The Trojan War 
By Ten 
kristena@ocean.com.au 




CATEGORY: S, A, MSR, MT
RATING: PG-13
There is a R-rated sequel, titled: "The Trojan War II: Victory is Ours".
SUMMARY: "A war is going on, Agent Mulder. Either you're
on the right side or the wrong." How did Mulder and
Scully feel about the sides they had to take during 'Pine
Bluff Variant'?
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Mostly season five, up to and
including 'Pine Bluff Variant'.

NOTES: My dear med contact and I have gone for realism
with dealing with Mulder's broken finger; so in this
version of the ep, he isn't waving that hand around half
as easily or using it much. Even a straightforward break
HURTS. Also, the day/time stamps in the ep were a bit
confusing, so although I tried to follow them as best I
could, I did end up having to alter the timing of some
events from 'PBV' and 'All Souls' to make this fic work
the way I wanted.

"Joy to the World" is copyright - words & music by Hoyt
Axton. No infringement intended.

ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer
stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Love it. Brings joy to my world.
THANKS TO: Gerry and Debbie and Suzanne for doggedly
editing over and over, and to Autumn Tysko for permission
to use some of her observations on the ep from her
review.

DEDICATION: To Suzanne Bickerstaffe - how can I summarise
my gratitude to you for all the help you've given me on
my quest to write MulderTorture? I've gained a great
friend as well as a great med contact. The proof is in
the quoting:
"I'm a nurse!! My fascination is purely professional!!"
"I always hate it when I have to tell you that you can't
do something to Mulder. I feel like I'm depriving you of
your favourite toy."
"We can't REDUCE MulderTorture - it would be unethical!"
And I'm sure Mulder appreciates our insistence on detail
and realism too... And MSR as part of the healing
process. <G>

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction, thanks to the
wonderful Skyfox, is at:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Keep/1351

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder
and Scully and all other characters from the show belong
to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox
Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained. Characters not recognised from the show are mine.

The X-Files: "The Trojan War"
By Ten, March - July 1999

Dana Scully stared at the wood of Mulder's coffee table
and wanted to knock her head against it. Over and over.

Undercover. He'd been undercover.

Why hadn't she considered that possibility before she had
accused him of letting the suspect escape in the park?
His voice had been flat - no emotion to betray his 'true
mission' to her - and she had not seen the hurt in his
eyes because he hadn't met her gaze.

Undercover.

Why the hell hadn't they told her from the very start?
She wanted to flay Skinner alive.

Close contact with terrorists tended to shorten a
person's life expectancy. /God, let Mulder survive this!/
Here she was again, sitting in his apartment, waiting
like her mother used to wait for Ahab to come back from
sea. A sea which could drag him under and drown him.

/Come back so I can apologise. Come back so I can deck
you for putting me through this worry. Please don't let
me have blown your cover by following you./

When Skinner and US Attorney Leamus had finally revealed
to her that the New Spartans had contacted Mulder, she
asked how long ago this had happened.

"He was first approached at Easter."

/Easter? That long ago? Mulder had to keep this from me
all this time?/ Over Easter she had gone with her mother
to the church services, so hadn't seen Mulder. Then a
week later Father McCue asked a favour which turned into
an X-file. The disabled girls. The seraphims.

Was that why her partner had been...distant? It was hard
for both of them. Religion was a serious bone of
contention. Yes, he helped her with her investigations
and played skeptic when she needed him to, to give her a
grounding. She knew, however, that her admittance of her
visions had caught him by surprise. It was her fault.
Over the last few months Mulder had tried to find out how
she was coping with Emily's loss, and she had shoved him
back. No-go zone.

Maggie had let slip that Fox rang her regularly to get an
indication of how his partner was. Ha. Didn't Mulder
realise just how far the no-go zone extended? She'd shut
her family out of her own business for years. She didn't
even know if her mother had ever accepted that Emily was
her granddaughter, so how could she talk to Maggie about
it? For that matter, Dana didn't think she'd accepted
motherhood herself - how could she? No chance to bond, no
chance for it all to sink in, then nothing.

After Easter, when she first saw the vision of Emily, she
thought she was being haunted as punishment for not
mourning her properly. But that wasn't true. She knew in
the end that it was a chance to put any guilt to rest, to
say goodbye. It was all something just not meant to be -
at least not at this time. She had come to an acceptance
about her infertility in the last few weeks.

But she didn't tell Mulder. She should have.

So before the angel case was closed, for her to suddenly
let down the wall and reveal that she had seen her
daughter's ghost...Mulder hadn't known how to react. He'd
reacted as she did when he got too personally involved -
you're too close to the case, step away.

And if he'd been trying to balance her needs with
whatever the New Spartans were expecting of him...
Juggling...

So for the last few weeks Scully put her and Mulder's
behaviour and avoidance of each other down to what
happened on the last case. She didn't see that something
else was going on too, because she wasn't looking.

Now here she was in his apartment, waiting. She had
searched for bugs, though she hadn't expected to find any
and didn't. It was just a way to keep herself occupied.

There came the sound of weary footsteps and a key in the
door. Scully tensed, standing up, hand on her gun.

Mulder stepped through the door, shoving it closed. He
dumped his keys on the table and was examining his hand
when she stepped forward.

"Don't be alarmed."

He was, of course. Fright swept across the pain and
exhaustion on his face, then that was engulfed by immense
weariness. An 'I can't deal with this now' look. "Scully,
get out of here."

"Mulder -"

"GET OUT OF HERE!" he barked.

She stood fast. "I know what you're doing. Skinner told
me everything."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, then it was
gone. "I don't know what you're talking about," he
blocked.

Scully nodded inwardly. Mulder was thinking she was
trying to trip him into blowing his cover. Then her
attention focused on his left hand, on the swollen and
discoloured mess that his little finger had become. Was
that blood too? "What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing." His voice was stubborn, almost sulky. That of
a little boy hurt in a fight after his mother had
forbidden him to play rough.

She gently took his hand and tried to see the damage in
the dim light. "God, what did they do to you?" It was
clear from the trauma in his eyes that it hadn't been the
result of him accidentally catching it in a car door or
throwing a badly-timed punch. Had he driven back here
like that? "This needs to be set; you're in pain."

"Well, if you keep pulling it around like that..." he
groused as she headed into the kitchen. She located some
ice - thankfully he always had some for his beloved iced
tea - and collected it in a clean dish cloth. Scully went
into the living room, where he was now sitting on the
couch. She sat on the coffee table and took his hand. He
didn't resist, just winced as the makeshift icepack
settled against the obviously broken bones.

"We need to get the swelling down."

They sat like that for a minute, Scully almost glad in a
perverse way that she could hold Mulder's hand under the
pretence of medical care. /He's alive, he's here, he's
safe./ Then she got back to the case. "They've killed
again Mulder. Fourteen people in a movie theatre in
Ohio."

He stared at her, appalled by the news, and, at last, she
could see that he accepted that she knew what he was up
to. He slumped. "Fourteen people? That doesn't make any
sense..."

"Why do this to you, Mulder?"

She listened as he talked. He opened up in a way that she
vowed she would do from now on once this case was behind
them. No more walls between them. Instead of his hand
remaining limp in hers, he crooked his index finger over
the edge of her palm. She could see how he was trying to
block out the pain. The shock was probably wearing off
now, making it worse.

He had been sure that Haley was going to kill him. The
man still might.

Talk eventually got back to how he ended up in this
condition. "They used my finger as a terrorist lie
detector. Then when they were satisfied that I was
telling the truth, they just...broke it on general
principles..."

Torture. Her heart lurched at the thought of Mulder being
alone with those men. And having to go back to them.
Skinner had let Mulder walk into this. Exposed him to

this danger. There had been no tail, no trace. Mulder had
to go through this alone, knowing there was no help
coming when they tortured him...having to face Haley
holding a spray can of the biotoxin in his face...all
this, alone. Literally alone, because he knew her doubts
about him too. How could she explain? That was why she
had tailed him - to find evidence, thinking this was like
Roche or Barry all over again. A man with info on Sam or
damn UFOs... And with Mulder's own doubts about the
government and UFOs this year, she wasn't sure where his
changed feelings would lead.

Well, even when she was suspicious after the park, she
didn't think he'd actually betray his country, but she
was worried that in his state of mind he could be misled
again. Used.

She had to ask this. It might just further his trauma,
but she had to know. "These skin tears -"

Mulder went to look, then stared at the wall. "What about
them?" he asked distantly, as if they weren't a part of
him.

"Do you know if you had these cuts before or after the
break?"

His pale face went a little green. "I can't remember. And
I don't really want to th-" He gagged suddenly. Scully
scrambled for his wastepaper basket and brought it up in
the nick of time, relieved it wasn't a wire one.

"Does it matter?" he finally managed.

She put the basket down and rubbed his back with the hand
not currently holding his. "I can't be sure if the cuts
happened because of bone fragments pushing up through the
skin or not. If yes, that means a compound fracture."

He thought the cuts just came about from the rough
handling, but couldn't be sure. The cuts weren't bleeding
now, but she wondered if he had left a trail of drops all
the way from the New Spartans headquarters.

"Well, this 'terrorist lie detector' really did a number
on you, Mulder. Come on, rinse your mouth out, then I'll
take you to the ER."

He shook his head. "I've got to meet with Skinner soon.
Then back into the ball game. I can't afford to get shot
up with drugs and go all fuzzy - I'll blow my cover. Just
patch me up, huh?"

"Mulder, they're going to have to check how bad the break
is. I haven't got x-ray vision. If I don't set it
correctly, and it heals out of alignment, they'll have to
rebreak the bones to fix it. It doesn't seem too bad, but
if it is, they might have to put you to sleep to set it.
You might even need surgery - pins inserted."

"No time. I'm on the clock. Just splint it and I'll toss
down a couple of aspirin."

/Don't fuss none over me, woman, I've got work to do.../

"You can't function properly like this! They probably
broke your finger to keep you 'off-balance' so you'll
trip yourself up."

"There's no choice, Scully. I have to find out what
they're planning."

There was a long pause, which Scully only ended because
she wanted to get his finger tended to. "Okay," she
agreed, though it wasn't okay at all. "You can't go all
drugged up, but you can't go just as you are either -
pain clouds judgement just as much."

"Scully, skip the sermon, please. These guys headhunted
me. They expect me. I've got to see this through and find
out what they're doing and bring them down."

"I don't have to like it," she said fiercely. "I don't
have to like the danger they've put you in or how Skinner
made you keep it from me."

"Neither do I."

"I was really worried, Mulder. You had me going."

"Worried...or suspicious? That I was making overtures to
the dark side of the force?" His face was sad.

To her shame, she avoided answering. "Keep that ice on
your hand. I'm going to get my med bag from the car. I'll
be as quick as I can."

"Didn't you stock up under the sink in the bathroom?"

"I need the Doppler. That's the gizmo that's going to
decide whether or not you're going to the ER tonight."

She came back as quickly as she could and turned the
lights on after shutting the blinds. She opened her med
bag. "This is the Doppler. It's used to detect pulses."

Mulder looked at the small, hand-held device in
amusement. "Um, Scully, I may not be a doctor, but even I
can tell that I HAVE a pulse at this moment."

Scully gave him a Look. "This will let me hear how strong
your pulse is in each finger. I need to check the
circulation in your fingers - and if that's impeded, you
HAVE to come to the hospital immediately, otherwise you
could lose the whole hand to gangrene." She knew she was
risking him throwing up again, but she had to make him
see how serious this could become.

He shrugged. "Not like it's my gun hand."

She let him joke. That was his pain relief. "Well, you
still have to take care of it. After all, your left hand
might come in handy for...other things..." She loaded her
voice with suggestion.


He was very intrigued. "Like?"

"Oh, this and that... Can you feel this? And this? This?"
He nodded and winced to each test of his fingers. "What
about moving them by yourself?"

He gave a pain-on-top-of-pained look. "You REALLY want me
to do that?" He sighed and managed it, barely, clenching
his teeth tightly.

Then she applied some water-based jelly to his hand and
carefully placed the Doppler on the tip of his little
finger, over the pulse point, where, to her relief, a
reassuring beat was picked up, magnified by the device.
She did this to each finger.

"Well?" Mulder muttered.

"Not 'well', but in spite of this break and the swelling,
there is a detectable pulse and you can move them and
still feel... So..."

He gave her a look of mock-glee. "We get to play doctor."

She carefully cleaned the jelly off, musing that she'd
expected him to crack a joke about other uses for jelly
or the Doppler's similarity to an ultrasound. The 'old'
Mulder would have joked about the latter, she realised,
but any biological clock teasings had come to a halt
since Christmas - even earlier than that, actually, when
he'd first discovered she could be sterile. Not that she
noticed at the time, as that was when she had discovered
the cancer and he kept his silence.

Reluctantly, she gave him only some Tylenol before she
cleaned the skin tears and covered them, then she aligned
the finger as best she could and splinted it in place,
hating the pain she was putting him through. His right
hand gripped the armrest of the couch, leaving an imprint
that would probably be permanent. She gave him a shot of
antibiotics to prevent a wound or bone infection.

Scully wanted to take him to the ER. Waiting could
complicate things.

He was holding the pain away from himself, trying to make
it separate from him. He could function in this
condition, yes, but the longer he had to maintain this
charade, she knew the heavier that bundle of pain was
going to get, until he couldn't keep it separate any
longer and it all crashed back into him. And depending
where he was at the time and what he was doing, that
could be a death sentence.

Glad for something to do, Scully rinsed out the
wastepaper basket and got him to eat and drink a little,
hoping that he could keep it down. She packed up the
Doppler and her other med gear, her partner giving a
gentle ribbing about how large her med bag was and
wondering why she didn't have an X-ray machine in its
depths.

"Believe me, I've considered it."

Then they sat in silence, close - but not actually
touching - on the couch. Mulder dozed for a few minutes,
not having enough time to have a decent sleep, then he
glanced at his watch, gathering himself, Scully steeling
herself for the words that she didn't want to hear.

Inevitably, they came. "I have to go." He wasn't looking
at her again.

"I wish...I wish I could do more..." /Take your pain.
Grab you and hold you safe from these New Spartans and
harm and pain and loss.../

"You do plenty, Scully. Always. And don't worry about me
- ancient soldiers managed to keep going back into battle
when they were wounded. And that was without modern
medicine."

"This isn't them. This is you. If Skinner hadn't stopped
me when I was following you, perhaps I could have -" Too
late, she realised what she was saying.

"You FOLLOWED me? When? Where?" He was astonished and
angry.

She told him reluctantly.

"Don't follow me anymore, Scully. Promise me."

She surprised them both by smiling and shrugging. "I
can't help it, Mulder. I told you once before that I
couldn't follow you any more, but I keep doing it anyway.
Beyond my control." /Heart over head. And I mainly told
him that originally to try to jolt some sense into him,
to try and encourage him to find some meaning in his
upended beliefs. He was so lost./

"Scully, I can't do this properly if I have to keep
looking over my shoulder wondering if you're there or to
see one of the guards drag you into the middle of a
meeting. They'd...let's just say they wouldn't act like
gentlemen with you... And you have this toxin to study."

Trapped by logic. /Damn./ "I won't follow you."

They both stood, him trying to hold his hand motionless
at his side. She winced for him. Just lowering his hand
could cause a lot of throbbing and pain. "Try to keep
your hand above the level of your heart, Mulder.
Otherwise the swelling and throbbing will increase."

He nodded and gingerly did as instructed. "I'll really
stand out now. Looks like I'm constantly being sworn in
on oath." There was no need to put his jacket back on -
he hadn't taken it off. Why pull it off over the finger
when he was just going to put it back on again?

At the door, Scully hesitated. She was fighting her own
battle of willpower. Every cell in her body felt leaden
with dread. This was the same feeling she'd had when
Mulder lay bleeding on a cold dock, and when she sent him
out to the boxcar in the desert in New Mexico. /He came
back,/ she told herself, but that was little comfort.
Something was going to happen.

Ancient soldiers, Mulder had said. Appropriate, seeing as
the group was called the New Spartans. That and her
tiredness led her to compare their present position to
ancient times - the both of them standing within a walled
city, Troy perhaps, about to part. The sounds of battle
outside the gates.

Mulder had to go off into battle, as it were. She had to
let him. She couldn't do anything about it. Well, she
could do more than just stand on the battlements with her
hand to her mouth - she could keep working on the
investigation, find out what this contagion was.

"I have to go." His voice was quiet. She wondered if he
was trying to tell her or himself. He began to raise his
right hand as if to touch her, then dropped it. "Keep the
home labs burning, huh? Solve this thing."

Scully shot forward and hugged him, managing to avoid
jostling his finger, snaking her arms under the leather
jacket and across the warmth of his t-shirt to wrap
around his torso.

"Scully..." he whispered, burying his face in her hair
and clinging on desperately.

/Don't go,/ she wanted to beg him. /Don't go./ The words
fought to slip off her tongue and exist. But she didn't
dare.

"Oh, Scully..." His voice cracked.

He would stay if she didn't let go of him. She realised
that. She had to let go of him...

But first... She raised her face to his. And kept raising
it until she found her objective.

There was no war, no broken bones, no meeting to attend -
all that existed was his lips and mouth and tongue and
his body pressed up against hers. No time for hesitation
or coyness. They tried to cram all the kisses, all the
feeling, everything that they should have shared over the
last five years, and perhaps all the ones to come, into
that minute which was all they might have left together.

Their tongues duelled like swords, creating sparks,
mouths clashing passionately, perfectly matched and
equal. The partners at last broke away, breathing hard.

Mulder grinned. "Well, that's an effective pain-
reliever..."

"But it can still cloud the judgement. Don't get
distracted..." Her mouth burned with desire. Her whole
body burned. /Why are we the ones who always have to save
the damn world?/

"I have to go." Still quiet. Hand cupping her cheek.

She nodded, cursing the tears that were gathering in her
eyes. "And you have to come back."

"There's plenty to come back for."

"When you do, it won't have to rain sleeping bags for you
to get lucky." She blushed at her forwardness, but again,
there was no time to be coy. If they had longer, she'd
have him pinned up against the wall right now. Did she
dare tell him she loved him? He knew, didn't he? He had
to know!

He kissed her on the forehead and left. And they both
left the words unsaid.

xXx

Time to hide her feelings and get to work. Scully threw
herself into studying the bacterium. She joined the
microbiologist at the Atlanta Center for Disease Control,
going over his findings so far, and continuing on. They
came to some startling conclusions as they worked through
the early hours of the morning and into the day.

The CIA had indicated the biotoxin came from Russia.
Wrong. It was, as far as could be determined, homegrown.
The US bioweapons program had continued on in secret.

And they'd sent Mulder on a suicide mission.

She was still trapped within confining walls that night,
Skinner unable to open the gate for her. She had the
knowledge, but what could be done with it? She couldn't
help Mulder.

All she could do was wait and ponder over how the
biotoxin had been spread in the theatre. It kept her mind
off the empty motel room as she sat in her car, watching
it. She knew she wasn't supposed to be there, but rules
be damned. If he came back from the last contact with a
broken finger, what would his condition be after he'd
given them what they wanted? And after they'd robbed a
bank?

But they wouldn't have taken him along on THAT, surely?
And why hit a bank?

She fell asleep. Sounds of swords clashing filled her
dreams. Visions of Mulder with his face eaten away...
Cramped, she woke and stared blearily at Mulder's motel
room door. It was dawn and she couldn't tell if - wait,
the door was opening! Relief flooded through her, even as
she tensed to duck down.

A maid exited the room.

Damn Damn DAMN!

What the hell was that woman being paid to come in this
early?

Paid. Money. A flash of spooky connection.

Things suddenly fell into place. The two boys who had
survived in the theatre...they hadn't admitted it, but
they hadn't paid for the show. They'd snuck in. Everyone
else, including the usherette, would have touched the
money in getting change on their tickets, or for food.

And Mulder had told her that the group wanted bank
transfer details. Money again - not to steal, she
realised, but to spray...

She started the car in a hurry while making a lunge for
her phone.

She couldn't get through to Skinner - she hoped her
urgent message was passed on. Traffic was against her
too, but finally she reached FBI Headquarters.

The command centre for the operation was abuzz as Scully
entered.

"Director Skinner, you've got to get to Mulder. You've
got to find the bank that they hit."

"That's what we're trying to do."

"Agent Mulder's life is in danger - and anybody else who
touches the currency at that location. They're putting
the biotoxin on the money." /And in taking Mulder along
on the robbery, he couldn't wear a glove over that
splint, so they'd be able to kill him off easily./ She
tried not to think of her partner with his flesh eaten
away. /No, they could get more information out of him.
He'd still be useful.../

Her boss looked rocked as the implications set in. This
was definitely a step up from a little movie theatre.
"We've got no way of contacting him - not without blowing
his cover."

"You've got no choice."

The US Attorney told her of the 27 robberies from
yesterday that they were analysing on the surveillance
tapes, indicating the banks of monitors. Needle in a
haystack. But this was HER needle.

She went down the double row of monitors, looking at each
image, most in freeze frame.

Standing atop the walls of Troy, peering down into the
dust kicked up from the battle on the plain, desperately
searching for Mulder.

And his finger-break actually proved to be the lucky
break she needed.

Staring at masked faces, Scully suddenly caught a flash
of white on a hand. Squinting closer at the screen, she
could see that one of the thieves was not wearing
gloves...because he had a splinted finger. Bingo. Then
she leapt into action to prevent anyone touching the
funds at that bank. There was no time to watch the whole
robbery, to see what Mulder had been forced to do. She
drove to the bank herself to direct the isolation of the
money and the locking down of the vault.

And all during that time, the leaden dread in her body
was coiling tighter and tighter.

Then she heard the car screech to a halt outside the
bank, and she knew who it was.

Her warrior had returned from the war. She raced out,
hearing him yelling: "Who's in charge? I need everybody
out of the bank!"

He saw her. There was no time for a cinescope reunion but
that didn't matter, because he was alive. "The money!
They sprayed the money!"

She explained that it was under control - though her
pulse and feelings weren't. She couldn't get a good look
at his splinted finger to check on it, only able to
briefly touch his arm before Skinner came up to them.
That would have to hold her. Mulder didn't seem to be in
much pain, but that could easily be accounted for by the
adrenalin rush and desperation to get here in time.

She broke the news to Mulder about the biotoxin being
manufactured in the labs of their government.

Then the US Attorney sauntered over. The one who had
reacted so calmly to her realisation that the money was
being sprayed...

The bastard. The bastard had used Mulder. Subjected him
to torture and a robbery and God-knows what else, judging
from the trembling of her partner's frame and the haunted
look in his eyes. And all those people...test subjects.

She yelled at the man. But he knew he was getting away
with the crime, and was uncaring. He just looked amused,
giving Skinner an: "A.D., I suggest you control your
agents" look. Then he walked off.

Scully wanted to handcuff him and bend some of his
fingers back to see what would spill out of him. More
lies, probably.

Mulder. Where was Mulder? He had been right beside her.
Frantically, she looked left and right. She doubted he
would have gone into the bank, so she hurried out to the
pavement. There. At first she thought he was hunched
over, throwing up in the gutter, but he was just sitting
on the curb, staring at nothing. She could feel the
adrenalin surge leeching out of him.

"Mulder?"

"My hand hurts..." he said softly.

He was holding it against his heart, and his whole body
was shaking.

"Let me look."

She looked and it took all her willpower not to gasp or
scream. Even though some of Mulder's little finger was
covered by her dressings over the cuts, Scully could see
that the soft tissue had swelled up all around the
splint. Infection had set in, despite the shot of
antibiotics. It looked like a giant's hand had been
attached to Mulder's body.

/I should never have let him go.../

And the splint had been tampered with. Not only had it
been shifted out of position, but soil and a shard of
rotting leaf and other matter /Please no manure!/ clung
to his hand, including the splint and the dressing,
probably working their way into the cuts beneath.

She yelled - screamed - for paramedics, and for Skinner
to watch over Mulder while she raced to her car for her
med bag. Her fears were confirmed when she reused the
Doppler. The pulse in her partner's hand was weaker.

The load was toppling off Mulder's shoulders - the
revelation of the duplicitous US Attorney was the final
straw for him. He'd been holding it together through will
power alone, and now his body was shutting down in shock.

She got the splint off to find that the cuts were seeping
and the wound edges were opened up more. His finger
seemed to be even more out of alignment than when she had
set and splinted it in his apartment, though with the
swelling it was hard to tell for sure. The swelling
itself could have forced the bones out of place.

"Mulder - your splint. Who did this? Did you fall? Were
you shoved down?"

He stared through her, but he pouted. "I tried to fix it.
Knew you'd get mad."

"I'm not mad, Mulder."

In the ambulance, she stroked his hair, trying to ignore
the heat of his skin. The pain of the break had probably
masked the infection as it was brewing over the last 24
hours or so - then when the infection became more
pronounced, Mulder had been in shock or too busy to
notice.

"Scully..."

"I'm here, Mulder."

"This hand isn't mine. It's too big. It hurts too much.
Make them take it off, Scully. Make them take it off and
give me mine back."

Scully swallowed, fearful that she couldn't distinguish
whether Mulder was just joking and failing miserably at
it, or actually delirious. "It'll be okay, Mulder. You're
okay."

Mulder had surgery, an ORIF - open reduction, internal
fixation - of his fractured hand. Stainless steel pins
were used to hold the bones in position as they were too
far out of alignment to be held in place by anything
else. The soft tissue swelling and muscle spasms were
contributing factors. It took three hours of surgery
because of the condition his hand was in due to the
infection and delay at getting the injury tended to.

Once out of recovery he was briefly in a bed in the ICU
because of shock - his blood pressure had been down - but
now at last he'd been placed in a room on the Trauma
floor.

Mulder moved his head restlessly in his sleep, mumbling.
Scully bathed his face, talking softly to him.

Another wall and war divided them, even though physically
he was right here with her and no longer at the mercy of
the New Spartans. Mentally Mulder was out beyond Troy
again, locked in mortal, hand-to-hand combat with the
enemy. All she could do was remind him that he was
fighting for them - forget about Troy or Truth - and to
whisper to him all the things she always meant to say to
him.

Skinner entered just after she finished telling her
partner that she hadn't thought he was betraying his
country but that she had been so worried he was getting
into something out of his control. "How is he?"

"He could lose his hand." She tried to keep blame out of
her tone - she knew that Haley approaching Mulder must
have put Skinner in a very difficult position - but she
felt the urge to lash out at him anyway. "Why did you
keep me in the dark about the undercover assignment?" She
managed to keep her voice tight and controlled.

"Because we needed you to show suspicion about his
behaviour for it to all ring true. If you had known right
from the start...no offence, Scully, but you're a rotten
actor. And a rotten liar. It had to be genuine."

"'Genuine'," she replied in disbelief. "The script for
this whole exercise was being written by your US
Attorney!"

"We saved all the people who would have touched the money
in that bank."

"And despite that, the public won't know the truth. This
group will just go somewhere else and keep going with
their experiments. Leamus got exactly what he wanted."

Skinner had no answer to that, so gave none.

To fill the awkward silence, Scully gave him Mulder's
medical details. "I'm hoping the infection doesn't
involve the bone. They took blood and wound cultures, and
it takes about 48 hours for them to know for sure what's
causing the infection and what it's sensitive to."

"So in the meantime he's on a broad-spectrum antibiotic?"

"Yes. Most likely he's got a Staph aureus infection -
fairly common with this sort of injury. But over the
years, Staph has become more and more resistant to
antibiotics, so finding the drug or drug combination that
works takes time. Also, there could be more than one
bug..."

They discussed some aspects of the case, then when she
turned down his offer to watch Mulder while she had a
break, Skinner made to leave. "He'll be okay, Dana."

/He had better be. I have lost so much in my life... The
one thing that has kept me going is that I've never lost
him. That he's always come back to me./

Mulder's eyes opened and he recognised her. But he was
still too feverish to be terribly lucid.

"I deserved it..." he whispered.

She got him to drink some Ensure, not wanting to waste
the opportunity to get more nutrition into him than the
IV was providing. "Deserved what?"

"The finger-break. I was lying to them... And I was lying
to you. Shoulda been my neck broken for that."

"Mulder, don't talk like that!"

"Deserved the torture...pain. I deserved that bullet in
the back of the neck. Would have ended everything. Solved
everything..."

"What bullet? Mulder, what bullet?"

"I was a dead man...am I back, Scully?"

Other distressing things came up through his babble. They
had been taped - Bremer had played the tape to the
Spartans and blown Mulder's cover. Scully spent hours
flaming herself with anger that was even hotter than
Mulder's skin. Okay, she had checked the apartment for
bugs and Mulder had not been in a condition to think
about the consequences and she had been worried about
him, but it was still foolish to hold that conversation
in his apartment with the possibility of someone aiming a
laser mike at the window.

She watched the nurse put a fresh bag of antibiotics on
the IV stand. The lab results had shown Scully was
correct. The wound infection was caused by Staph aureus.
Fortunately the bone was not involved and the infection
was relatively responsive to several medications.

Now she had to endure the wait for signs that the course
of meds was having an effect. "Work," Scully whispered to
the bag. "WORK!"

Scully fell asleep in the chair. She dreamed. Visions of
making love to him, both his hands blazing a path over
her body... His beautiful long fingers touching,
entwining...

Scully woke.

What if he lost his hand? /We'll manage,/ she vowed, even
as her heart broke.

"Hang in there, Mulder," she said. "Remember that vampire
case in Chaney? The vibrating bed?" Magic fingers, it had
been called. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Do
you know the fantasies I've had about us being together
on one of those beds? I guess that's why I was so crabby
when you interrupted me with the autopsy to do instead of
play. Well, you come back and help me turn that into
reality. Then we can use up all of your quarters too and
really stretch things out."

A voice came to her. That of the manager of the motel
where Mulder stayed during his undercover activities.
Their conversation. *Are you the wife?*

*Not even close.*

Scully bit her lip in pain. "No."

Closer.

xXx

Despite being held fast by the fever and infection,
Mulder wasn't having one of those 'entire life flashing
before your eyes' experiences - instead, his flashback
began with Easter:

He was sitting at the bar in Casey's, an infrequent
haunt, but one he went to every so often to touch base
with 'normality'. To sit there, sipping on his habitual
single beer, looking at people and wondering if he'd ever
have the peace of their less-complicated worries, then
sighing wistfully, steeling himself and heading back to
his apartment to psych himself up for the next round with
the X-files...

He wondered if he'd ever get the courage to ask Scully to
come for a drink with him one day, and whether she would
say yes. Or was the night of her birthday last year a
fluke? He'd taken her to a more upscale bar that time.
She still used the keyring he'd given her.

It was Good Friday. He knew Scully's plans would be full
of church services and events with her family. He hoped
she would have a good time. Some tranquillity before he
had to ruin it again. How was she coping? Not even Maggie
knew. Was that a good sign? Even as a psychologist, he
just wasn't sure. Dana Katherine Scully was an enigma no
textbook study could capture, and one that he, even with
his talents and five years of observation, was at a loss
over.

One day he hoped he could get her ova back - she didn't
know that he and the Lone Gunmen were still following
down leads at every opportunity. The ova he had taken
from the fertility clinic while looking for a cure for
her cancer had become unviable due to the time the tube
was left in his pocket. He hated himself for that
mistake, and also for not removing the other tubes under
controlled conditions when he had the chance. At the time
he was focusing on the cancer first and foremost, in
panic that he'd lose her.

Someday soon, he would find the new fertility clinic her
ova had been moved to and blowing that rescue mission
would NOT be an option.

A man leaned over the bar next to him to ask the barmaid
for a drink. When she turned away after serving him, the
man reached for some pretzels and very casually dropped a
coaster in front of Mulder. Mulder glanced down at it. It
had landed blank side up, only it wasn't blank. A message
was written in blue pen: 'Booth by the Marilyn painting.
Let's talk.'

Mulder looked up as the coaster was palmed again just as
casually. The man popped a nut in his mouth and headed
away. /I know that face.../ Mulder went through his
memory as he got up. He wondered what this was about -
his sister, UFOs (spare me...), another deal to join the
consortium, Krycek...

He approached the correct booth. The man was waiting in
it. He gave a tight smile and indicated that Mulder sit
across from him. He did.

"And how may I help you?" Mulder inquired, tired of these
games. "Or do you think you can help me?"

"Perhaps both. That's what this little talk is about. You
were on the panel at a conference that a colleague of
mine attended. About your area of business and research
expertise. In Boston. Very interesting speech, Mr Mulder.
It's a wonder your employer lets you get away with your
distrust of them."

"They tolerate me. When no one else can get into the head
of a serial killer, it's amazing how popular I become."
/And I'm so malleable too,/ he thought, remembering all
he'd seen in the Pentagon's storage facility, everything
he'd been set up to propagate to the people as gospel.

"Well, we might be able to give you other job
opportunities."

Mulder gave a short laugh. "Do I get your name or is this
just a one night stand?"

"Let's just say that I'm part of a group that shares your
opinion of your employer. Your employer is a large
corporation, but any business can be brought down with
the right tools."

A militia group...

"You'll learn more once we're sure we can trust you."

Trust... <Mulder?> Scully's voice was suddenly in his
head. /Oh, Scully, after Christmas, I don't even think
you trust me anymore./

"You want me to work for you?"

"We can help each other. Your corporation is a dinosaur.
Corrupt, as you yourself have seen. Going down. Do you
want to go down with it?"

Sleepless nights. Another meeting set up, at a Triple X
cinema in the pouring rain. Just when Scully suddenly
rang, wanting him to do some background research for her.
Something was up but she wouldn't say what and he had to
do some frantic juggling.

He made the meeting after promising to do the checks and
in the theatre he remembered why he stuck to the videos
instead. Yick. But he met the guy again and got his name
and more info. Jacob Haley. The man was familiar because
he was a wanted criminal. A terrorist. Second in command
of the militia group 'The New Spartans'.

With names and some details at last, and knowing this
wasn't a fraud, Mulder went to Skinner. "Sir, I wish to
report that I've been approached by a wanted criminal."

Skinner listened carefully to everything he said. "Have
you told your partner about this?"

"No." At Skinner's look of surprise, he continued, "She's
been...caught up with another matter. I haven't had a
chance to tell her."

"Then don't tell her yet." Skinner took the matter to the
Attorney General's office after getting the nod from the
Deputy Director. The AG's office assigned Leamus to the
case and both the Attorney and Skinner decided there was
need for the CIA to be involved. And that there was no
need for Scully to be told about the operation.

Despite Mulder making several requests, his boss refused
to let Scully know. Too risky at this point. Uh oh.
Mulder knew he'd have to avoid her as much as possible -
she could see through him like glass. The taskforce told
Mulder to lead Haley along, gain his trust, so they could
find out what the group was after and bring it all down.

Avoiding Scully wasn't easy during this time - it quickly
became impossible after he did the checks for her,
discovering they were dealing with an X-file. Then she
admitted just what she'd been having visions of...all
with Skinner breathing down his neck about Haley, and
with the knowledge that Haley could phone at anytime. So
he'd stuck with Scully but had probably been too distant.
With the religious angle and Scully suddenly opening up
about Emily...he didn't know how to deal with it. With
her. Trying to keep this from her...feeling his guilt
over the events of Christmas...

Fortunately Haley's next message had scheduled a meeting
for the following week instead of right away. That gave
Mulder some space to breathe and help out with the case.
But he still didn't know where he and Scully stood.
Together as partners, but how far apart as friends?

But there was work to get through each day. Then a few
meetings at night, handing over 'information'.

Then the operation in the park to net Haley. Twelve
agents, surveillance everywhere. Only he, Skinner and
Leamus knew the truth: that they were going to let Haley
go, one way or another.

He was glad that Scully was out of the way in the
surveillance van and safe. Okay, that was chauvinistic of
him, but it was the truth. He knew she wasn't happy with
her position in the park - the little woman staying in
the wagon while the men got out and about. Mulder knew
that Scully probably asked Skinner on the quiet if that
could be altered and received a no, taking it with
outward acceptance, but insulted inside.

How was she to know that Skinner wanted her out of the
way when Mulder helped Haley escape? If everything went
to plan, of course.

Then it was time to take up positions and Mulder felt her
eyes seek him out. Her gaze had depths that swallowed him
- like before the whole catastrophe at Christmas and the
subsequent shutdown. A whole conversation in a second,
beyond a simple "Good luck and be careful."

So he jogged through the park, setting the scene,
surreptitiously showing himself to Haley to let him know
that something was up. If only all this would just go
away. All he wanted to do was run - just simply run, not
think, just go past everything and everyone and not have
to stop until all were far away in the background.

But he did his duty. Went after Haley and gave him the
keys of a car to escape in. Gaining trust. Gaining a
growing disgust in himself, even though he was doing this
for good reasons. He could hear Scully calling for him,
frantic. She must have leapt out of the surveillance van
when he didn't respond on the microphone. Disobeying
orders to make sure he was safe.

And he had to lie to her. "He got away." Mulder headed
back into the centre of the park.

Scully caught up with him a few seconds later. "That
overweight fifty year old man got away from YOU?"

Decontamination-suited agents were racing around upon
their return to the vicinity of the bench, which
fortunately paused her pursuit of answers. There was one
dead arms dealer, flesh being eaten away... This militia
group wasn't just dealing in guns...

Early next day his partner checked the tapes and smelled
a rat. Mulder found himself put in the same cage as
Krycek.

/Don't look at her. Don't look into her eyes - you'll be
exposed and turn to stone./

"I expect you to tell me the truth," she challenged. She
wanted an explanation. She knew what he had done - but
not why.

He'd come in late deliberately so he could cut her
questions short. "We're late for the hearing." Not very
subtle, but effective enough for now.

Joint FBI/CIA Counter-Terrorist Council Meeting:

It was difficult to sit through the hearing with Scully's
eyes drilling into him from across the table. He had
better get an Academy Award for this performance. She
gave all present her report on what few conclusions they
could come to over the highly toxic biological agent that
had killed the arms dealer.

"Video recon indicates Haley had an accomplice at the
park. We have yet to identify who this was..." Skinner
was saying. Mulder thought he was putting on a damn good
act himself. Scully said nothing.

"Every member was chosen for their lack of exposure in
terrorist circles."

/Scully, pick up on that - remember just before Tunguska?
WE were part of an anti-terrorist squad. The invoices for
the bomb ingredients. Krycek. Us being in this one
doesn't make sense if that's the case!/

The hearing was very convincing. The front was in place,
giving Mulder room to work behind. To get in good with
Haley...no matter what he was asked to do... And
hopefully this would lead to the group's mastermind,
August Bremer.

At last the meeting ended.

"Mulder," came Scully's voice across the table as he got
up.

Time to leave. /Don't look back./

Another night, another hotel. Only this time his partner
wasn't in the next room and this wasn't an X-file case.
Haley was going to contact him here tonight. He killed
time by pacing and watching TV without absorbing
anything. Could he convince Haley that he hadn't been set
up in the park?

The same way that he'd 'convinced' Scully that all was
well?

The phone rang. Showtime. Haley was not amused at the
close call. "You set me up."

Mulder denied it, pointing out his role in Haley's
escape. "I've got as much to lose here as you do. They
catch you, you'll flip me. Look, I believe in your ideals
and your goals but the only reason I tolerate your
methods is because the government's are worse."

"Wow, what a ringing endorsement."

"Hey, you came to me, remember? I mean, what more do you
want from me? I've risked everything. I've given you
information. My partner is seriously suspicious. If
that's not enough for you, that's all I've got."

Haley bought it.

No cellular, no gun, no tail, no tracer, no backup. Not
very reassuring things to think about, so Mulder didn't
think about them as the militia sent a car to pick him
up. But he thought about them when he saw the guns held
in hands before the hood was put over his face and he
thought even more about it a while later in the New
Spartans HQ when his hands were being strapped in front
of him to a table.

"Oooo, is this the Pepsi Challenge?"

Hood off. Haley was watching him. He was surrounded. One
of the men, a skinhead, grabbed his left pinkie like it
was a computer joystick. /Torture. Oh joy... Least it's
not my gun hand./

Haley stared at him with distrust.

/Joke and breathe, joke and breathe. Focus. Don't let
them trip you up./

"What happened in the park?"

"I told you on the phone."

Pain. He frantically scrambled to convince Haley. Pain.
Haley was even more paranoid than him. He wouldn't
hesitate to kill. Pain.

/Scully, where are you? Help me!/

<Mulder. I'm here.>

She wasn't really. She was only in his head. He had to
focus.

His hands were strapped down, so he used his head as a
fist instead. That got the bald Nazi away from his finger
for a few blissful seconds, but when the guy got back on
his feet, he went for the pinkie with even more vigour.

"I risked everything!" Mulder yelled. "If I was lying,
there'd be federal agents descending on this place like
the wrath of God right now." /I'm alone. They're going to
kill me and Scully thinks I'm a traitor./ He wasn't sure
which thought was worse.

Pain. /Dammit, I can't think. Give me a minute to think!/
Haley was talking about wars and sides and then shoved an
aerosol can in his face. The biotoxin.

"I didn't set you up. If you got set up, it was one of
yours."

Haley nodded. The aerosol can retreated. He'd convinced
them enough. Relief.

It all felt surreal, like an old-fashioned gangster movie
with the interrogation under the bright lights, the
heavies. But when the skinhead bent his finger all the
way back without warning and his ears were full of the
snap and the pain hit full force, it all became
blindingly real, before sliding into fuzzy black and
white.

He vaguely heard Haley's voice. "You know what? I believe
you."

Images flickering by, constantly changing. But the pain
remained. He wanted to call for Scully, but he knew she
wouldn't come. Not after what she'd been through. Not
after she thought he was a traitor.

All Mulder had was himself and even he couldn't stand
himself. He just sat in the chair, upper torso slumped,
head lolling against his right arm. The straps had
roughly been removed from his wrists.

His head was seized by the hair and pulled back. He
didn't know who was holding him, but Haley was over on
the other side of the table again.

Haley had more questions. Mulder gave him answers as best
he could, giving him a story about a mole inside the New
Spartans, and how he could get Haley the evidence.
Scripted lines that he was grateful for - he knew them,
they just had to come off his tongue convincingly as his
finger stabbed and stabbed with pain.

It was a deal. They wanted evidence of a mole and fund
transfer schedules for the federal reserve bank.

That was what they wanted him for? That was it? Well,
running a militia group and wanting to overthrow the
government were expensive things - they had to get money
from somewhere to buy more guns...

The hood was roughly shoved down over his head once more,
and he was led out to the car and driven back to the
hotel. Dropped off. Dumped really. He picked up his car
keys with his good hand. Though the way it was shaking
wasn't reassuring. He knew he should call a taxi and go
to the nearest ER to get patched up, but he just wanted
to go home. His ears were ringing and he supposed he was
in shock, but he just wanted to collapse on his couch and
think of nothing very much thank you. Alone.

Somehow he made it. Scully was waiting there. /God, does
everyone want a piece of me tonight?/ He yelled at her to
go away even as he wanted to sob with relief at seeing
her - he just knew he couldn't hold the facade up much
longer. She refused to leave.

"I know what you're doing."

/You're not going to trip me up, Scully./ "I don't know
what you're talking about."

But she HAD discovered the truth. She knew. That burden
was gone. Relief blocked out the pain for a few seconds.
No more lying. No more avoiding.

Scully held his hand. Applied an ice pack to it while he
relieved himself of the events of the double life he'd
been leading. He ached to hold her, to be held, but he
kept that desire hidden.

Her news: More deaths from the toxin. He felt awful;
responsible. He was doing this to try to prevent more
attacks, not abet them.

The shock of such deliberate violence was catching up
with him. Both the torture and the toxin. Who on earth
would do such a thing?

Scully had no doubt he needed to be taken to a hospital.
She was not happy to be told it wasn't an option. But she
made do, as usual. Patched him up. When the pain of the
splinting was over and the spinning in his head eased,
Mulder looked down at her handiwork. The splint was
enormous. "Gee, Scully, not that I'm not grateful or
anything, but why didn't you just tape two surfboards to
my finger and be done with it?"

"You're going to look after that," she ordered.

"I will; I will." She'd already given him the litany of
Nasty Things that could happen, but hey, it was splinted
now and if he kept it still and didn't bump into
anything, what else was he expected to do?

She said, "I should have known you were undercover by
what you're wearing. Those tan pants..." Her nose
wrinkled in amusement, but her eyes became apologetic and
sorrowful.

He grinned. "You wanted leather instead?" Her answering
blush was very intriguing indeed...

He managed to doze a little, but was very much aware of
the passing seconds. His finger was throbbing like the
internal tick of a clock anyway.

Time to leave. This meeting had been pre-arranged, though
if the Spartans had decided to kill him or keep him
longer that night, there wasn't much he could have done
about it. Now Scully was staring at him like she was
trying to commit him to memory, hold onto his image; that
she would never see him again. Suddenly Scully was
holding HIM, clinging to him fiercely. Looking at him
with... No, it couldn't be. He was just seeing what he
wanted to. /You're in shock./

Scully was kissing him passionately. His response was
equal to the task once he got over the surprise. Pain
slipped away along with boundaries and the task ahead.
Not alone. Neither of them alone again.

God, she felt so damn good in his arms, against his
mouth... If only he could touch her with both hands, run
them through her hair and over her body -

But they had to part.

She hinted that when all this was over she wouldn't be
adverse to beginning a new phase of their relationship.
This case was bringing them out of the separate corners
that events over the last year had driven them into.
Forget the physical side of torture - she had the power
to break or heal his heart.

They couldn't hold back time though. Scully didn't want
him to go. He didn't want to go. But he had to. She
didn't say the words. The dilemma would have pulled him
in two if so: Duty to job and the public, or duty to
Scully? He should have told her he loved her.

She had followed him earlier. When he thought he was all
alone and that he had deserved to be, she had tried to
follow.

"I have to go."

"And you have to come back."

Walking away from her was like breaking his other nine
fingers, one after the other, over and over.

xXx

Walking into FBI Headquarters at quarter past three in
the morning, Mulder hoped he'd get some damn good
overtime out of all this... He had the meeting with
Skinner and Leamus, the latter whom Mulder hadn't liked
from the moment they'd met. Another reason to be glad
when all this could be put behind him.

At least Skinner was concerned about Mulder's splinted
finger. The US Attorney couldn't care less - Mulder was
just a means to an end to bust this group open and bring
him some glory. Once again, Spooky Mulder was Manipulated
Boy...

Information was exchanged. Leamus had dummy copies of
just what Haley wanted. Convenient...but Mulder figured
it saved a boring wait. And they HAD been planning the
mole info for a while.

"I'm getting a bad feeling on this. I want a tail on
him."

/Why Skinner, I didn't know you cared.../

The US Attorney was insistent. No tail. Dead if they did.
Dead if they didn't?

The big picture. Mulder had to hang on, past the pain, to
find out what the New Spartans were really up to. But at
least Scully was on the trail of the biotoxin - in the
labs, thankfully.

"If you don't hear from me by midnight...feed my fish."
/Hope Skinner gives a decent speech at the funeral./

Finding the skinhead gimp in his motel room threw Mulder,
though in hindsight he should have expected it. As Scully
had warned, by this stage the lack of sleep and the
broken finger kept him teetering dangerously off-guard.

When Mulder came face to face with the skinhead, he
thought the gimp had snuck away from Haley to come here
and get revenge for the headbutt. Fortunately Haley kept
him on a tight leash.

Mulder passed the dummied info onto Haley and thought
that either Haley would be satisfied for now and set up a
future meeting, or pull out a gun and do him in. But
Haley didn't just want the roll of film and surveillance
files. He wanted Mulder to come along on the bank
robbery. With him and Bremer.

Mulder stood in the New Spartan Headquarters after
another hooded trip and stared at all the activity. /This
is what they want me for? If they get caught, do they
want to take me down too?/ He stared at the new, yet
familiar face in the mix. /And this is August Bremer.
Group leader and mastermind. Even more paranoid than
Haley./

"Are you a believer?" Bremer asked.

"I have my beliefs."

"Are you willing to die for them?"

"I'd prefer it didn't come to that."

Bremer tossed him his robbery disguise. A Dracula mask.
/Ha ha. Funny guys. Come join the militia - they're a
comedy riot./ Though with him keeping his hand at heart
level as much as possible, he was lucky they didn't give
him a Napoleon one or shoot him like a lame dog.

They gave him a gun. /You idiots. Next time don't break
my finger if you expect me to handle a gun this big for
the cause./ Or perhaps that was WHY they gave him the
gun. He sighed - he was missing the easy use of his
entire left hand, even though he was naturally right-
handed.

Then came robbing the bank... /Don't think about that!
Think about something else - like whether Skinner fed
your fish or not... Don't think about that teller you
couldn't shoot...but you still couldn't save him... There
must have been some way to save him. If that had been
Scully... But I had to tell them that he was still alive
- they could see him moving - it was a see-through panel.
If only he'd played dead... If I had shot Haley or
Bremer, the others would have opened fire on me and
everyone... Least then I wouldn't have had to live with
those eyes staring up at me... Put another notch in my
bedpost of People I've Let Down./

They didn't head back to headquarters right away - most
of the group laid low somewhere into the evening, an
eternity, Mulder hunched and miserable with the pain of
the robbery and the pain of his finger. Then in splinter
groups of twos and threes they all headed back 'home' at
different times and by different ways during the night.
There was no opportunity for Mulder to slip away - Bremer
and Haley kept him with them and the loot, arriving at HQ
just before dawn.

Back at New Spartans HQ:

His hand looked swollen, but he guessed that was to be
expected with a break. There wasn't time to worry about
it or examine it closely anyway. The pain in his finger
and pain in his head had blurred together and teamed up
with the throbbing of his heart, deep and aching, right
through his body, which was getting in on the act. The
stinking smoke from the bonfire as the masks were burnt
didn't help matters. The fire felt so hot, and although
he had conquered his fear of it years ago, he felt ill.

If only he could erase his memory as easily as the rubber
mask melted in the flames.

Then Bremer added the stolen money to the fire. And
everything fell into place.

"The bank heist was a decoy. To contaminate the money you
didn't take..."

A teller killed for a decoy. God knows how many other
people to be killed by the currency... Scully... When
would they let him go so he could raise the alarm? WOULD
they let him go?

Bremer pointed a gun at him. /So much for that question./
Mulder stepped back, then Haley was there, chest to chest
with his rival, arguing about their feud and leadership
and Mulder's loyalty to the Spartans. Both men jockeyed
for position. Mulder looked around, but men were
surrounding them. No escape. As much as he didn't like
Haley, he hoped he won.

Then Bremer produced the tape. Mulder heard his own voice
come out of it. His and Scully's, discussing the
Spartans. Suddenly a broken finger was the least of his
problems.

/Ooops.../

He'd tried to tell Haley that Bremer faked the recording,
but he could see that the men were leaning towards
Bremer's side, and sure enough, obeyed the leader's
orders. Haley was forced to his knees next to the FBI
agent who had irrevocably undermined his authority.

"I hope I get to see them kill you," Haley said
vehemently.

Like on a bizarre game show, Haley was suddenly presented
with keys and a car and didn't waste his opportunity for
freedom. Mulder watched the car speed away. He looked at
Bremer and knew he wouldn't be as lucky. The wheel of
fortune had spun the wrong way for him - right off its
axis.

Bremer indicated the other militia members. "Witnessing
the murder of a federal agent will make these men an
accessory to the crime."

/Gee, Bremer...whereas bank robbery and murder and being
part of a militia group performing domestic terrorism
just makes them what - naughty boys?/

The others went into the old farmhouse. Bremer and the
skinhead ordered him to his feet and made him walk. He
knew what was coming. /At least I won't have to worry
about this headache much longer.../ He could try to run,
but both men were so close behind him that a bullet
wouldn't miss. He could try to overpower one man, but
taking on two, while he was already injured...

/I'm not James Bond./

Dying for this. Not even for his sister or Scully or
defeating the Consortium or getting information about
UFOs or whatever the hell they were. Not saving lives.
He'd helped with the robbery. He'd helped plant the
biotoxin. He had achieved nothing.

But isn't that what he'd always achieved?

They walked through what seemed to be an old greenhouse
area. Tattered banners of plastic hung like
representatives of his useless life. Walking through it,
wondering when the order would come, where his death
would be delivered.

The order came. Mulder knelt, looking out through the
plastic. The pain of putting his hands behind his back as
ordered didn't register in his mind. /How much of my face
am I about to lose? Because Scully's going to have to ID
me... If they ever find my body.../ He let himself think
of Scully. He tried not to think of her with her face
eaten off from the biotoxin. He tried not to think of how
she had told him to come back to her, how it was another
thing he was going to fail her in.

/I'm sorry, Scully. In our next life...in our next life
I'll get it right./

He remembered her lips on his and her arms around him.

/At least we kissed. At least she knew the truth./ He was
alone now, but not really. He wished he'd told her that
he loved her, even though she knew.

<Mulder> Her voice. She didn't want him to go. /Scully,
there's no choice. I'm sorry. I've failed everyone./

He could hear her speaking. He was most likely
hallucinating, hearing what he wanted to hear, but he
didn't care because she was telling him how much she
loved him, to please come back to him. She was explaining
things he had wondered about her, releasing his guilt...

Scully's lips against his, the burning it sent through
him -

His concentration was so fierce that the sound of the
gunshot came as a surprise.

The skinhead lay dead. Bremer must have been a used-car
salesman before turning to the militia, because he calmly
told Mulder that another car was waiting over the rise,
while checking the skinhead for a pulse.

On a wave of shock and adrenalin that both dulled and
buzzed, Mulder got up and ran.

He didn't remember the drive to the bank or how he
managed it. He came back to reality as he turned into the
street, and cursed himself for not stopping somewhere
along the way to phone ahead and warn them.

There were police everywhere - did that mean he was too
late? He had no idea what time it was.

He leapt out of the car in front of the bank and charged
forward, feeling that his body had saved its resources
for this last act, that all bets were off and everything
that felt disconnected now - the events of the last few
weeks, the pain - was going to hit. Hard.

Scully. There she was, running towards him, telling him
it was okay. She'd figured it out. No one had touched the
money.

She explained about the homegrown biotoxin. He argued
with Skinner and Leamus when they appeared. Even Scully
yelled at the US Attorney, saying he knew about it the
whole time.

"Then what do you hope to accomplish, Agent Mulder, as a
whistle-blower? To mobilise a civil rights action? To
bring down the federal government? To do the very work
that group you were a part of is so bent on doing? What
do you want? Laws against those men, or laws protecting
them?"

Mulder watched Leamus casually walk away. He'd been set
up again. Used. He felt as if something was being sucked
out of himself, rapidly; liquid down a plughole. And his
hand HURT. It looked so big. That's why it hurt so
much...

Everything seemed cartoonish. The light, the sidewalk as
he sat down on it. People's voices. Buildings. Scully was
talking to him. She was right in front of him, but her
voice was coming from a long way away. He wondered how
she was doing that.

It was all too much. He put his head down on his knees
and closed his eyes as the streetscape stretched like
taffy and broke apart.

xXx

Mulder heard a voice say that his fever was breaking.
That was nice. What he really wanted to hear was Scully's
voice, and eventually that came. Something about it
raining.

He opened his eyes. "Raining?" he managed to croak out.

"Mulder?" Instantly Scully's face was over his, her hand
soothing his skin. "It's okay. You're safe. No more
undercover. It's over." He had a feeling she had said
those words many times; he could recall hearing them
through a haze. And other words too...

He was in a hospital bed. "Raining?" he repeated.

"Yes, yes, it is." She glanced over at the drops that
streaked the window pane. "It's okay. You're safe."

"Sleeping bags?"

For a second she looked puzzled, then laughed in
realisation and at his expression, which was anything but
dazed. "Oh, you're on the road to recovery all right."
Radiance and relief were literally obliterating the worry
and tiredness from her face. She stroked his cheek and he
could tell from the look in her eyes that things would be
different between them from now on. He had been forgiven.

He glanced around, trying to piece together what had
happened. His brain and bones still felt like they were
stuffed with taffy. Very painful and HOT taffy. A look at
the IV stand showed him there were more bags of fluid
there than usual, dangling like bunches of transparent
fruit. For what?

"Mulder?" Scully was speaking gently, as if she wasn't
sure he was still alert or not. "Your hand's going to be
fine, but do you want a painkiller? So you can get back
to sleep?"

"My hand?" He looked down to the hand that felt more
painful and saw it was in a brace, securely propped up on
a wedge cushion so it was above heart level. /Shit!
What's all this for? They prop limbs up when they're

worried about circulation, don't they? And to get
swelling down... But I only broke my little finger!/ He
also noticed some thin tubing protruding out of the flesh
of his other arm under a transparent dressing and thought
it was an IV, then realised there was no needle. "Hey!"

"Shhhh. You're on IV antibiotics for a Staph aureus
infection. They had to insert a PICC line to ensure that
the doses of Vancomycin are diluted properly. You've had
these lines before, remember?"

"Yeah. Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter," Mulder
recited and made a grumbling noise. "Great. But I guess
it's nicer torture in here than at Spartan HQ," he
conceded. Then he remembered how horribly swollen his
hand was at the bank. And his partner mentioning gangrene
when she was splinting his hand. Was it really okay? Or
was Scully just saying so to keep him calm?

She gave him a drink as he tried to get a good but
surreptitious look at his hand to judge the damage. He
was too frightened to ask - so frightened that he didn't
even protest that she was giving him that Ensure crap.
She put the glass down and noticed his study. "Mulder,
honestly, you're all present and correct. Yes, your hand
is very swollen at the moment - that's why it's in a
removeable splint instead of a cast. It needed to be
something able to be adjusted to accommodate increase or
decrease in the soft tissue swelling. And also to let the
nurses check the incision and pin sites and change the
dressings. But your hand will be fine. You'll be able to
handle the zipper on the sleeping bag soon enough."

"And on you?"

"No, Mulder."

"Oh."

"I wear buttons, not zippers, remember? Now, you've still
got a temperature, but it's going down. So you have to
rest for me. Go back to sleep. I'll be right here."

He smiled and closed his eyes.

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

Scully finally allowed herself to accept that the battle
had turned their way. Under attack, the fever retreated.
The antibiotics were making their mark on the infection
and Mulder came fully back to himself. And to her.

"So, did I get a Luke Skywalker hand? Or a salamander
one? Always wanted one of them - after a peg leg,
naturally."

"No." She repeated her earlier information, then added,
"When the swelling goes down enough, they might let you
remain in the splint instead of changing to a more
restrictive cast - providing you're being good and not
messing around much." Scully noticed the dirty look he
shot his hand. "Cut it some slack, Mulder. You still HAVE
your hand. The swelling isn't only from the infection -
it's post surgical too, so the antibiotics won't affect
it. You just have to give it time." She indicated the
wedge cushion. "They want you to keep it up as much as
possible."

Mulder looked up at her from under his lashes. "Scully, I
can keep it up for a VERY long time..."

"Above heart level? Really? I'm impressed!" She grinned
and gave him more Ensure, then returned to doctor mode.
"You've had the pins in for four days so far. In four to
six weeks, if all is well, they'll be removed. The splint
might have to stay on for a few weeks past that, and
you'll need hand therapy, but you will get full use
back." She had a vested interest in making sure that came
about. Not only because he was in a job where he was
expected to shoot with both hands... The time frame would
mean that the Occupational Therapist would be aiming to
correct the effects of Mulder's hand being in the velcro
splint for so long, rather than what the original injury
had done to the bones.

This brace was up to the mid-forearm and made of fabric,
metal and velcro. Mulder stared at the contraption in
bemusement. "I only broke my finger..."

"I can't tell for sure just how much of the damage was
done when they tortured you and then when you fell before
you turned up at the bank. But I can make some educated
guesses. The Spartans most likely broke the proximal
phalanx and fifth metacarpal of your little finger -
those are the bones that form the knuckle. Fortunately,
they didn't break the other metacarpals further across
your hand; that would have immobilised your whole hand.
But then of course those skin tears meant that the
infection was able to take a hold in the next 24 hours
and do what the Spartans didn't. Then you completed the
whole disaster by falling on that hand -"

Mulder frowned, searching his memory. "I was running
towards the car after Bremer let me go. I had to get to
the bank to warn you and everyone."

"I'm amazed you could drive!"

"I wasn't in much of a condition to care. Anyway, it
wasn't my fault that I tripped! I tried to fix the
splint. I think... Things were really going hazy by that
stage. Putting your hands out when you fall is an
automatic reaction."

"- which put those bones so far out of alignment that
they needed the pins."

"Damn. I'll never be able to play the violin again."

"I'm an instrument that requires considerably less skill.
And if those kisses you gave me were any indication, that
tongue of yours will be a very good substitute." She
blushed, but met his eyes.

"Agent Scully, am I to understand that you'd like to
instigate some more undercover work?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder. For once you are correct. A team
effort. No hiding. No sneaking off. Both knowing exactly
what the other is up to." She took a deep breath and
decided he was strong enough to hear a few things - well,
okay, she had told him during his fever, but that didn't
really count. And even though she had said the words over
and over, doing it now to his open eyes and aware gaze
was much more difficult.

But she did it. She told him about how she'd come to a
peace about the loss of her fertility and Emily. That she
had been able to accept that it wasn't meant to be. The
timing wasn't right - perhaps it would never be right,
but she had a lot to be grateful for. And they had
important work to do that would be her contribution to
the future generations.

She saw the peace spread into him too and was relieved at
her decision to be open.

"I remember you saying that - I thought I was dreaming.
I'm so glad I wasn't."

"So am I. And we'll talk about what you went through too
- both on this case and before it - I know how you're
beating yourself up inside. Please don't. When we get out
of here, we'll talk about so much." She raised his good
hand and kissed it, then screened the view from the door
with her body so that no one could see her sucking on one
digit.

"Oh, Scully..."

"See, Mulder? I'll make a great handmaiden."

"And what about a foot-maiden?"

"Sure. And of any other part of you that requires
attention."

"So when can we get out of here and put that sentiment
into practise?"

"Well, the hand surgery itself would have only had you
hospitalised for a few days, but the infection
complicated things. Now that the fever has broken and
it's obvious that the antibiotics are taking effect,
we'll give you another day or two in here to build some
strength up, then you can be discharged for home
antibiotic therapy."

"Uh oh. That was 'antibiotic' I heard, wasn't it? Not
'aromatherapy'?" he asked.

"Sorry, Mulder. But if we keep up the PICC at home, that
means less time you spend in here."

Before he could comment, his lunch tray arrived. It
contained a high protein, high calorie diet. Hospital
food being what it was, there was no guarantee he would
eat much of it, so he still had to have Ensure at regular
intervals throughout the day too.

"Yippee," Mulder said without enthusiasm after the nurse
left.

"Mulder, for three days you were so out of it that you
wouldn't eat. All you were getting was a little sugar in
the IV and some Ensure, which I could fortunately get
into you every few hours if timed just right. That was
the only reason we held off on an NG tube a little longer
than I'd normally be comfortable with." She smiled at the
face he pulled over the nutritious, but hardly delicious,
drink. "Your doctor and I had just authorised a tube when
you must have got wind of our plans and started coming
back to earth. I mean it - a nurse was literally coming
down the corridor with all the equipment."

"Can smell them a mile off," Mulder said with pride.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't eat well during this whole
assignment. Now we're in the fourth day and you aren't
feverish anymore, so if you DON'T eat something right
this very minute, I'll -"

"Take it easy! Hospital is my equivalent of Club Fed,
remember? Better than a health farm. I make up for it all
in here."

"You're also lucky that you didn't wake up in restraints.
The doctor was considering them to make sure you didn't
pull out anything you shouldn't while you were delirious.
But I was with you most of the time and you were rambling
more than actually moving around, so I thought it would
be safe enough to spare you, seeing as they would have
only made you more upset. And I didn't want them cutting
off your circulation."

"And I suppose that as a show of gratitude, you want me
to quit complaining and just eat?" At her look, he sighed
and ate.

Scully made sure that her smile made the suffering
worthwhile, then once he was finished she moved the
bedtable away. "Now you sleep."

"Don't want to."

"I'll sing."

"Is that a threat or encouragement?"

Scully sang 'Joy to the World' again. The first time
she'd done it, in a forest in Florida, Mulder had been
asleep by the end of the first verse and she stopped. But
this time he was fighting to stay awake, and she knew
what he was after. The second verse. So she gave it to
him with a wonderful smile.

'If I were the king of the road, tell you what I'd do
Throw away the cars and the bars and the wars,
And make sweet love to you. Yes, I'd make sweet love to
you.'

And on that reiterated promise, he slept.

And the time came just over six weeks later when they
threw away more than cars and bars and wars. Clothes were
one. Inhibitions, walls, fear...

Mulder still may have had his hand in the splint, but his
other hand contained some very magic fingers that didn't
need quarters or dimes to make her vibrate. The same with
her bed. Neither agent was a violinist, but they played

each other very well indeed.

THE END.

There is a sequel: "The Trojan War II: Victory is Ours".
It is rated R.