off to sleep, wrapped tightly in his arms. She'd been better that
day, smiling at him, and laughing at the silly stories he told to
amuse her. She'd moved around some, stiff and sore as he was, 
but moving nonetheless. 

She'd been clingy - that's what Mom called it when she would hang
on people. Sam didn't get clingy a lot, just when she was scared,
or sick, or tired. But she'd been clingy today, holding his hand,
following him around the small room, sitting in his lap. When
he tried to get her to lay down, she wouldn't unless he lay with
her. 

He'd lost track of how long they had been here. There was no 
window, no way to tell one day from the next. At first, they had 
taken both of them to different rooms, and done their tests. But
after the first few times, Samantha had stopped talking, stopped
moving, stopped crying. When they came the next time, he had 
begged them to only take him, and they had. He had been gone
a long time that time, and it had hurt a lot. But when they brought
him back, Samantha was better. 

From then on, he had tried to stay awake so he could go instead
of Sam. But he had failed. He had fallen asleep and they had 
taken her. When he woke, he'd yelled at them, trying to get
them to come get him, bring her back. But the door remained
locked and no one answered his pleas. 

He'd gotten more and more upset, and finally had started crying.
They didn't like it when he cried, and he usually got punished, 
but he couldn't help it. He was really worried about Sam. She was
still little, and she couldn't take care of herself. He was supposed
to take care of her. That's what Dad always said when he left on 
a trip. "Be a big boy now, Fox, and take care of your Mother and 
Samantha." He always tried to, but now, he couldn't. 

Finally, the door opened and a man told him to move away. He
went to the far wall and waited while they carried Sammy in and
put her on the bed. As soon as the door closed, he ran to the bed.
Sam lay on the bed where the man had put her. Her eyes were
open but she wouldn't answer Fox when he talked to her. He 
hopped up on the bed, and pulled her head into his lap. He tucked
the thin blanket around her, and sat, speaking softly, humming,
his hand stroking her long hair, tickling her ear every now and
then. 

Some long time later, the door opened again, and the man brought
a tray with a meal. At first, Fox had tried to keep track of the days
by the food. But they seemed to realize what he was doing, and
didn't bring food for a long time. And he couldn't tell what time of 
day it was from the meal, because sometimes they brought the same
thing three or four times in a row. He looked at the tray. Today, 
it was breakfast again. 

He rose carefully, settling Sam back into the bed, then brought
a cup with water over to the bed. He knelt beside the bed. "Sam," 
he whispered, "hey, Sammy, drink some water?" But Samantha 
wasn't moving now. She wouldn't talk, she wouldn't eat, she wouldn't 
move. When he moved her, she stayed just like he put her. When her
eyes were open, she looked right through him. He put the cup down, 
and rose slowly. He crawled into the bed, sliding behind Samantha
and wrapping her in his arms again. 

"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered, head buried in her hair. "I'm sorry
I didn't take care of you better." He began to cry, and his body shook
from the exertion. "Please don't be like this Sam," he said, a small
whimper in his voice. "Please be OK." He lay with her for a while and 
she never moved, never responded. Finally, he sighed, rose again, and 
went to eat his meal. 

He was sitting on the bed, Sam's head in his lap again, his hand idly
playing with her long curls, lost in thoughts of home, and comfort,
security, and being loved, when the door opened and the man came
in. "Get up," he said without preamble. 

Fox scrambled to his feet and stood facing the man. "You leave her
alone," he said, his hands clenched in fists at his side. 

The man laughed. "Such a fighter, little Fox," he said. "Your fight
has won your freedom." 

At Fox's confused look, the man went on. "You can go home now,
little Fox." 

Fox stood, staring in disbelief, then his eyes filled with tears. "I can 
go home?" he asked. 

The man nodded. 

Fox swayed where he stood, then asked again, "I can really go home?" 

Once more, the man nodded. 

Fox lowered his head, staring at the ground for a minute, then 
looked up. "I want my clothes," he said defiantly. 

The man laughed again. "Such a fighter." 

Fox went to the bed and shook Samantha gently. "Hey Sam, come on,
we're going home." She didn't respond, and he looked up. "I want
her clothes too," he demanded. He turned his attention back to the little
girl on the bed. "Sammy-Sam, you gotta wake up. We're going
home." 

The man cleared his throat behind Fox, and he turned to look up at
him. "Actually, Fox, that's not correct. *You* are going home." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can go home. She stays." 

"No." Fox stood and folded his arms across his chest. "No. I won't
leave Sam here." 

"You don't have a choice, my young friend." 

"I am not your friend. And I am not leaving my sister here, not for
you, not for anybody." 

"Fox, you really don't have a choice. You go. She stays. End of
discussion." The man reached out and took Fox by the arm and began
to pull him toward to door. 

"No!" Fox was fighting, pulling against the man, kicking, screaming,
and unending stream of "No" flowing from his mouth. He screamed
and fought, and pulled, and kicked, but the man pulled him inexorably
toward the door.



"No, no, no, no ,no, no, no, no, no . . . " 

********************************************************* 

Skinner and Scully reached the bedroom at the same time as the guard. 
After a quick look inside, they waved him off and entered. Mulder
was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, long legs drawn up beneath
his chin. Tears flowed down his face, and he was crying, "No, no, no,"
in nonstop monosyllables. 

Scully walked slowly across the room and stopped about two paces in 
front of him. "Mulder?" she asked softly. When he didn't respond,
she looked up and met Skinner's eyes. A look of understanding passed
between them and he nodded. She turned back to Mulder, knelt, and 
said, "Fox?" 

This time, his eyes met hers, and she was shocked by the pain she saw
there. Lines etched into his face, mouth drawn and tight, his hazel eyes
pools of raw agony. "Fox, sweetie, what is it?" she asked. 

"Samantha can't come home." His voice was dull, lifeless. 

Scully glanced up at Skinner again, then asked, "Do you know where
Samantha is?" 

"At the place." 

"What place?" Skinner asked. 

Mulder's eyes flew upward, and he scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry, Sir,
I'm sorry, I wasn't crying." He swiped at his cheeks, brushing away the 
last of the tears. 

Another look between Scully and Skinner. 

"It's all right, Fox," Skinner said softly. "Maybe you were just feeling -
sad?" 

Mulder nodded, six feet tall, but a little boy's nod of agreement, of relief. 

Scully reached out and took his hand. "Come sit down, Fox." 

He took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the bed, where he
obediently took a seat. 

"Fox," she said, "Can you tell us what happened to Samantha?" 

He closed his eyes and took a deep shuddery breath. He was closing
off from them, locking up, going deep within. She reached out and
touched him, and he flinched. 

"Fox," she said, a bit more loudly, "Fox, what happened to Samantha?" 

His eyes squeezed shut, and his breath began to come in deep,
raggedy gulps. He wrapped his arms around himself and he began
to rock. A low moan escaped his mouth, and then he began to
chant, "No, no, no, no," over and over. 

She looked at Skinner again, the look on her face asking, 'To push 
or not?' Skinner stood, undecided, taking in Mulder's appearance 
and condition. Finally, he gave a short nod. 

Scully touched him once more, and he rocked even harder. "Fox,"
she said, using a firm but gentle tone, "what happened to Samantha?" 

At this third request, he seemed to fold into himself, to physically 
shrink, drawing back from her, pulling away. He rocked harder
and harder, tears streaming down his cheeks, his face a mask of
pain. "She. . ." he whispered, then a sob. "She . . ." he tried
again. 

"It's OK, Fox, go ahead," Scully said. "She what?" 

The rocking slowed fractionally, and his head lifted, meeting her
eyes. "She wouldn't fight." He dropped his head, and the
rocking increased again. 

She placed a hand on each arm, gripping him tightly, and tried
to still the increasingly frantic rocking. She pulled him to her, wrapping
her arms around him, and began to murmur soft, soothing words.
"It's OK, Fox, it's all right now. Shhh, it'll be all right." 

"She wouldn't fight, she wouldn't fight, she wouldn't fight," he
chanted softly. 

Scully pulled him closer, quieting him with her words and presence.
She continued to coo words of assurance and comfort, and he slowly
began to still. He loosed his arms from around his chest and wrapped
them around her waist, resting his head against her abdomen. She
held him tightly, one arm around his back and shoulder, the other 
stroking his hair. Every now and then, she leaned over and gently
kissed his head. 

He settled incrementally, eventually resting against her, his arms now 
loosely holding her. He stayed this way for some time, letting
her pet him, letting her hold him, accepting her comfort.
Finally, with head still buried in her belly, he tentatively said, 
"Scully?" 

Scully looked up in surprise. She stiffened slightly, and stopped
in mid-stroke, mid-kiss. She swallowed nervously, then said, "Uh,
yeah. Mulder?" 

"Yeah." He snuggled into her tummy, leaning heavily against her, 
and his hand began to stroke her back, in tiny up and down movements.
"Scully, I remember," he said. His voice was indescribably sad, 
full of longing and wistfulness. "I remember what happened. 

********************************************************* 

"And then what happened?" Skinner asked. 

They were seated in the living area of the safe house, Mulder and Scully
on the couch, Skinner in the chair across from them. Mulder had been
exhausted by his latest foray into the depths of his memory, and had
lain down and slept all afternoon. 

Skinner and Scully had spent some time discussing how far and how
hard they should push him when he had these episodes. Much debate
on the topic had yielded no firm decision and they were still going to
have to take each situation as it came, playing by ear so to speak. 

Now, with dinner behind them, and Mulder rested, they were ready
to see if he could talk about what he had remembered. So far, he
had been forthcoming, speaking openly about what he remembered. 

How he and Samantha had awakened at a strange place. How they 
had had painful tests done to them. How he'd fought to keep them
from hurting Samantha. How he'd 'volunteered' to go, if only they'd
leave her alone. How, despite his best efforts, she was hurt, and 
then, how she retreated into herself, becoming non-responsive, 
drawing away, and leaving him alone to face their captors. 

He'd just told of how he was sent home, and the words that the man
had spoken. "Your fight has won your freedom." 

Mulder looked up from his introspection at Skinner's query. "Well,
Sam still wasn't moving or talking or anything. I tried to get back 
to the bed, to hold on to her, but the man grabbed me and pulled me
out of the room. I was screaming, and kicking, and crying, and 
some other people grabbed onto me, and then I felt a prick, like
from a needle, and that was all I remember. When I woke up, I was
back at the summer house, and Sam was gone. And all I could 
remember was seeing her float away in a cloud of light." 

He paused and drew in a ragged breath. "I don't know what they
did to me to make me remember it that way." He looked up,
his eyes seeking Scully's. "I left her there. I just left her there.
And then I forgot all about it." He shuddered and fought back
a sob. "Oh God, I might have known where she was all along, 
and I just left her there and forgot about it." He dropped his head 
into his hands, fighting to regain control. 

Scully slid over next to Mulder, and was talking softly to him.
She gently laid a hand on his arm and tried to pull him to her,
but he stiffened and resisted. She switched tactics, and stroked
his arm, all the while continuing to talk softly. 

Skinner watched silently. 'This man has been made to bear the
burden of responsibility for this for long enough.' He flushed 
in anger, that Mulder had been so callously manipulated. 'Enough.'
He stood and said sharply, "Mulder, get up." 

Scully and Mulder both looked up in surprise. They both heard
the anger in his voice, took in his rigid stance. 

Skinner softened his voice a bit and said again, "Come on, Mulder,
stand up. I want to show you something." 

Mulder rose shakily, then stood before the couch. Scully watched
Skinner through narrowed eyes, warning clear on her face. 

He gave a slight reassuring smile in her direction. 'Trust me - I
know what I'm doing.' Then he shrugged. 'I think.' 

Skinner reached out quickly, and spun Mulder around, pulling
Mulder's right arm up behind his back and using his own his
left arm to pull him tight against his body and hold him there.
Mulder was very effectively immobilized. 

"What the hell are you doing, Sir?" Mulder gasped. 

"All right, Mulder," Skinner whispered fiercely in his ear, "Get
loose." 

Scully watched as the look on Mulder's face changed from one
of confusion to one of fury. He began to struggle, pushing
back against Skinner, pulling against the hold on his arm, arching
his back against the arm across his chest. He kicked out with is
legs, and swayed back and forth. He stiffened completely, 
yanking hard against the arms restraining him, then sagged limply, 
forcing Skinner to bear his weight. 

He fought for several more minutes, and Skinner stood impassively
through it all. Finally, as Mulder's breathing turned to gasps
for air, and he was covered in a sheen of perspiration, Skinner
gave him a little shake and said, "Enough. Stop now, Mulder." 

It took several seconds for the command to register, and then 
Mulder slowly stilled. "I'm letting you go now, Mulder."
Skinner slowly turned the man loose, and then offered a 
hand as he swayed. 

He half turned the younger man to look at him, hand on
his elbow in support. Mulder's eyes were closed, and his 
breathing was still ragged. He trembled from the force of
his exertions. 

"Did you try to get loose, Mulder?" 

A tear slid down his face. He nodded. 

"Did you try really hard?" 

Another tear, another nod. 

"Did you fight as hard as you did when you fought me?" 

The eyes opened and he cocked his head as he considered. Finally,
a nod. 

"Mulder, you were twelve years old. A little boy. You were a child
fighting grown men. Do you understand what I'm saying here?" 
Skinner paused, looking at the trembling man before him. 

The eyes were watching him, fastened to him unblinking. Searching
for - what? Forgiveness? Reassurance? Hope? Skinner tightened 
his grip on Mulder, meeting his gaze, staring back, unflinching. 

"It. Wasn't. Your. Fault." 

End of part 01/05 

Memory: Reclamation of the Soul 02/05 

"Damn it, Scully, I am not a little boy who has to have his hand
held every second of the day!" Mulder spat the words out, irritation,
frustration, and pleading warring for dominance in his voice. He 
paced rapidly to the far side of the room. 

"I know that, Mulder," Scully placated. "But you are still having
both nightmares and flashbacks. Surely you can see why I am 
concerned." 

Mulder turned, running his hand through his hair, then said, "I can
see, Scully, and I appreciate your concern. But I've been having
nightmares all my life." He gave a shaky chuckle. "And I'm
dealing with the flashbacks. I'm not screaming and falling apart
anymore. You didn't even wake up last night." 

Her eyes narrowed. "You had a flashback last night, Mulder?" 

He nodded. 

"About what?" 

His eyes darted away again. "That's not important right now,
Scully. What is important, is that I dealt with it. I am dealing
with it. I can deal with it. Alone." 

His eyes flicked to the door to kitchen, then widened when he realized 
Skinner was standing there, leaning on the jamb, and listening. 

"Look," he took a deep breath, his eyes flicking from Skinner to 
Scully, "both of you, I do appreciate-" he gave a vague gesture
taking in the room, the house, the two of them, "- all this, but I 
can't breathe here. I can't stand all this hovering. I *need*
to be alone." He straightened and faced them. "Surely you can
understand that." Pleading won out. 

Skinner spoke now, "Mulder, for all intents and purposes you 
were kidnapped. We still don't know who did it, or even what 
they did to you. I am extremely uncomfortable with the idea 
of you being alone." 

Mulder drew a deep breath, and Skinner and Scully could see 
that he had reached some kind of an internal decision. He walked
slowly over to the couch where Scully sat, stopping before her. 

"Look Scully, my ankle is much better. The cast is off, I can 
move on my own. My shoulder is still stiff, and a little painful,"
he added honestly, "but I can take care of myself. And I'm not
having the headaches anymore." 

He smiled at her, the smile that told her he was about to do 
something of which she wouldn't approve. "Sorry, Scully," 
he murmured, then he turned and looked at Skinner. 

"With all due respect, Sir," he said firmly, " unless you plan on 
arresting my ass, and sticking me in protective custody somewhere,
I am going home." 

******************************************************* 

Mulder lay on the battered old couch, heart racing. He was covered
in sweat and his mouth worked as he struggled to bring in enough
oxygen to fill his starved lungs. His thoughts were chaotic - a
swirling mass of Samantha, and Scully, and - something else. He
shook himself, then forced his body to sit up. 

A draft in the room caught him, and he shivered. As his thoughts
slowly began to clear, he rose on shaky legs and headed for the
shower. 

'Maybe being alone isn't such a good idea,' he thought, as he
searched for a clean towel. He started the shower, then shed
his clothes and stepped in. 

The warm water felt good, washing the fear sweat from his
body, easing the tension in his muscles. He stood under the
steady stream and willed himself to relax. 

He'd been home for a week now. No one had bothered him,
there had been no more attacks. Scully had called daily, but
he wouldn't let her visit. Skinner called frequently too, and Mulder
suspected there had been a car outside the first few days he
was home, but he really was alone now. 

And he was glad. The nightmares had shifted and were no 
longer just of Samantha. Now Scully's disappearance figured
prominently, and somehow, when he would waken, he was
left with the feeling that he knew more about it than he 
could recall. Until he figured out what that was all about,
he couldn't face her - couldn't let her see him in his weakness
as he woke, trembling, crying her name, begging her forgiveness. 

The flashbacks had shifted too, and they were far worse. No 
longer mere memory of the missing time, the time when he and
Samantha had been taken, and he had been returned. Now the 
memory was also of the time after - the times when his father . . . 
Mulder squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to pursue that thought.
He shuddered. Oh, yeah - the flashbacks were the worst. 

He raised his head to the water, letting it flow over his face and
wash the sticky tear tracks away. Sometimes he was so disgusted
with himself. Would he ever stop crying? He shook the water 
from his eyes. He was coping. He'd managed all his life - he would
manage now. And, while he'd needed his solitude, he was about
ready to rejoin the world. He was meeting Scully for lunch
today, then seeing Skinner about a return to duty. He smiled, a
genuine, things are looking up smile, as he contemplated getting
back to work, and back to Scully. 

He braced himself against the wall, and did the shoulder exercises
that his therapist had prescribed, then cleaned himself. He
allowed himself a few more minutes in the warm water,
then reluctantly turned the water off and stepped out. 

The towel was on the counter by the sink, and he grabbed it,
drying himself quickly, then wrapping it around his waist. He 
padded down the hall to the small bedroom and carelessly tossed 
the towel on the bed. He was digging in the dresser drawer for a pair
of boxers when a voice from behind him said, "Mr. Mulder." 

***************************************************** 

"Sir, he's not answering either phone." Scully spoke in a clipped
voice, her fear evident. 

"Where are you Agent Scully?" Skinner asked. 

"En route to his place. I'll be there in about 15 minutes." 

"All right. I'm on my way as well. Keep me informed." 

Scully closed the phone and pressed a bit harder on the accelerator.
Mulder hadn't shown for their lunch 'date,' and while she knew
he might blow her off, he would never have blown off the 
meeting with Skinner. The man was practically itching to
come back to work. 

So what the hell had happened? 

She slowed as the exit to Mulder's place came up, then got off
the interstate, slowing even more as she moved further and
further into the city streets of Alexandria. She pulled up to his
building, found a spot to park, and hopped out. She began to
walk toward the building, but her concerns were increasing, and
by the time she reached Mulder's door, she was racing. 

She knocked once, and when there was no answer, she used her
key and entered. "Mulder?" she called. 

The living room looked OK. A little messy, but that was 
Mulder. She moved to the kitchen. Nothing. "Mulder?"
she tried again. She pulled the cell phone and called Skinner. 

"I'm here. I had to use my key to get in." She was walking 
down the hall toward the bedroom as she spoke. "He's not
answering, and I haven't found him yet." She peered in
the bathroom, noting the clothes on the floor. "Where are
you?" she asked Skinner. 

She kept moving as she talked, making for the small bedroom
that Mulder rarely used. More a storage area for his clothes
than a bedroom. The door was half shut, and she stopped,
eyeing it warily. "I'll call you back," she said into the phone
as she snapped it shut and slipped it into a pocket of her blazer. 

She reached behind her and pulled her weapon from the holster
at the small of her back. Holding the gun before her, she
called again, "Mulder? You in there?" 

She toed the door open, then stepped quickly into the room, 
gun trained on the figure on the bed. She took a fast look
around the room, then holstered her weapon and approached
the man on the bed. 

He was sitting passively, watching her but not reacting, not
speaking. She looked at him and felt the fear rise up in her
chest. Something had happened. She walked slowly to him, 
then said, "Hey Mulder, you could answer when someone calls
you know." 

His eyes followed her and she saw the confusion, the fear in 
them as he lifted his head to her. He licked his lips nervously,
then scanned the room. Worry set his features, and he cleared
his throat. "Scully?" he whispered. "Scully, I don't feel so 
good." 

"What's wrong, Mulder? Are you sick? Hurt?" She advanced,
placing her hand on his brow, looking closely at him. He was 
vague, drifty, and she was sure she had seen this behavior in him 
before. After Ellens Air Base. "What's the last thing you 
remember, Mulder?" she asked. 

"I left the office early. I wanted to go over my testimony on
Brandon. I - I . . . " His voice trailed off. "I don't feel so
good," he said again. 

Scully's eyes were wide in horror, her mouth open in shock.
"The Brandon case? My God Mulder, that was over a 
month ago." 

He looked up to her with haunted eyes, shaking his head in 
denial. "Scully, something is really . . ." he stopped and
closed his eyes. 

She stepped forward and caught his arms, pulling him into
her body, supporting him. "Mulder?" she asked softly. 

"Dizzy," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Can't think." 

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you up on the bed. I think you
need to lay down." 

He nodded and moved backward onto the bed, letting her help
him, finally settling with head on pillow. His eyes were closed
and he lay on his side facing her. 

She sat next to him, and asked "Better?" 

He nodded again, then dragged open fearful, worried eyes, and
said, "A month, Scully? A whole month?" 

She nodded gravely, then said, "Don't think about it now Mulder.
I want to look at you, then I want you to rest. Skinner's on his way." 

"I'm here," a deep voice said from the door. "What happened?" 

Scully looked at Mulder. He had his eyes closed again, and didn't seem
interested in answering so she said, "We're not sure yet." When he
started to speak again, she shook her head - no. "Would you go 
out to my car and get my bag, Sir?" 

Skinner looked at her, then at the unmoving man on the bed. He nodded
once then turned and left. "Mulder," she said softly. "I need to take your
clothes off. I need to look at you." 

He opened one eye then said weakly, "Still trying to get my clothes off,
eh, Agent Scully?" 

"You wish, Mulder," she responded as she tugged his t-shirt over his head.
"How's your shoulder?" 

"Stiff. Sore," he responded. "Why?" 

"You hurt it. It was dislocated. It's better now." She rolled him onto
his back, and fumbled with the button on his jeans. "Do you hurt anywhere
else?" She finally got the button open then pulled the zipper down. 

"Yeah - I feel sore. Achy. Tender. My back and legs." He paused
"And there." 

She froze. "Here?" 

"Yeah - like I was kicked." 

She looked up to find him watching her through half closed eyes. 

"Shame I don't feel better so I could enjoy this properly." 

She flushed, then tapped him on the thigh. He lifted and she pulled the jeans
down over his hips and legs. His eyes were closed again, and he'd thrown his
arm across his face. "Just like Ellens," he murmured, and she could hear
the fear in his voice. 

"It's OK Mulder," she soothed. "We'll figure out what happened." 

"What do you remember about Ellens?" Skinner asked as he entered the
doorway. "Here," he said to Scully, handing her the bag. 

"Just the case - that's the problem. It's what I don't remember that
worries me." 

"Shh," Scully said. "Deep breaths." She had the stethoscope on his 
chest and was listening. He complied, lying quietly, breathing deeply. 

"Sounds OK." She took his wrist, then looked at her watch, counting.
"Respiration's OK too." She flushed slightly, then said, "Sorry Mulder, 
but if you're hurting," she touched his boxers lightly at the waist, "these 
have to come off. I need to look." 

"Oh, no. Not again." Mulder was shaking his head. He started 
to sit up, but Scully pushed him back. 

"It's me or the hospital, Mulder. Take your pick." 

"God, Scully, I hate this. Don't make me do this." 

"Come on Mulder, I'm a doctor." 

"Yeah, but you work on dead people. I'm not dead yet." 

"Look, Mulder, you may not remember the last month, but 
I do, and you've already had several rather severe injuries.
Now, you let me check you out, or Skinner and I take you to the 
hospital, and they check you out." She folded her arms across
her chest and gave him her best no nonsense stare. 

Mulder grimaced, then shot Skinner a look. "Oh, all right already. 
You may have to look, but he doesn't." 

Skinner raised an eyebrow, then turned his back, but not before Scully
saw the slight smile that crossed his face. She bit back a smile of
her own, then said, "Take'em off partner." 

Mulder groaned, then slid the boxers off, closing his eyes again.
His face was burning. 

Scully took one look then said, "I think you're right. It does look
like you were kicked." She touched him carefully, then asked, "Does
this hurt?" 

He turned an even brighter shade of red, then mumbled, "Mmmph." 

Her hands moved slowly over him, slide then press, slide then
press, her touch delicate, then firm. He groaned softly. 

"That hurt, Mulder?" 

He shook his head, unable to speak. 

As she touched him again, she said, "Well, I don't see any signs of 
internal damage, though there is some swelling." 

Skinner strangled a laugh, then coughed, clearing his throat. Mulder
choked, then pulled away from Scully's hands, and rolled onto his 
stomach. "Enough, Scully," he growled, "I'm sure I'll live." 

Whatever retort she had been ready to make was chased from her
mind as she looked at his back. She gasped, and Skinner turned,
coming to the bed. 

"What?" Mulder said over his shoulder. "What is it?" 

Bruised red and purple stripes covered him. His whole back side 
was covered in welts, extending from his shoulders down to his 
upper thighs. 

"Just like in the chart," Scully whispered, and Skinner nodded
grimly. 

"What chart?" Mulder asked desperately, his eyes locked on the
marks that covered his back. "Who did this to me? Why don't
I remember?" 

*************************************************** 

They were back at the safe house. The last attack on Mulder had
allowed Skinner to once again get priority for the case, and he
had full access to additional agents, guards, and other security
measures. 

Mulder had been understandably withdrawn, but was coming
around now, apparently having reached some kind of an internal
agreement. He wanted to know everything he had remembered,
everything he had told them, of the nightmares and the flashbacks
that he could no longer recall. 

He'd had one nightmare since they had returned to the safe house,
but had not remembered anything upon waking. He hadn't
regressed at any point either, and he felt he was coping quite
well with the upheavals in his memories and his life. 

The welts on his back, buttocks, and legs had healed quickly,
disappearing within days. He'd suffered no long lasting damage
from the blow to the groin, though he was afraid the effect
of Scully's exam would be of much longer duration. *That* was 
quite firmly placed in his memory. His face grew flushed as he 
thought about it, then glanced guiltily around to see if he had 
been observed. 

He was alone. He forced his mind to other things, then looked up
as Skinner entered, a small tray bearing three coffee mugs in his
hands. He placed it on the table, then took a seat. Scully came 
from the back of the house, pulling on a sweater as she walked. 

"You're the psychologist, Mulder," she said, taking up the 
conversation as if there had been no pause. "You tell me what
it sounds like." 

"I know, Scully, I know." He ran a hand through his hair, and
rose. "My sister and I are taken to some place, for some kind of
painful tests, or something. I get through it and get to go home.
She doesn't. I feel guilty. Classic survivor guilt." 

He walked to the window. "But did it really happen? I mean, 
first I just believed she was kidnapped, taken. Then I 'recovered'
a memory of her abduction. A memory I was sure was accurate.
Now I have a new memory." He turned in frustration. "How
the hell am I supposed to know what is real and what is not?" 

"We have some supporting documentation for this memory, Mulder,"
Skinner reminded him. "We have the chart." 

"Yeah, but you and Scully said you can't corroborate anything in 
the chart. What if it was planted? A fabrication? More lies?" 

"We may not have concrete support, but we have some pretty 
incriminating circumstantial evidence. Your teacher remembers
the broken arm." 

"It was twenty-five years ago." Mulder snorted. "She was,
like, a hundred and ten even then." He looked up, curious.
"How old is she anyway?" 

Skinner colored slightly, then said, "Well, she is pretty old -
she's 85. And she's got Alzheimer's." 

Mulder groaned. "Great. Just great." 

"But the trip in England, Mulder." Scully piped up. "No one seems
to have gone on that trip with you. You were missing for a week." 

"I just bummed around Scully, I told you that." 

"But why? Why then? It was so out of character for you." 

"I don't know." He rubbed his head again. "I just felt - confined -
like I needed to get away. So I went." 

"How did you feel when you got back, Mulder?" 

He stood for minute, thinking. "Actually, I was kinda sore."
He turned and looked at her. "But don't read too much into that.
I did a lot of walking, all over the English countryside. Slept
on the floor in hostels. It's not unusual that I would have
been stiff when I got back." 

"Well, regardless of what else happened, I was there when you
came out of Ellens. You had been seriously mind fucked."
She crossed her arms. "I know something happened that time." 

Mulder still stood by the window, his thoughts drifting. Something
may have happened, but he couldn't recall it. And even if he could,
would it be a true memory? Damn it, this was so infuriating! He 
clenched his fist, then drew back, lashing out and striking the
window. His hand went right through, shattering the glass, 
setting off the security alarms, slicing his wrist and arm. Oh, 
God, what had he done? 

Scully gave a little gasp, then ordered, "Don't move, Mulder." 

He looked down at his arm, extended through the window,
blood dripping on the sill, the wall, the floor. 

Oh God, he was gonna be in so much trouble. . . 

*********************************************** 

He hadn't meant to break the window. He'd been throwing
the ball up in the air, then catching it. He knew he wasn't
supposed to play ball in the house, any kind of ball, but Mom
was feeling *bad* again today, and he had to stay inside to
help her. 

He'd wanted to go out, to be with the guys, to play for a change,
but he had to stay in, again, and be here for Mom. He'd picked
up the ball and starting tossing it up, not really hard, just a little,
and catching it. But he'd gotten mad, and as he got madder,
he threw the ball higher, and harder, but it was still OK 'cause
he caught it every time. 

But then Mom had called, "Fox!" and he jumped, and missed
it, knocking the ball with his hand instead of catching it.
It headed for the window and he surged forward to get it
before it hit the glass. He slapped at the ball again, knocking
it toward the floor, but his momentum carried him forward
and his whole arm went right through the window. 

Now there was blood everywhere. On the sill, on the wall,
on the carpet. Oh God, he was gonna be in so much trouble.
And Mom was still calling him. 

"I'm coming, Mom," he hollered up the stairs. He carefully
pulled his arm out of the window. He tugged his t-shirt off,
and wrapped it around his arm, staunching the blood flow.
He looked at the window. He'd never be able to get it 
fixed before Dad got home, but he could get the blood cleaned
up. 

But first, he had to go see about Mom. He scurried to the 
bathroom, and pulled out an Ace bandage, wrapping it tightly 
around his arm and hand. It seemed to control the bleeding, 
and he hurried to his room, calling, "Be there in a minute, Mom,"
as he raced to find a long sleeved shirt." 

As he pulled on the shirt, he worried that Mom would ask why he
was wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, but then he
realized, she never noticed what he wore anymore, and never asked
why he did anything. He finished changing then went to her room. 

"Yeah, Mom," he said, "you wanted me?" 

"Come here, baby," she reached out to him. "Come sit with me for a
while." 

Fox paled. Oh God, no, she'd been drinking again. He'd never 
get downstairs now. Dad would see the mess and he'd be in 
even more trouble. But if he didn't stay, Mom would complain 
to Dad that he wasn't *helping* her, and then he'd still be in
trouble. Knowing that no matter what he did, it would still
come out the same, Fox walked slowly toward to bed, and into
his mother's drunken embrace. 

When his father came home, he was still lying on the bed with his
mother. She had drifted off to sleep, but he had been afraid to move
for fear of waking her again. His arm was still bleeding; he could
see places where the blood had seeped through the shirt sleeve. He
felt faint, weak, slightly dizzy, but whether it was from the bleeding
or from fear, he couldn't tell. He lay stiffly, not moving, barely
breathing, as he listened to the heavy tread of his father's steps
as he climbed to the second story. 

There wasn't enough air in the room. Fox remained motionless, 
eyes closed, as he waited for the bedroom door to open. Maybe 
Dad would think they were both asleep. Maybe he would leave 
him alone. Maybe he would just be worried that he was hurt, like
he used to be. And maybe pigs would fly. 

"Fox." 

Oh God, he was angry. He could hear it in his voice. He lay
perfectly still. Maybe he would go away. 

"Fox." A long, heavy silence. "Don't make me call you again, boy." 

He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked at his father, standing in 
the doorway. His father beckoned, one finger, saying "Come." 

Fox rose on shaky legs, and walked slowly out of his mother's
bedroom. He looked up at his dad. No mercy there. He lowered
his head. "I'm sorry, Sir, I was going to clean it up, but Mom
called me." 

His father's hands were at his waist, unbuckling the belt, pulling it
slowly through the loops. He gestured towards the door across the 
landing. "Your room." 

Fox walked on leaden feet towards his room. Behind him, he could
hear the sound of the belt as his father slapped it lightly into his
own palm. He stood by the bed, already going numb, already
pulling away. 

"Take'em down." 

Fox fumbled with his own belt, then unbuttoned his pants and slid
them down. He stood waiting, his pants around his knees. 

"Them too." 

Fox swallowed hard, then closed his eyes. His hands crept slowly to
the waistband of his underpants, and he slid them down as well. 

"Off" 

Fox pulled his pants all the way off, leaving them in a puddle at his feet. 

"Over the bed." 

The boy turned and lay across the bed, his hands extended to grab the
far side of the mattress, his bare bottom waiting. He clutched the mattress
tightly, knowing that too much movement would just infuriate his 
father, and make it that much worse. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, 
clenched his teeth, and waited. 

"Count." 

The belt whistled through the air, and he jerked at the impact. 
Fire exploded in his backside, and he gasped out, "One, Sir." 

At 11, he began to cry. At 24, he began to wail. Somewhere 
around 35, he lost count, and began to plead. It made no 
difference to his father, and he had no idea how many blows
he took. 

When it was finally over, his father dropped his underwear and his
pants onto the bed beside him. "Get dressed. Your arm is bleeding. 
I'm taking you to the clinic." 

Fox rose obediently, tears streaming down his face, and pulled
the clothing on over his tortured buttocks. He followed his father
down to the car, sitting perfectly still for the drive to the clinic.
Any movement would have only invited more of the same when
they returned home. 

At the clinic, it took fourteen stitches to close the gash in his arm,
but they were very kind to him when he couldn't stop crying. 
The doctor even gave him a shot of something that made the world
go fuzzy, and the pain recede. He could feel the sting of the needle
against his arm . . . 

************************************************** 

He opened his eyes, and Scully was there. God bless 
Scully, she was always there for him. He smiled slightly 
at the thought. 

Her eyes found his, and she smiled back. "Hey partner, how
you feeling now?" 

"Mmm, better, I think." He lifted his arm, and looked at the
bandage wrapped around it. "Did I need stitches this time?" 

"This time? What are you talking about, Mulder?" 

"Fourteen stitches. Last time I broke a window, it took fourteen
stitches." 

She narrowed her eyes. "I think I want to hear more about that.
But no, you didn't need stitches this time." 

"Sorry about the mess," Mulder said. 

She waved the comment away. "When did you break the window
Mulder?" 

He closed his eyes, grimacing at the memory. It was so fresh, so raw,
like it just happened. He almost felt that if he looked at his behind,
he would still see the marks of his father's belt. "Uh, Scully? I'm
not sure I'm up to talking about this right now." 

He felt the bed sink as she came and sat next to him. Her hand reached
out and he felt her touch his brow, then his cheek. 

"It's OK, Mulder, you can tell me. I was witness to the flashback. 
I have a pretty good idea of what happened." 

Behind his closed lids, his eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head 
vigorously. "No, Scully, you couldn't know what happened." 

"You broke a window and your father beat you," she said in a neutral
voice. 

His breathing hitched, and the tears began to trickle down his face.
"He - he really beat me bad that time," he managed to get out. He opened
his eyes, searching for her face. He gave a half moan, half whimper at
the open disgust he saw there. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I deserved
it. I broke -" 

She cut him off. "Deserved it? Deserved it? What child deserves to be 
brutally beaten like that? Mulder, nothing you could ever have done
would have made you deserve that." Her face was sad now, her eyes
filled with tears. She scooted fully onto the bed, leaning back against
the headboard, and pulled his head into her lap. She stroked his hair,
playing with the wisps at the nape of his neck. "You could never 
deserve that, Mulder." 

"I lost Samantha," he whispered. "I lost her and it was never the same.
He beat me, and I deserved it. I let them down." He began to cry then, 
great wracking sobs ripped from his chest, hot tears scalding her leg. 

She struggled to lift him, to pull his large frame more fully into her lap
and she cradled his head against her breast. She stroked him, cooing
words of comfort into his ear, and rocked him gently. Gradually, the
tears ceased, and the sobs turned to sniffles. As he settled, she said, 
"You, more than any child, needed love, and acceptance, and security, 
especially after Samantha disappeared. Think of your psych training. You
know how important that is in traumatic situations. Your parents let
*you* down. They were wrong." 

She pulled him to her, tightening her embrace, trying to make him believe
through her touch, the words she was speaking. She held him a minute
more, then softly kissed the top of his head, and said again, "You could 
never deserve that Mulder. Never." 

End of part 02/05

Title: Memory: Reclamation of the Soul(2/2)
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-Mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: R - for violence and disturbing imagery
Category: SA MSR but safe for non-shippers 
Archive: Yes, please
Feedback: Yes! Please! 

Disclaimer: In part 1 

Comments: In part 1 

Summary: In part 1 

Memory: Reclamation of the Soul 03/05



"So, if it's not regression, Scully, what is it?" Skinner asked. 

"More like withdrawal. I think the whole situation has just 
overwhelmed him. When we first came back to the safe house,
he was withdrawn, but he came around. I think this last
flashback, really remembering what happened with his
father, has thrown him for a loop. And I think he just needs
some time to assimilate everything." 

Skinner was nodding. "It's just really - weird - to see him like
this. Quiet. Passive. Those are words I never expected to use
with Mulder." 

"His whole world image has been shattered. Things he remembers
may or may not be true. Things he's built his life on may or may
not have happened. He may have done things he has no recollection
of, or he may never have done things he does recall. Everything
in his life is being called into question. It's daunting for me to even
think about; I can't imagine how difficult it must be for him." 

"And what do we do in the meantime?" 

"What we've been doing. Pursue the investigation. Try to determine
what is real and what is not. See if we can find the people that
did this to him." She paused, looking sadly at the door to Mulder's
room. "Give him time. Try to be here when he needs to talk.
Try to make him feel safe. Accept him, comfort him, help him."
Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Care for him." 

Skinner cleared his throat and Scully looked back at him, startled. 
"Well, I guess what I mean is, just try to help get him through this." 

"Help get me through what?" Mulder stood in the door now, hair 
sticking up, one cheek still red and bearing the imprint of the 
bedspread from where he had obviously been sleeping. He 
yawned and asked again, "Help get me through what?" 

Scully looked up at him, affection and exasperation in her
face. "Through this." She waved her hands about. "All 
this. It's bound to be a little disconcerting." She smiled up
at him. "Why are you up anyway?" She rose, suddenly
concerned. "Did you have another nightmare?" 

He smiled, then stepped forward into the room. "No, 
no nightmare. Believe it or not, I'm just thirsty."
He walked over to the couch and sat, then pulled Scully 
down to sit next to him. He folded his arms around 
himself, then licked his lips nervously. 

"Look, Scully, I just want to tell you that I - uh - I 
appreciate all you've done for me. Are doing for me."
He ran his hand through his hair, then tentatively 
reached out and took hers. "I don't - well, I mean,
this has been hard, all of it. I'll admit I'm confused.
You've been - it's been really good knowing you're
here." His thumb was gently stroking her palm. He
held her hand a minute more, his touch gentle but firm.
He caught her eyes, holding them with his own. "I
appreciate you," he whispered. 

He slowly released her, then rose and walked toward
the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, then said, "I
appreciate all you've done too, Sir," and ducked
through the door. 

They heard the sound of water running, and in a few
moments, he was back. He walked to his room, stopping
only long enough to say, "Good night," as he entered
and shut the door behind him. 

Scully and Skinner looked at each other. Neither spoke
for a long time. Finally, Scully broke the silence. "That
was weird. Even for Mulder." Skinner nodded, then 
they both rose to make their own way to bed. 

********************************************** 

"That was excellent, Sir." Scully pushed the plate away 
and sat back in her chair. "I didn't know you could cook." 

Skinner chuckled. "Don't let word get around. It might 
impede my tough guy image." He poured more batter
on the griddle for the next batch of pancakes. "I just got
tired of take out all the time, so I taught myself in self defense."
He looked over at her. "These will be ready shortly if you
want to wake Mulder." 

She rose, saying, "I almost hate to share." She heard Skinner
laughing again behind her as she made her way to the small
ground floor bedroom Mulder was using. 

The door was still shut and she knocked softly. When there
was no response, she knocked again, a bit harder. Still no
response. She knocked again, firmly, and called, "Hey, Mulder,
time to get up." Still no answer. She looked behind her
to see Skinner standing in the kitchen doorway, obviously
drawn there by her knocking. 

She called through the door, "Mulder, I'm coming in. Hope
you're decent," and turned the knob. No movement. She looked
up again, finding Skinner's eyes, and said, "It's locked."
She began pounding furiously on the door. "Mulder, let me
in! Mulder!" 

Skinner was across the living room in several large strides,
and he immediately grabbed the knob, rattling it. He, too,
began pounding, and calling, "Mulder, open the door!" 

When there was still no response, he said to Scully, "Stand 
aside," and took a step back. He braced himself, then hit
the door, hard, with his shoulder. The thin jamb splintered,
the door flew open, and he fell into the room. 

Scully was right behind him, gun drawn, eyes scanning
the room. No sign of a struggle, nothing out of place, and 
no sign of Mulder within. The bed was neatly made and placed
squarely on the pillow was a note. 

Scully raced over and began to read, not touching the paper.
Skinner was standing over her, reading over her shoulder. 

Scully, 

I know you're gonna be annoyed with me, but I need to know 
what's going on with my head. I can't find out if I'm tucked 
away all wrapped in cotton being kept safe. 

Try not to worry too much. I'll be all right. I always am.
Keep Skinner from sending out the National Guard, and
I'll be in touch when I can. 

Yours, 

Mulder 

They both stood staring at the note, neither moving. Finally,
Scully muttered, "You are a dead man, Mulder. This time you 
won't get off with just a shot to the shoulder. I'll kill you myself." 
And Skinner nodded grimly. 

"All right, Scully, let's get started. We need to find him 
before anyone else does. I need to go to Headquarters and 
get the search going again. You come with me. You can
start on a list of relatives, friends, and acquaintances that need
to be contacted." 

The agent in charge of safe house security entered the room
just then. "My guy just told me. Mulder's missing." 

Skinner turned to glare at him. "Yes, he is. I want a
detailed explanation of how that occurred. And I want the
names of the agents on duty last night. I want to know
how the hell Mulder got out of here with no one seeing 
him. And I want all of it on my desk by noon. Is that
clear?" 

The man swallowed hard, nodded, then made a quick exit. 

Scully was still standing by the bed, staring at the note.
Skinner hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder and 
said, "He'll be OK. We'll find him." 

She took a deep breath, nodded, then said, "Let me get
changed, Sir, and I'll be ready to go." 

*********************************************** 

It hadn't exactly been easy to get out of the safe house, 
but it hadn't been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do
either. It helped that security was designed to keep intruders
out, not necessarily to keep the occupants in. Mulder 
congratulated himself as he slipped through the bushes into 
the next yard and worked his way down the street, keeping 
to the shadows. 

He looked at his watch. He needed to find an ATM. Whatever
he was able to draw out tonight would be it. Knowing Scully,
she'd have them freeze his account first thing. He was several
blocks away now, with no sign of pursuit. He started looking
for a phone. After walking several more blocks, he found one
outside a small neighborhood market, and made his call. 

"Byers? This is Mulder." "Yeah, I was, but I'm OK now."
"Thanks, but look, I need you to come get me." "It's a long
story. I need you guys to find someone for me." "Not too
far from the apartment. A little market - The Neighborhood
Stop." "All right. Thanks, man. See you soon." 

Mulder replaced the phone, then scanned for a place to
wait. An out of sight place to wait. Finally retiring into
a narrow opening between two townhomes across from
the market, Mulder settled in to wait for his ride. Almost
30 minutes later, a nondescript sedan pulled up to the curb, 
and Mulder jogged across the street slipping in to the back
seat. 

"What's this all about Mulder?" Langley asked from the
passenger seat. 

"Yeah," Byers added as he pulled away from the curb, "this
is a little too much cloak and dagger, even for you." 

"Look, I just need to find someone, and fast. I figured you
guys could handle that for me." 

Langley bristled. "Person doesn't exist that I can't find. Who
you want?" 

"Guy named Geoffrey, with a G, Talmadge. Doctor." 

"Where's he practice?" 

"Don't know." 

"Specialty?" 

"Don't know." 

"Med School?" 

"Don't know." 

"Geez, Mulder, is there anything you can tell me?" 

"He probably worked for the government in the 70's. May still
be working for them. Probably around 50, maybe 55 now. Beyond 
that, you're on your own." Mulder grinned in the dark. "Think of
it as a chance to show your stuff Langley." 

Mulder was scanning the streets as he talked. He leaned forward, 
tapping Byers on the shoulder. "Pull over for a minute." Byers 
brought the car over to the curb, and Mulder hopped out, making 
for the ATM. He inserted his card and pulled the max out that he 
could, then jogged back to the sedan." 

"Mulder." The car was turned off and Byers was turned around in 
the seat, looking at him. "What the hell is going on?" 

"Look, are you guys gonna help me or not? 'Cause if you're not,
I'm outta here. I'll figure something else out." He glared at Byers, 
a contest of wills. Finally, Byers sighed, turned around, started the 
car, and drove off. 

Frohike was waiting when they reached the offices of the Lone Gunman.
Mulder repeated his request, including the few facts he had, and the 
three Gunmen settled in for the cyber search for Dr. Geoffrey Talmadge. 
Mulder found the couch, laid down, and went to sleep. 

Just before dawn, Langley jumped up. "Got him!" he yelled. Mulder
was up in an instant, and he joined Byers and Frohike as they gathered
behind Langley. "Eastern Virginia Medical School, Norfolk, Virginia, 
class of '68. Did time in the NHS, repaying the med school tuition. Then 
went to work for NIH. Carried on the rolls in both places, but no record 
of *where* he actually worked. First time he emerges with both a job
and a paycheck is early '94. Now in private practice in Charleston,
SC." 

"How'd you find out he wasn't where the payroll indicated?" Mulder
asked. 

"I looked for patient charts with his name as attending," Langley said
smugly. "Couldn't find any." 

Mulder patted him on the shoulder. "Nice work. Thanks, guys."
He looked over at Frohike, "Can I borrow the car, Dad? And, uh, 
maybe your VISA?" He gave his most charming smile. 

Frohike went to his desk and fumbled in the drawer, eventually
producing a set of keys and small plastic card. 

"Am I going to regret this, Mulder?" 

"Probably. But thanks." He headed for the door, address for 
Geoffrey Talmadge in hand. "Do me a favor, please? Wait
as long as you can before you tell Scully where I've gone, OK?
I don't want her getting hurt in all this. And," he looked at the 
floor, "tell her I'm sorry." 

***************************************************** 

"Apparently, he got up, caught the outside guard's attention by
tapping on the window, then got him to let him out the front door.
Walked around with him for a while with the guy, talking, then 
excused himself to come back in and never did. In other words, 
he just walked away." Skinner slammed his fist on the desk. 
"Even as we speak, heads are rolling." 

Scully nodded grimly. "I froze his bank accounts, but not before
he pulled five hundred out. He's got funds for a while." She
shook her head. "Were you aware of the extent of his assets?" 

Skinner nodded vaguely, his attention on the folder he was reviewing.
"Inheritance," he elaborated. "The man comes from money. Old 
money. Martha's Vineyard. It came up early on in his career
because of the way he dresses - too expensive for someone on his
salary. There's a notation in his personnel folder." Skinner
looked up at her. "Makes you wonder about that rat hole apartment
doesn't it?" 

"Well, he doesn't have money now." Scully smiled smugly. "I've
got agents tracking down everyone I can think of who he might 
turn to for help, but knowing Mulder, he's out there on his own."
She began to pace. "I didn't want to pull the people off the ongoing
investigations, because I feel anything that comes up about his
disappearance, either disappearance, hell, any of these disappearances,
can only help to locate him now. And if it doesn't help locate him, 
maybe we can locate whoever's after him, and shut them down." 

"You've got whatever resources you need, Scully. This has top
priority as far as I'm concerned. We've got an injured agent
wandering around out there, known to be in danger, and with
impaired memory. Anything you want, you've got." 

"It's taken all morning to get the teams established and 
redistributed, but I think we've got folks moving in the right 
direction. And, I do have one lead I want to follow up on 
in person. I tried calling earlier, but I didn't get an answer,
which in and of itself is suspicious with these guys." She gave 
Skinner an appraising look and said, "You may find this 
interesting. Wanna come?" 

************************************************* 

Skinner stood next to Scully, enduring the video scan being
made, scowl on his face. She was talking into a speaker 
mounted on the wall by the door. 

"Frohike, he's all right." She glanced sideways at Skinner.
"Let us in." Scully was getting annoyed. "I need help with
Mulder. Skinner's providing it. But I want your help, too." 
She was tapping her foot in frustration as the door swing open. 
"Finally," she muttered under her breath. 

Skinner looked down at the short little man who opened the
door at the same time he looked up, eyeing the taller man
warily. Each stood assessing the other, until Frohike 
turned, extended an elbow, and said, "Agent Scully, if
I may?" 

Scully shrugged at Skinner, accepted Frohike's offer
of escort and walked with him down the dark hallway to the
interior of the building. Skinner followed, an almost amused
look on his face. 

As soon as Scully saw the Byers and Langley, she knew they
knew where Mulder was. "All right, you three, give," she
ordered. 

Three faces flushed, and three sets of eyes looked guiltily
at the floor. 

"He didn't want us to call you," Langley offered. 

"Beside the point," Scully said shortly. "Where is he?" 

Three sets of shoes shuffled back and forth as the men
moved nervously, each one eyeing the others." 

"I don't care what he said," Scully said. "He is in more
trouble than he let on to you, you can be sure of that. Now
tell me where he is." 

After another little silence, Frohike finally offered, "He
doesn't want you to get hurt." 

Scully exhaled loudly, complete exasperation written on
her face. "I am not going to repeat myself again." She
walked over to Frohike, reached out and took hold of his
shirt. Meeting him almost eye to eye, holding him tightly,
she said slowly and deliberately, "Tell me where he is." 

Frohike looked at the floor again, silent, until Byers
spoke up, saying, "South Carolina. Charleston." He
rattled off an address in the heart of the city. 

Scully released Frohike and walked over to Byers. "When?" 

He cleared his throat, then glanced at the other two, both
of whom were eyeing him angrily. "Early - about 5:15."
He cleared his throat again, his glance sliding sideways
to Frohike, and added, "He took the car. Frohike's car." 

Skinner pulled his cell phone, dialing as he spoke to the
shorter man. "What's the plate?" 

Frohike shot a look to kill at Byers, then recited the information
for Skinner. Skinner passed it on to the dispatcher for
release to local law enforcement agencies. 

Scully was talking to Byers again. "John, find out the 
airline schedules for me, please?" 

He obediently sat at the computer and began searching.
There was a flight at 6:15, through Charlotte, arriving
in Charleston at 9:25. He might have been able to make 
that one." 

"Not for him," Scully corrected. "For me. What's the
fastest way I can get there?" 

His fingers flew across the keyboard, then he looked up,
saying, "There's a flight out of Dulles at 3:05 - direct
to Charleston, arriving 5:03." He scanned the monitor
a moment longer, then looked up again. "That's your
best bet." 

She smiled down at him. "Book it for me, please?" 

Skinner spoke up, "Book two." He pulled his wallet 
out and handed Byers his government AMEX card. He 
spoke to Scully. "I can get agents out of the Columbia 
office down there to try to intercept him, but they're still
about a two hour drive." 

She shook her head. "He's going to be upset enough as it
is that I - that is, we - came after him. Let's not make it 
any worse for him. We'll go alone, and just hope we get to
him before anyone else does." 

Byers made a series of entries, then handed the card back
to Skinner and wrote down a number. He handed it to Scully.
"Your confirmation number." 

"Thanks, John." 

As Scully and Skinner turned to leave, Langley spoke up.
"We were just trying to do what Mulder said." 

Scully turned to face them, her voice softer now that she
had the information she wanted. "I know. He's just not,
well, it may not be the best time for him to be taking off
on his own. He's not," she paused searching for the word,
"himself," she finally finished. 

*********************************************** 

Mulder eyed the old building on Tradd Street carefully. The 
brass name plate was bright, shiny, but didn't look brand new.
He scanned the street. Renovated row houses, three and four
stories, full of boutiques and cafes, doctors, lawyers, and other
professionals. Dr. Geoffrey Talmadge would certainly fit in here. 

He shook himself from his reverie, and stepped to the front door,
opening and entering. If his assumptions were correct, the man 
inside should be able to answer some very long held questions for 
him, and help him figure out what was happening with his memory. 

He walked quickly to the receptionist, flashing his badge as he 
identified himself. When she reached for the phone to call the 
doctor, he stopped her with a touch. "Just take me to him, please." 

"But he's seeing patients," she objected. 

"He'll see me," Mulder maintained. "Just show me where he is." 

The young women led Mulder down a hallway, then indicated a
small, crowded office. "You can wait in there." 

Mulder shook his head. "I want you to take me to him. Now,"
he said forcefully. 

The woman eyed him cautiously, then lowered her voice. "Is
Dr. Talmadge in some kind of trouble?" she breathed. 

Mulder just looked at her, using her suspicions for his own
advantage. "Just take me to the doctor, please," he repeated. 

She smiled conspiratorially, and led him further down the hall. 
She knocked on a closed door, then opened it when a deep 
voice asked, "Yes?" 

"This gentleman is an FBI agent, Doctor, and he insists on
speaking to you right now. I tried to explain you were seeing
patients, but . . ." She spread her hands in a 'what can I do?'
gesture. 

Mulder smiled to himself. Oh yeah, she wanted the scoop
on the good doctor, but not enough to risk her job.
"Doctor Talmadge? I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you
to come with me Sir." 

An older woman seated on an examination table, and a 
slighter younger nurse were both watching the proceedings
with wide eyes. Talmadge flushed slightly, then said, "Of
course, Agent . . .?" 

"Mulder." Mulder watched with grim satisfaction when the
man visibly blanched. He recovered quickly, however, and
said to the receptionist. "It's all right, Mary. Please cancel
my appointments for the rest of the day." He turned back
to the two women in the room. 

"Mrs. Jacobs, I think you're doing fine. Nothing to worry 
about. Just give the medication a bit longer to take affect."
He shifted his attention to the nurse. "Sharon, please see
Mrs. Jacobs out and make sure she has everything she needs."
Back to the woman. "Call me if you need anything between
now and your appointment next week. And now, if you'll
excuse me?" 

He slipped out the door and beckoned Mulder to follow him
to his office. Once inside, he closed the door, then indicated
Mulder should take a seat on the couch. Cautiously, Mulder 
did so. "You don't seem totally surprised to see me," he said. 

"No, not really," Talmadge seated himself in a chair across from
Mulder. "I heard they had taken you again, and it hadn't been
completely successful. Amateurs," he said disdainfully. He looked
at Mulder and lowered his voice. "And how are you, little Fox?" 

Mulder shivered, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Mulder," he murmured.
"Everyone calls me Mulder." 

"I know, Agent Mulder," Talmadge said soothingly. "Tell me, do
you know anything about computers?" 

Mulder nodded. "Some," he said hesitantly. "But I have questions
for you, Dr. Talmadge. I came to ask you questions." Mulder's 
voice was quiet, tentative, questioning. 

"It's all right, little Fox." Talmadge was speaking softly, almost in
a monotone. "You'll get to ask your questions. But first, can you tell
me what a programmer does when he wants to be able to access
his application quickly and easily?" 

Mulder was growing sleepy. He shook himself, then said, "He leaves
a way in, a password or hot key that will take him right in - a back door." 

"Very good, little Fox." Talmadge droned. "A back door. Exactly.
You are doing very well, little Fox." 

Mulder eyelids were drooping, and he struggled to remain erect. "A
back door," he repeated. He shook himself again, and asked, "What
does that have to do with me?" 

"Ah, little Fox, you are quite inquisitive. And persistent." Talmadge 
looked closely at Mulder, watching him fight to stay awake, to
stay upright. "The human mind is very similar to a computer. And
someone who works with human minds, like myself *little Fox,* 
can also leave a back door, as a way to get 'back in' to the subject." 

Mulder began to list to the side. "A back door? To a person?"
He struggled to think it through, fighting the fogginess that was
clouding his mind. This wasn't the way things were supposed 
to go at all. 

"Yes, little Fox," Talmadge crooned, "a back door." He
paused, then asked, "Wouldn't you like to rest now, and you 
can ask me your questions in a little while." 

Mulder nodded. "Just a short rest," he said as he slid sideways
on the couch, stretching out and closing his eyes. 

"You rest, little Fox, close your eyes, and rest." 

Mulder obediently closed his eyes, and Talmadge waited patiently
as Mulder's breathing slowly evened out and it became apparent
he was falling asleep. Once Talmadge was sure Mulder was
sleeping soundly, he rose and walked to his desk. Taking a key
from his wallet, he unlocked the lower desk drawer and pulled
out a chart, a chart the looked suspiciously like the one Mulder
had recovered at the hospital. He opened it and began to
write. 

End of part 03 of 05 

Memory: Reclamation of the Soul 04/05 

"I've got a bag in the trunk, Sir. I carry one with me at all
times. Five years with Mulder has certainly taught me to be
prepared, if nothing else." She looked up briefly from the road,
then said, "How 'bout you?" 

He shook his head ruefully. " 'Fraid not. I do have an extra suit
back at the office, but that's about it." He looked at his watch.
"I think we've got time to run by my apartment and let me
grab something real quick." 

She agreed and they headed to Crystal City. Skinner pulled his
phone and began making calls. As he waited for the first call
to go through, he commented, "I need to let someone know I'm
going to be out of town. You too. I also want to touch base with
the teams, keep them going. I don't want anything to slip through
the cracks just because we think we've got a lead on where our
boy might have gone." 

Scully nodded grimly. "With Mulder, nothing's ever a sure bet." 

Skinner made several more phone calls, checking in with his
assistant, Kimberly, and the leaders of the various teams working
to track down information on Mulder's first disappearance, the
incident at the hospital, and his 'escape' from the safe house. 

By the time he had finished, they had pulled up outside his building
in Crystal City. He looked at Scully and said, "Give me a few
minutes, please." 

She nodded and he hopped out of the car and raced into the building.
Ten minutes later, he was back and they were on their way to the 
airport. 

The flight itself was uneventful, departing on time and arriving on 
time. Scully fidgeted nervously during the whole flight, her normal
discomfort over flying eclipsed by her concern and fears over Mulder's
whereabouts and his safety. 

They deplaned, each with their carryon luggage, and were met by
an agent from the Columbia office. The man had lived in Charleston
for some time and knew his way around the city. He provided a 
car and was there to act as driver and guide. 

Scully handed him a slip of paper with the address written on it
and they climbed into the car. "Tradd Street," the agent said. 
He looked at his watch. "That's right in downtown." 

Arriving at 5:00 in the evening on a weekday did have its 
drawbacks, and they were caught in the busy downtown traffic. 
But eventually, slowly, they crept their way into the downtown
city streets and were able to secure parking somewhere close
to the address they were seeking. 

The Columbia agent was dispatched to the back of the building,
while Skinner and Scully took the more direct frontal approach.
Moving toward the building, they were both surprised to see
that it appeared vacant, derelict, unoccupied. A glance up
showed a darker, cleaner patch of paint, indicating that a sign 
of some sort, perhaps a nameplate, had fairly recently been fastened 
to the lintel, but it was missing now. 

A knock on the front door yielded no results, and Skinner was 
surprised when the door opened easily at his touch. Stepping
inside, he felt for a light switch, and was again surprised when
light flooded the small reception area. The room itself was 
empty, no sign of recent occupancy. 

Scully walked in and moved about, quickly surveying the
small room, then going to the reception desk. Skinner
followed her and they walked into the rear of the office.
They opened each and every door they passed as they 
moved further into the building. The rooms were bare, 
cabinets empty, closets barren. 

And while the overall intent may have been to give the
appearance of long term vacancy, a place that hadn't been
occupied for a prolonged period of time, the lack of
dust, the general overall cleanliness, indicated that that
was a false assumption. 

As they looked closer, it appeared that most likely there had
been a very hasty departure, and in reality, the place had
been occupied most recently, perhaps that very afternoon. 

They continued on through the back door, meeting up with 
the local agent, sharing their observations with him, determining
that he too had found only vacant space. They walked slowly
but determinedly back to the car, ready to begin again, 
certain the Mulder was somewhere in the city of Charleston. 

************************************************* 

Mulder slowly came back to himself, not really wakening,
because he hadn't really been asleep, and not really coming
back to consciousness, because he hadn't really been 
unconscious. He'd been somewhere in that foggy place,
removed from himself, outside his own mind, and his own
experiences. That place he'd come to know intimately as
a child. The place of safety, the place of security, the place
where he could somehow remove the essential Fox Mulder,
the person that he was, the inner being, from whatever was
happening to him, the shell, the body, the outer self. 

He experienced a familiar feeling of disorientation, 
something that he hadn't experienced since he was a
child. He blinked several times, swallowed hard, took
a deep breath, and slowly lifted his head and took in his
surroundings. 

He was in a small bedroom, hands bound together before 
him, connected to the foot board of the bed by a tether of
medium length. He himself was actually seated in an
overstuffed arm chair at the end of the bed. There was
enough play in the line to allow him to rise and move 
around, and so he did. 

He moved toward the small window and was able to look
out, but he couldn't get close enough to touch it. Through 
the window he took in a fairly standard residential scene.
Across the narrow street, he could see a row of small, well-kept
Cape Cod style homes, each one differing from the other only
in the choice of color or siding or perhaps a small addition. 

The yard were well maintained, indicating that this was a
neighborhood of home owners. Not necessarily well-to-do,
but folks who obviously displayed pride in ownership. Children
played on the sidewalks and the occasional car went by. 

He thought briefly of trying to yell and attract someone's attention,
but a closer inspection revealed that the window was at least 
double paned, and possibly triple paned, which made him
think that perhaps any attempt to attract attention would not
only go unnoticed from the outside, but would perhaps bring
unwanted attention from the other occupants of the house. 

He walked back to the chair and sat, his mind turning to the
mechanics of how he had actually gotten here. He closed
his eyes, forcing himself to think back. The last thing he
remembered clearly was boarding the plane at Dulles, address
in hand to find the elusive Dr. Geoffrey Talmadge. 

He thought he remembered changing planes in Charlotte,
arriving in Charleston, driving to the doctor's place of
business. But after that, it was a blank. 

He rose, nervous energy forcing him to pace. This was all
so frustrating. Every time he felt that he was getting
somewhere, that things were beginning to make sense, that
he was *remembering,* it was like it was snatched away from him.
He felt like the answers he had sought for so long were being 
held out in front of him, tantalizingly close. Yet every time
he dared to reach for them, they were yanked away and he fell
on his face. 

He tugged hard on the line tethering him to the bed and the
bed shook but did not move. That caught his attention and
he knelt down briefly, only to find that the bed was secured
to the floor. He felt his frustration mounting, and he was
rapidly being overtaken by a wave of rage. He pulled as hard
as he could and walked as close to window as he could, 
but he still could not touch. 

He pulled again and walked in the other direction, but he
could still not reach the wall there either. He walked back to
the bed. With his hands tied together, he could not grasp
the posts of the four poster bed, so he turned, placing his
bound hands under the chair, lifted it, and threw it halfway 
across the room. He gave a strangled yell, then collapsed in
a puddle on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

As he had half expected, his display of temper brought 
attention. The door opened and a head appeared. A voice
said, "Oh, you're back with us. I'll tell the doctor." The
head withdrew and the door closed. 

Mulder sat disconsolately in a heap on the floor at the foot of
the bed. Soon the door opened again, and Dr. Talmadge
entered. Staying far enough from Mulder that he couldn't 
reach him, the doctor asked, "And so, little Fox, are you 
feeling better now?" 

Mulder looked up. There was something about the way the
man talked at him that made his mind go fuzzy. It made 
him detach from reality. It made him feel that he wasn't
totally here in the present. He looked up, meeting the
doctor's gaze and said, "Don't call me that. Everyone calls
me Mulder." 

"Everyone but me, little Fox. I've known you for a very long
time now. And when I first met you, I made you my little Fox,
and you'll always be my little Fox." 

Mulder's breathing began to slow and he felt the heaviness on 
his eyelids again. It was as if he were drifting away and he was
powerless to prevent it. In some far corner of his mind, he
felt his awareness calling out, begging, pleading, entreating him, 
'Remember this! What is happening is important. *Remember*
this!' but he was powerless before the doctor's soothing voice. 

"That's right, little Fox. Don't fight it so." The doctor chuckled.
"You were always such a fighter, little Fox. That's why you've 
been such an interesting subject." 

Mulder's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even. The doctor
observed him for a few minutes longer, then he walked over to the
chair, picked it up, and set it back on its feet. Then he walked over
to Mulder and gently tapped him on the shoulder. 

Mulder slowly opened his eyes, unfocused, staring straight ahead, 
but seeing nothing. 

"Come on now little Fox, stand up." 

Mulder climbed slowly to his feet, then stood awaiting further 
instructions. Again, the doctor touched him gently, "Come, little
Fox, have a seat." 

Mulder took two steps forward and sat in the chair. His eyelids
slowly sank and his head began to droop. 

Doctor Talmadge sat on the bed, directing his attention at the man
in the chair. "Now, little Fox, we have some work to do." 

***************************************************** 

Skinner and Scully were at the Charleston Police Department, 
meeting with the local agent who had been appointed to act as
their liaison. They were busy making plans to have the local
police track down the owners and occupants of the businesses
surrounding the Tradd Street address Scully had been given.
Despite the fact that businesses were closed by now, and it was
growing later by the minute, information was available through
city data bases and they had already compiled quite a list. 

Agents had been sent down from the Columbia office and working
together with the local police, interviews had already begun. As
Skinner continued to coordinate the search, Scully settled at a 
computer and began her own search on Dr. Geoffrey Talmadge.
Given the information that she had, she was baffled when nothing
came up. She ran the search again, and again, the answer was
nothing. Picking up the phone, she dialed a number, then
said, "Langley, it's Scully. Turn off the tape." 

She waited to give him time to pretend that he had, then she
said, "Run a search on Geoffrey Talmadge again. Call me on 
my cell when you get a result." She hung up without saying
good-bye. 

She pushed back from the computer table, rose, and walked
over to a small window, standing stiffly, staring outward.
Skinner took in her rigid stance, the tense set to her shoulders,
the slight trembling of her hands. He turned to the liaison
and said, "I need some air. Come with me." And the 
two men left the room. 

As Skinner leaned in to pull the door shut, he looked at 
Scully again, just as her head dropped, her hands rose to 
her face, and her shoulders began to shake. He quietly
pulled the door closed, then slowly followed the other
man down the hall thinking, 'Mulder, you just don't know
what a lucky bastard you are.' 

*********************************************** 

"And what happened to Samantha, little Fox?" Dr. Talmadge
asked. 

"She went to the testing place," Mulder responded. 

"How do you know this, little Fox?" 

"I was with her." 

"How did you get to the testing place?" 

"I - I'm not sure. It was - there was a light - and - someone
or something - that I, I didn't know. I, I couldn't see.
Samantha - Samantha fl - floated in the light. I, I . . ."
Mulder was growing agitated, his body tense, his muscles
twitching. 

"Shh, it's all right little Fox. It's all right," Talmadge soothed
and Mulder visibly calmed. 

"Now. What happened at the testing place?" 

"There were tests. There were - they did things to us." 

"Do you remember what they did?" 

"It hurt. It hurt Sammy really bad. She wouldn't talk to me." 

"All right little Fox. And what did you do?" 

"I fought. Every time they came to get us, I fought. Finally
they stopped taking Samantha, but then it hurt even more - the 
things they did to me." 

"You were a fighter little Fox. You always were. And then what
happened?" 

"Samantha, Samantha stopped talking. She stopped moving. She
just stopped being there - even though she was, right there, beside
me." 

"And what happened?" 

"Samantha - she wouldn't fight. She gave up. Maybe the things
they did to her were worse than the things they did to me." Mulder's
voice was sad. 

"No little Fox. The things that were done to you were also done to
Samantha, no more, no less." 

"But then, she was little, she was younger than me. It was my job
to take care of her. To protect her. I didn't do my job." 

"No little Fox. You did your job just fine. Samantha wasn't as 
strong as you. It wasn't her fault; it's just the way that she was.
And the things that were done to her, affected her, differently, than
they affected you." Talmadge paused, then went on, "Do you 
understand little Fox? It wasn't your fault." 

Mulder sobbed. "It feels like it was my fault." 

"I know little Fox," the doctor soothed. "But it wasn't." The 
doctor straightened and his formerly soft voice turned firm. "Now,
the things you will remember, little Fox. You will remember 
being taken, with your sister." 

"Taken," Mulder echoed. 

"And you will remember the light, little Fox." 

"The light." 

"And you will remember that there were painful procedures,
but you won't remember exactly what happened." 

"Painful." 

"You will remember that Samantha was sick from the testing." 

"Sick." 

"And so when you went home, she couldn't come." 

Mulder's eyes filled with tears and the doctor hurried to say, "It's
all right, little Fox. She couldn't come, but it wasn't your
fault." 

The doctor looked critically at Mulder. "Do you have questions
for me, little Fox?" he asked. 

Mulder was lost in a fog. "Skinner said it wasn't my fault,"
he said hesitantly. 

"That's right little Fox, it wasn't your fault." 

"I - have - these nightmares - about Scully," Mulder said. 

"No little Fox, you don't remember anything about the time
your partner was missing. You weren't involved, you did
everything you could to find her, and anything else is just your
own mind thinking up new ways to haunt you." The doctor
gazed sadly at Mulder. 

Mulder sat quietly for a minute, then said, "I remember - my
father beating me." He paused and cocked his head, then said,
"Why didn't I ever remember that before?" 

The doctor looked down at the floor. He took a deep breath
and said, "I had repressed it. It wasn't felt that you needed to
know that. But yes, there were many times when your father
beat you." 

Mulder's breathing hitched and he swallowed a sob, as he fought
to maintain his composure. 

"Easy, little Fox, easy," the doctor soothed, and Mulder felt the 
feeling of detachment creep back over him. 

"I remember - other beatings," Mulder said slowly. 

"Yes, little Fox," the doctor agreed. "You're a psychologist.
You of all people can understand what an abused child does
to protect himself. You're feeling a little bit of it now. The 
detachment, the separation. What did you do when your father
used to come for you, when you knew it was gonna be bad?" 

Mulder shuddered, and said, "I went to a safe place." 

"A real safe place? Or a safe place in your mind?" 

"A safe place in my mind," Mulder answered. 

"When working with you, little Fox, I found you were
more - compliant - if I could catch you when you were
detached, in your safe place. And so there were times when
you were beaten." 

Mulder sat quietly, his thoughts clouded, his mind foggy, 
aware on some level that he was already semi-detached. Some
small spark of consciousness made him realize that there
was something in the way the doctor talked to him that 
yielded control to the older man. He lifted his head, and
pried his eyes open, finally gazing at the doctor seated on the
the bed. 

"What happened to me? Why me? Why my sister?" 

"Your father's job with the State Department was just a front
for what he really did," Talmadge said. "You were bright,
very bright. It was thought you would be a good subject
for the tests we were conducting." Talmadge sighed. "It's
involved little Fox." 

There was a long silence, then Talmadge spoke again, "When
you leave here you'll remember enough of your beliefs about
extra-terrestrials, your commitment to finding answers, your
passion for solving the mysteries that surround us. Mysteries
of life from other worlds, mysteries of life right here on earth.
The governments that rule us, the men that control us. It will
all be there, waiting for you, giving you purpose, keeping 
meaning in your life. You won't remember me, my little Fox. 

"But for now, you were taken when you were twelve, you were 
taken again when you were twenty, sort of a follow-up to the
initial experiment. That was the extent of my work with you
little Fox." 

"What about Ellens?" Mulder asked quietly. 

"I wasn't involved in that, and quite frankly, I think it was a
debacle. But an even bigger debacle was whatever was done
this last time you disappeared. I don't know why they felt
it was necessary to take you again, and I don't know what
they were trying to accomplish. But all they did was damage 
all the careful work I had done. And now, here I am, and here
you are, and we have to clean up the damage." 

Mulder blinked. "What does that mean?" 

"That means, little Fox, that you need to detach so that the
right things will stay where I put them." 

Mulder's eyes grew wider. "Detach?" he asked fearfully. 

"Yes, little Fox. It's time to go to your safe place." 

End of part 04 of 05 

Memory: Reclamation of the Soul 05/05 

It was nearly midnight before they got a break. The realtor
who handled the building on Tradd Street was out of town
and her records weren't up to date. They were having 
difficulty locating her to get current information. One of the
agents interviewing an occupant of a building on the next 
street, discovered purely by accident, that not only did this
person rent from the same realtor, but she knew how to 
find the woman. 

A quick phone and they determined that the building had
been rented to a Dr. Geoffrey Talmadge, as expected, 
approximately five weeks earlier. A date that corresponded
closely with the time Mulder had first turned up missing. 

Upon asking the realtor if she had anything else she could
tell them, she told them Dr. Talmadge had rented a home in
the neighboring town of Summerville, about a thirty minute
drive from the city. Scully got the address, thanked the woman
and hung up. 

Turning to Skinner, she said, "I think I know where he might
be." 

The drive to the bedroom community of Summerville went
quickly. As they rode, Scully was hardly able to control her
excitement, her concern, and her fears. It was with relief that
she opened her phone to answer when it rang. 

"Scully." 

"Hey, Dana, it's me, Langley. Man, this is so weird!" 

"You couldn't find him, could you?" 

"The dude has vanished! Not a trace anywhere. He doesn't
exist. Weird. Oh, uh, sorry we can't help." 

"No, it's all right Langley. I'm not surprised. Look, I gotta
go now." 

"You find Mulder?" 

"Not yet, but soon." 

" 'kay. Luck." 

"Thanks." She closed the phone and leaned against the window.
"Talmadge has completely vanished from all computer records.
He no longer exists." 

"Why am I not surprised?" Skinner commented. 

With the assistance of the local law enforcement officials they were
able to go directly to the house. The lights were out, the 
neighborhood quiet as expected for 2:00 am in the morning. 

Scully and Skinner moved to the door, followed by agents
carrying a ram. Knocking rapidly, Skinner hollered,
"FBI - open up." The local agents swung the ram, the
door buckled, and they entered. Turning on lights, the
agents fanned out throughout the house. 

It wasn't long before a gasp was heard and a voice called
out, "Got him." 

Scully raced down the hall, pushing through the group of
taller, broader men, and entered the small back bedroom.
Mulder lay across the bed, trousers around his knees, his
fingers clutching the side of the mattress as he cried quietly
into the comforted. His bottom once again bore the 
unmistakable signs of a beating. 

"Oh, Mulder," Scully breathed, as she walked quickly to 
the bed. "Mulder?" He didn't move. She reached out,
gently touching his hair, brushing it back from his face. 

He dragged his eyes open, upward, slowly finding her face.
Then, in a broken voice, he said, "Hurts, Scully." 

"I know Mulder," she said. "I'm so sorry." She turned to
the agents crowding the doorway, and ordered, "Clear this
room, now!" As the agents sheepishly began to file out,
Skinner forced his way in. He took a long look, then said,
"What do you need me to do?" 

She shook her head sadly. "I think we just need to take
him home." She looked back at the man on the bed and
said, "I'm going to pull your pants up now. It's not going
to be pleasant." 

He nodded, then gritted his teeth, and waited. 

She gently raised his pants up over his tortured buttocks,
then helped him to stand. Skinner produced a knife, and as
he approached cautiously, he said, "Mulder? Let me cut the 
ropes." 

Mulder held his hands out and Skinner quickly severed his
bonds. Mulder rubbed his wrists, each in turn, as Scully 
stood looking at him. Finally, he looked at her and said,
"What?" 

"Aren't you gonna - don't you want to zip up?" 

Mulder glanced down, then shrugged. "Hurts. Guess I
should be used to it by now." 

She walked over to him. "At least it wasn't your back as
well, this time." 

Mulder gave a derisive snort. "Small consolation." 

Scully looked at Skinner. "Do we have to go back now, or
can we wait till morning? He's not going to be comfortable
traveling." 

Skinner looked appraisingly at Mulder. "He looks dead
on his feet to me anyway." 

Scully looked at Mulder carefully as well, and said, "Yeah - we
better stay the night." 

With Scully on one side and Skinner on the other, Mulder slowly
made his way out of the house. 

Sitting was torture for Mulder, and Skinner went to the closest
motel he could find. Quickly checking them in, he took only
one room. When Scully raised an eyebrow at that choice, Skinner
shrugged and said, "I'll feel a lot better if I know where he is tonight." 

Scully nodded in agreement. 

Skinner carried the bags, and Scully helped Mulder to the room. 
Once inside, she said, "Well partner, you're gonna have to drop'em
again." 

Mulder closed his eyes. "This is beginning to be a habit with you
Scully." 

She gave a small laugh and said, "Come on, drop'em." 

He said, "As long as I don't have to lay on my back," as his hands 
lowered his trousers. Leaning against the wall, he stood quietly
while Scully applied the soothing lotion to his tender backside. 
'This ranks right up there with my last exam,' Mulder thought. 

"You're probably gonna want to sleep on your stomach, and I 
seriously doubt you're gonna want to wear your undershorts." 
Scully's soft hands were gently rubbing the lotion in, her touch
feather light against his raw skin. 

'Great,' he thought as he glanced down at himself. 'And just
how do I get to the bed without her seeing that?' She finished,
and withdrew her hands. "All right, Scully, just allow me a 
modicum of modesty and turn your back while I get to the bed,
OK?" 

Scully did as requested, and Mulder made his way quickly to
one of the beds, shrugging as he noticed Skinner's amused 
smile. He pulled back the covers, then lay on his stomach, 
adjusting himself as best he could, and pulling only the sheet
up over himself. He said, "Don't you have anything you can
give me for pain, Scully? Not that your - massage - wasn't
great," he teased. 

She ignored his innuendo and said, "Thought you'd never 
ask." She went to her bag and pulled out a syringe. "This
is a muscle relaxant, with a fairly heavy pain killer." 

Mulder opened one eye, took in the needle, and said, "No way!
That needle is not touching me back there!" 

Scully laughed and said, "No Mulder, it can go in your arm." 

"Oh. OK." 

She gave him the injection, then stroked his hair softly, saying
"Try to get some sleep. I won't say it looks worse than it feels,
'cause I don't know how it feels. But it should be better by
tomorrow." 

Mulder was already beginning to feel the effects of the medication.
He nodded sleepily. "Hey, Scully," he whispered. 

"Yeah?" 

"It, uh, it sure feels good to know you're here to save my butt." He
closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

******************************************************** 

Another two months went by before Mulder was finally able
to go home. He'd spent several more weeks in the safe house,
with strict instructions that he was not to leave, which he actually
followed this time. When no further attempts were made against
him, and he was released, he obediently followed Scully home 
and stayed at her place for two more weeks, until finally,
once again, that old feeling of not being able to breathe crept 
over him. 

It had taken another week to convince Scully and Skinner to let
him go home, but he had, and he had been home a few weeks
now and things were settling back into a routine. He and 
Scully had gone out of town a couple times on cases, and
nothing untoward had happened. 

All in all, he seemed to be at no greater risk now than he'd
ever been. And once again, as much as he needed his time 
alone, Scully had spoiled him, and he found himself missing
her. Missing going *home* to her apartment. Having 
someone there to talk to. Taking turns with the cooking.
All the domestic things that he'd never really pictured
himself doing, he'd not only done at Scully's, but had
enjoyed. 

He found himself looking forward to tonight, when he'd been
invited to come to her place for dinner. It wasn't a *date,* of
course, because they didn't *date.* They were just partners,
weren't they? 'Yeah,' he told himself. 'Just partners,' as he
once again relived that delicate examination. "Hmmm,"
he mused out loud, "almost worth getting kicked again." 

He finished dressing, then gave himself a once over. Jeans
and a polo, casual but not grungy. He passed. He grabbed
the bottle of wine he'd bought and headed out for the drive
over to Scully's. 

Once there, he parked and sat looking up at her apartment.
'We're only partners,' he said to himself, 'only partners.'
He got out, walked in, and knocked on the door. When she
opened it, he held up the wine bottle and said, "Hope this 
doesn't bring back too many bad memories." 

She laughed at him, then waved him in, taking the bottle 
from him. Mulder hung back a bit as she led the way to
the kitchen. He took in her trim figure, the tight blue jeans,
the soft, but clingy silk shirt. He hair was pulled up in a loose
bun, but tendrils escaped it, curling at the nape of her neck,
and around her face. 

She paused in the doorway and said, "You coming, or not?" 

That was his Scully, ever the practical one. He gave a quick
grin and followed her into the kitchen. 

"Mmm, smells wonderful," he said. 

"Yeah, my mom's lasagna recipe. Hope I did it justice." 

Dinner was nice. Conversation stayed in the relatively mundane.
They didn't talk about work related issues, no monsters, no
mayhem, no madness. Yet both enjoyed the companionship,
the opportunity to be together. 

They worked together to clean the kitchen, falling easily into a 
pattern they had established during the weeks he had stayed there.
'It comes back so easily,' Mulder found himself thinking. 'I could
really, really get used to this.' 

When they were done, Scully handed Mulder his wine glass, then 
picked up her own and the bottle and led the way back to the living
room. She took a seat on the couch, placing the bottle on the coffee
table. She took a sip form her glass. 

Mulder seated himself on the opposite end, long legs stretched out
before him, slouched back, at peace, comfortable, feeling like he
belonged. 

"So, Mulder," Scully began. "We never really talked about what
happened down in Charleston. I mean, you had to write it up,
the factual part, but what really happened? I get the feeling that
not everything made it into the report." 

Mulder leaned further into the couch and closed his eyes. He took
another sip of wine and let himself enjoy the good feelings that
surrounded him right then. Did he really want to go into this?
Well, it was Scully who was asking. 

He opened his eyes and sat up a little bit, turning to look at her.
He placed the wine glass on the coffee table, then reached out
leaving his hand to lie on the couch halfway between them. 

She met his eyes, and her own widened slightly. She looked
at the hand, waiting so patiently, then slowly, tentatively, she
reached out and took it. With Scully's hand firmly clasped in 
his own, he began. 

"I remember - I remembered a lot of things, Scully. There's no 
doubt my dad was an abusive SOB, and somehow, I buried it
or repressed or whatever. But I remember it all now. Somehow
that's not nearly as important as remembering Samantha. I don't
know if there were extra-terrestrials involved or not. I remember
the light. I remember her floating. I remember being in the 
light. And there was - something - there that didn't seem human." 

He paused and closed his eyes briefly, and Scully slid closer to 
him on the couch. He looked up, smiling gratefully at her, released 
her hand and put his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into the
hollow of his side. "I'm not sure what it was, Scully. There were
enough people there that were human, and the things they did
made any non-humans just fade into the background, if indeed
they were ever there to begin with." 

His hand idly stroked her shoulder, occasionally darting up to play
with the wisps of hair that framed her face. "I don't know what
happened, Scully. Somehow, whatever was done to me when 
I was twelve, whatever was reinforced in me when I was twenty,
it was like they stole my soul. I was only partly me" 

He paused and she reached out to lay her hand on his chest,
to stroke gently, soothingly. He took a deep breath and went on.
"I don't know what happened at Ellens. I don't think - I don't
think that was planned. I think the first two were planned as
part of an experiment, to see what they could do to me. I don't
know why they picked me and Sam. I don't know why I came
out OK and she didn't, but I think that whatever was done to me
at twelve, whatever was done again in England, I don't think
what happened at Ellens was part of it. 

"Maybe I saw something, or learned something that was too 
threatening for them to let me keep it. Whatever it was, whatever
was done to me that time, it wasn't done with the same level of
professionalism, the same finesse, as the earlier ones." He sighed
then reached around her to pull her into a hug. "This is so hard,
Scully," he said, his mouth buried in her hair. 

"Shh, Mulder, I know. You don't have to do this if you don't 
want to." She hugged him back. 

"Nah, Scully, it's all right. I do." He released her. "I haven't
got a clue what happened three months ago. What triggered
that, I, I don't know. But something happened in Charleston,
whatever, whatever was started by that, this Geoffrey Talmadge, I
must have found him, because I just don't *feel* the way I did about
things three months ago." 

He stopped and looked down, gazing seriously into her blue
eyes. "Scully, I can't explain it. I, it's not, I mean, I'm still
me. It's not that I don't believe, because I do. It's not that I
won't keep looking, because I will. And it's not that I won't
be fighting, because I am. But Scully, they took something
from me when I was twelve years old, and all my life I thought
it was my sister. But it was me - my soul. And somehow, some 
way, whatever happened to me in Charleston, I reclaimed my 
soul. I took back my own." 

He rose, lifted the wine glass and drained the contents. He 
walked to the window on the far side of the room and stood
for a minute looking out into the peaceful night, then turned
and said, "They took away my ability to do anything but hunt 
for Samantha, and I won't ever stop searching for her, but I can
do more now. And I want to do more. Scully?" 

She'd been watching him carefully and she rose now, walking
across the room to join him. He reached out both hands and
she carefully took them in her own. He pulled her closer,
and she tilted her head up to look him in the eye. 

"Scully," he said again, "I want a life. A life with you." 

She smiled, then freed her hands and reached around to pull
him into an embrace. His hands circled behind her, and they
stood locked together for a moment, staring into each others
eyes. Slowly, carefully, Mulder leaned down and with just
the barest touch, brushed his lips across hers. 

He pulled back, looking into her eyes once more. She smiled
and stood on tiptoe to reach up, capturing his lips with her
own, this time holding him for long seconds as the world
faded away. When they parted for air, Scully said, "I'd like
that, Mulder. I'd like that." 

End