2Somewhere Under Wraps 1/2 Summary: Scully's thoughts as she and Mulder tackle two extreme possiblities--one involving unexplained deaths in New Jersey and the other their own unusual relationship. Category: X A MSR--to the max RELATIONSHIP WARNING Spoilers: Season Four, and the other seasons are mentioned in passing. Rating: Strong *R* for adult themes and situations Disclaimer: I don't, 10-13 does, I'll be good and put everything back when I'm done playing with it. And I promise not to bend the edges. Archive: Please forward to Gossamer but NOT to the newsgroup. It can be archived anywhere as long as my name and disclaimer are attached. Comments: Yes, I'd love some. Send them to me vmoseley@fgi.net Somewhere Under Wraps 1/9 By Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net Dana Scully's alarm sounded a persistent, annoying buzzing in her ear. She batted at the button on top, hoping to silence it before it drove her mad--or woke the person sleeping next to her. The silence was like a warm towel fresh from the dryer settling over her as she stole one more moment to snuggle into her partner's arms. Partner. Dana found it funny how many meanings she attributed to that word. She had been assigned as a partner to Fox Mulder, to work with him on cases. Somewhere along the line, she'd finally admitted that he was a partner in her off times, too. A person she could count on, talk to--although sometimes not often or early enough. Someone beside her family who knew her well enough not to judge her. Even when she was judging herself. Then came the cancer. The beginning had been the worst, to her mind. The time she spent before telling her partner that anything was wrong. When it became apparent that she had to tell someone, he was the first person she told. Then came the awful period where she wouldn't let him in. She didn't want him to think her weak, unable to do her job. She didn't want to burden his already overburdened heart with something he could do nothing about. She didn't want to face the fact that she had to say goodbye. He had enough troubles, especially when the shadows apparently figured out a way to end his life--by forcing him into suicide. They set him up, using his own beliefs and her cancer to drive him over the edge. He'd come very close to falling into their trap, but he'd figured it out in the nick of time. It was after she had helped him orchestrate his own fake suicide that things changed. He had gone underground to force to light the murder of five archeologist in the snow fields of the Arctic and the plot to bring him down, to trick him with a hoax. Their plan had backfired. In the end he was exonerated, but as always the evidence and all but one of the perpetrators vanished, leaving no trace. At first, Scully's visits had been only to pass along information and that was the reason she risked exposure of their plan each night to sneak to where the Lone Gunmen kept him hidden. From outward appearances, it was a cancer support group. A group headed by the 'distinquished psychologist' Dr. Andrew Langly. But when the group meeting began, Scully would sneak out the back door and up the wooden stairs to the tiny apartment that Mulder called home. She remembered distinctly the first time she'd fallen asleep there. It had been a horrible day. No leads, no word from Skinner that the Smoking Man had taken the bait. She'd undergone a new cancer treatment and it had drained her completely. No sooner had she walked in the door had Mulder swept her up in his arms and carried her like his own personal Scarlet O'Hara to the futon and laid her down. Then, without a second thought to anything or anyone, he climbed in beside her, took her in his arms again, and the two fell into a deep sleep. When she woke up, he was already downstairs with the Gunmen, working on a new lead. It quickly became a habit. She'd go to her meeting, go up and sleep. In his arms. Never for more than a couple of hours, but they found a way to do it every night. He told her once that it was the only sleep he got--the moments he slept with her. And that's all they did, even though in her dreams, he was doing a whole lot more than snoring beside her. Some of the dreams she had went beyond even her most erotic fantasies and she'd find herself blushing into the mirror after she woke up. Mulder, for his part, appeared oblivious to the possible sexual nature of their meetings. He was there to comfort, he often told her, and to be comforted, as she always suspected. He made it plain that he wanted nothing more--nor would he accept anything less. At least, not until she was ready. Her cure had been a complete surprise to them both. The cancer had spread to her bloodstream and there was little hope that the new treatments would work. Miraculously, they had. Mulder was out of hiding and back at work when the call had come. The doctor had double checked, the tumor was shrinking and she was most assuredly in remission. Scully knew her partner suspected that there was more to her 'cure' than medical science, that maybe their recent successes against the shadows had proven that they couldn't be beaten, and so the cure was provided. But to his credit, he never said a word to her. She, on the other hand, felt a renewal of their partnership. She had felt so distant from him and that distance had caused her more pain than the cancer or the treatments. She never wanted to feel that distance again. If he didn't make the first move to bring them closer together, she would. It was his suggestion that the news called for a celebration. They informed the Assistant Director, then went out for the day--walking through the Smithsonian, eating at a restaurant that neither of them had ever tried in Georgetown, and ending the day at her apartment. At eleven o'clock, sitting on her sofa, she first told him that she loved him. By the stroke of midnight, one of her sexual fantasies about the two of them had been realized. Mulder was everything she could have imagined as a lover. Kind and attentive, but expressive of his own desires. He allowed her to please him as much as he was pleasing her. That night, she took a second to mentally kick herself for having taken so long to love him. She smiled at that thought. Lying in his arms, feeling the springy hairs on his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, his morning stubbled chin resting on her naked breast, she couldn't imagine a more wonderful way to wake up in the morning. A more wonderful way to live. The past was full of mysteries, and they were still searching for so many answers. But now they were so much stronger than they'd ever been before. There was nothing fate or the shadows could throw at them that would separate or defeat them, now that they were truly one. Partners--two parts of the same whole. He sighed and it rumbled against her skin, sending tiny shivers down her legs. She glanced over to the clock and decided that if they hit the right street lights, they had a little time before they had to been in the office. His eyelids were heavy against his cheeks and she could count the individual hairs of his lashes. They were long. A small pang of jealousy tickled her that he, who never noticed whether he had lashes or not, would be graced with ones that any woman would kill for. She loved his eyes--every part of them. Using just the crooked index finger of her right hand, she gently tilted his sleeping head up so that her lips could make contact with his eyelids. She placed dozens of feather-light kisses on his closed lids, his eye brows, the bridge of his nose. She tiptoed her other hand up so that she could caress the little indentation just behind his left ear. His body's response was almost immediate and she grinned at how easy it was to arouse him when he was asleep. He shifted a bit, and his hardening erection brushed her leg, setting off it's own set of fireworks deep in her groin. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he did that just to get even. After rubbing behind his ears for a while, she moved her fingers down to his neck, massaging the firm muscles there, while her lips moved south as well, placing delicate kisses on his cheeks, just skirting his full, pale pink lips. She watched him intently as she did this, and struggled not to giggle as a soft pink tongue darted out of his mouth and run along his top lip, seeking contact of her. Even though parts of his body seemed to be waking up, his breathing was still that of a man deep in slumber. Her hand was growing tired of massaging, and traveled down his sleek body to come to rest on his left nipple. He'd once told her that men don't have any strong feelings there--they were just an after thought of nature when deciding on the male and female of the species, but she knew better. When she tweaked it between her thumb and index finger, the tongue darted out again, and this time connected directly with her nose. Using that as a point of reference, his lips sought hers and kissed her, opening her lips and letting his tongue explore the wonderous cavern of her mouth. After thought of nature, indeed, she chided him silently. Looks like an erogenous zone to me. He growled in her mouth when she did it again. "G-woman," he said, not letting go of her lips or tongue. "I'm trying to sleep." It sound more like 'Idh thighing da eep" but she got the idea. "That's not what I'm feeling," she said with a soft laugh, allowing her hand to move from his nipple down to just below his navel. She felt great satisfaction when a certain part of his body jumped against her leg in anticipation. "Tell that to your body, G-man." His eyes were still closed but he snorted and pulled away from her mouth. "OK, revise that statement. I _want_ to sleep." His arms now encircled her and he was rubbing her back in slow circles, moving his hands down to knead her bottom. She responded by tilting her hips to rub against him. "You're sure about that?" she asked, rubbing against him harder. It was more of a rhetorical question in her mind. There was no way he could roll over and go back to sleep now. Not until they attended to some 'pressing business'. Before he could answer, her hand left his stomach and her fingers slipped around him. His audible gasp was all the answer she needed. "Ah, god--Scully," he sighed, and rubbed up into her hand, urging her to move past the gentle stroking her hand was doing. "Gee, Mulder, for an atheist, you get real religious in the morning," she teased. "Agnostic," he corrected. "There is something out there, I don't know what, but only something omnipotent could make me feel like this," he said. "You mean like _this_?" she asked innocently, but her hands were anything but innocent. "God, oh, god, oh, yesssss," he hissed. He wasn't idle as she moved. His hand went down to her bottom and gripped her there to pull her up just an inch or so. Then, his long fingers reached over her bottom, giving her a firm squeeze. "Oh, god, Fox," she whimpered. "Two converts in one bed--who'd have thought," he whispered hoarsely in her ear. Stars appeared before her eyes and she almost forgot what she was doing. She started to move, to kiss her way down his stomach to take his shaft in her mouth, but he stopped her. "I want inside you, please," he asked and the way his voice cracked took her breath away. Time suspended and they were lost in each other. When they came back to the real world, a move of his leg and a subtle flip of his arm and she was curled up against his chest, still shuddering deep inside herself. They lay there for an eternity, she thought, but it was still too short. "Dana," he whispered in her hair after a few minutes of total silence. She was too oblivious to hear him, she was listening to her own body--her heart slowing down, her breath becoming less ragged. "G-woman," he said more insistently. "C'mon. Work." " . . . work?" she rasped. Employment was the last thought on her mind. "Yeah, work. Job. Money. FBI. You remember, the big ugly concrete and steel building where we co-inhabit the dungeon. Work." He was talking and gently rubbing her back. "How do you do that?" she sighed, her eyes drifting shut. "Do what?" "After we make love, you're rip roaring and ready to go and all I want to do is curl up and sleep the day away," she murmured as she used his shoulder for a pillow. "What can I say--you energize me," Mulder said with a lopsided grin as he kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "C'mon. Skinner will have our asses if we're late and quite frankly, I've become rather attached to yours." J Edgar Hoover Building FBI Headquarters 8:25 am "I remember a time when I would have already been here for hours," Mulder muttered as they moved together down the hallway toward the basement office. The two name plates glimmered in the faint light of the blinking overheads. Fox Mulder. Dana Scully. He'd given the nameplate to her the day he moved his clothes over to her apartment. Cohabitation on an equal basis, he'd told. "What, are you saying I'm keeping you from your work?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow and a slight edge to her voice. "No, not at all, G-woman. I'm saying if you're going to cure my insomnia, the least you could do is set the alarm a little earlier," he shot back and slipped off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair and settled down in the seat. She thumbed her nose at him in response and went to get a cup of coffee. By previous long standing agreement, he'd drink half of hers without getting himself any, but would always get her a refill. When she returned, he was deeply engrossed in a blue striped file folder. His glasses were on and she doubted that he heard her when she shut the door behind her. "That folder had better not be hiding a 'Playboy'," she scolded in jest and he looked up and shot her a wry smile. "Hey, I read them for the articles--you know that. Anyway, that's not what I've got here, so lighten up. It's a 302 Skinner just sent down." "He initiated it?" Dana asked, pulling her chair over so she could see the file, too. "It's a request. The Trenton Field office has been keeping track of some unusual deaths involving strokes. At first, they assumed natural causes, the autopsies found nothing, but then when similar deaths kept occuring, they revised that." She took the folder from him and flipped to the back. "The last ME suspects a fast acting poison," she said, twisting her mouth into a thoughtful expression. "That doesn't leave a trace, yeah. But look at the victims. Not a lot of commonality--they even live in different towns," Mulder replied, reaching into his top desk drawer and grabbing a handful of sunflower seeds. She looked up and shrugged. "I hear New Jersey is beautiful, this time of year," she said brightly. "And at least I'm not hunting for beast women in the forest this time," he reminded her with a wicked grin. She punched him in the arm lightly with a mock glare. "Just for that, I drive," she declared and flipped him a smile as she headed for the elevator to arrange their transportation. end of part one Somewhere Under Wraps 2/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimer in part one Outside the Federal Building Trenton New Jersey 2:15 pm Mulder looked over at his sleeping partner and smiled before gently touching her on the cheek to wake her. "Have a good nap?" he asked as she yawned and stretched, bones creaking in her spine loudly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," she murmured behind another yawn. "Oh, so you let me take over after lunch because you enjoy the scenery," he teased. "That's OK, since you got some shut eye, maybe we can visit with the locals this afternoon and get some work done later tonight," he replied, handing her rain coat and carryon to her and taking both briefcases. "You don't plan on sleeping tonight?" she taunted. "I'll sleep enough," he replied cryptically. "I miss your sheets when we're on the road," he grinned at her. She knew better. He'd miss more than her sheets. They'd set a rule that co-habitation ended at her doorstep. Any sleep he'd get would be marginal, at best. But there was another reason. She might have the power to lull the wild beast when things were relatively normal, but put a case in his path and Mulder was back to being the same obsessive insomniac that she'd fallen in love with. The Regional ASAC met them at the door to the office. John Towers was a tall man, dark skinned, broad shoulders, handsome face, warm, expressive eyes and short curly hair just graying at the temple. He met Mulder with open arms. "Casper!" he called in a deep bass voice. Mulder grinned and put the briefcases down to embrace the other man in a bear hug. "Huckleberry! You haven't changed," he exclaimed, patting Towers on the back affiably. Scully stood off to one side and smiled on in amusement. Male bonding--it was like watching National Geographic. Finally, Mulder stepped back and gave Dana a happy wink. "John Towers, Georgia all-state quarterback and former offensive lineman for the Miami Dolphins, this is Dr. Dana Scully, my partner. Scully, this is Huck." "I've heard a lot about you, Agent Scully, and not any of it from this piece of garbage," John said, taking her hand in a firm handshake. "You two know each other," Dana said nodding as she looked from one man to the other. "Casper here used to keep me up nights at the Academy," Towers said by way of explanation. The responding raised eyebrow made him laugh and Mulder grin. "Get the mind out of the gutter, Scully," Mulder chided playfully. "We studied procedure. In exchange for my tutoring him at night, John here kept me from shooting my foot off on the weapons range." "Ah, you were better than you let on," Towers said affiably. "God in heaven, it's good to see you, Mulder. It's been too damned long." "I know, John, I know. But we can save the reunion for later, tell us about these deaths." Towers offered to take them out to the site of the latest death, giving him time to bring them up to speed on the investigation. The three agents got into his car and headed out Highway 33 to Robinsonville. "The locals all thought it was natural causes, but then when they started looking at the numbers involved--" Towers started, by way of explanation. "How many deaths are we talking, total," Scully asked from the back seat. "The file only mentioned the autopsies of five individuals." "Well, not counting the ones we only think might be involved, we're talking about 30 deaths just in the last few months," John recounted. "Now, in the big city, that might be acceptable, but out in the sticks, people start getting scared. Especially since there appears to be no rhyme or reason. Victims are all ranges of age, both sexes, no common workplace or association--it just doesn't make sense. And the poison angle is hard to work, too. I mean, in all cases, the victims died of aneurisms in the brain or strokes, but a couple of them had concurrent heart attacks, too. All were healthy individuals with no sign of trouble. Of course, those things happen, but it's statistically too high a number to be just 'blind bad luck'. So, as usual, when the locals get stumped, they call Uncle Sam to figure it out." "And when 'Uncle Sam' gets stumped--we get the call," Mulder said with glance and grin back to his partner. She smiled at him and winked. "Yeah, so I've heard," Towers said, his expression turning serious. "I gotta tell you, this one has me crazy. We were called in after CDC threw up their hands." "According to the report, they're the ones who first suggested poison," Scully pointed out. "There was no viral or bacterial agent at work, as far as they could see." "And no toxin to be found, either, for that matter. Well, the sooner you two crack this case, the happier I'll be, that's for sure. I don't like all these bodies turning up all around me. It just hits too close to home. Give me something simple--bank embezzling or mail fraud." "Huck, you've gone 'whitebread' on me," Mulder cried in mock horror. "Nah, Casper, I just got 'set in my ways'. It's nice to have a job where you can make plans on weekends." He took his eyes off the road long enough to look over at his friend. "Try it some time, you might like it." "Me, settled? Never," Mulder said and flashed Scully another over the shoulder grin. Well, maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, she thought to herself. In that regard, they'd never be 'settled' Memorial Hospital Robinsonville, New Jersey 3:00 pm They stopped at the Police Station and talked to Chief Neil Simmons for a few minutes. The Chief was busy with a DARE graduation at the elementary school, but they set a time in the morning to talk with him. John drove them over to the hospital. "The last death occured yesterday afternoon. Forty one year old female, checker at the Safeway. She'd just had her yearly physical and her doctor swears that she was fit as a fiddle," Towers spoke as they rode the elevator down to the basement morgue. "The ME, Dr. Maynard, said they'd keep her here until you got a look at her, Dana." "Thanks," Scully said. "Mulder, do you want to stay here, or go over to the victim's house. It's about three blocks over?" John asked Mulder looked over at Scully and she knew that he really didn't want to hang around. It was their job, she knew that he understood that, but lately, with all the death that had been following them like vultures, he just didn't want to sit around and watch her cut up bodies. "Mulder, go on ahead. And since the deaths all occured either here or in Edinburg or Windsor, why not scout around for a place to stay tonight?" "Any preferences?" he asked, biting back a grin. "Yeah. No cockroaches as bell boys. Something with hot water. And working toilets. You know, higher than your usual standards. Better yet, let John find the motel, you just ride along," she speared him with a grin and turned to meet the Medical Examiner. She couldn't help but chuckle when she overheard John tell Mulder that she was 'a definite keeper'. The victim's name was Jennifer Anson. Divorced, one child, but in her ex-husband's custody. She didn't smoke, didn't drink, and generally was in excellent health with the exception of the major blood clot in her brain. The clot resulted in a massive stroke, she lost consciousness and never regained it. She was found by a neighbor who saw the front door open after ten o'clock at night. Scully examined the body carefully, looking for any possible needle tracks that could indicate injection. Barring that evidence, she doubted that they would find anything that would give them a clue as to how the poison was injested. There were no burns in the mouth or nose, no swelling in the throat or lungs. Whatever it was didn't appear immediately toxic. Blood test showed nothing of a toxic nature, either. It was when Scully examined the woman's arm that she saw it. Underneath the fingernail on her left index finger, there was a black substance. Scully scraped it carefully onto a slide and prepared it for the lab. "She must have been a mechanic in her spare time," Dr. Maynard said over Scully's shoulder. "How could you tell?" Dana asked, finding more substance under the nails on the right hand. "Well, the grease I found all over her. Although I'll be damned if I can figure out how it got on her legs and ankles. Still, if you're under a car when you remove a grease pan, well, it can get pretty messy--I know." Scully looked up from the woman's body and frowned. "You say there was oil on her legs?" "Yeah, but I wiped most of it off. None on her hands--which I thought was strange at the time, but not if she'd gone into the house to clean her hands." "Did you keep any of the oil?" Scully asked trying not to sound too anxious. "No, I didn't. I couldn't see the need of it," replied the older man. "What, you thinking this is some kind of poisoned oil--like that town in Missouri a few years back?" It took Dana a minute to make the reference, but then she remembered the story of Times Beach, Missouri. Back in the late 70's, in a cost cutting measure, the town mayor purchased used oil to spread on the roads to cut the dust in the summer. The oil had been highly contaminated with PCP--an extremely toxic substance--and the town had been evacuated in the middle of the night. Times Beach was now nothing more than barbed wire fence encircling abandoned buildings--another example of ecological ruin that man brought upon himself. She could see where the recent deaths might be invoking similar images in the doctor, but didn't want to encourage mass panic. "No, I don't think so. There would have been something show up in the toxicological, if that was the case. I'm just curious," she said, trying to sound casual. "Doctor, did you do any of the other autopsies of the deaths here in Robinsonville?" "Well, let me think. There was Jimmy Helms, I did him. Same as Jenny here. Both in good health. Jimmy was a tennis player, home on break from Florida State. Real sad, that one. Only 21." He looked up at her. "You know, we only performed autopsies on the last couple. Up till then, we just thought it was God's will." Dana nodded. "I understand." "You gonna exhume any bodies," the older man asked quietly, almost fearfully. "I don't know. If I can't come up with some kind of link, I might be forced to," Dana admitted and went back to her examination. An hour later, Mulder and Towers returned to collect Scully and take her to the motel. Mulder made sure that she knew John had picked the spot, so all complaints could be directed solely to him. After checking in, Towers treated them both to an early dinner at the little diner across the street from the 'brand new Ramada Limited' that he'd suggested. "We need to get a car," Mulder said after finishing off the 'chicken dinner special' and Dana had excused herself to the ladies room. "No you don't, you can have mine," John offered. "Wife's coming to pick me up in a few minutes. She works on the southwest side of Trenton, it's just a bit out of her way to come out and get me. That way you can use a bu-car and save me some money," he grinned. Because he had requested their assistance, all their expenses came out of _his_ line item. "That works. And I get to meet the mystery woman who could charm a man accustomed to football cheerleaders," Mulder teased. "You should get so lucky," Towers shot back. "But then, you look like you already have," he added with a even stare and a smile. "John, it's not like that--" Mulder started to object. "Save it for Skinner. Look Mulder, I'm not condemning here. And for god's sakes, don't degrade our friendship by trying to tell me there's nothing going on between you and your partner. You'd have to be stupid or impotent not to see that woman's the best thing that ever happened to you. I've heard all the rumors, but I ignored them. It wasn't until I saw you two and the way half the conversation doesn't have words that I figured something was going on. But that's your business. And if nothing IS happening, man, we gotta talk!" "We just don't want it fodder for the rumor mill," Mulder said sheepishly. "I understand. And it's safe with me. But if I were you, I'd stop wasting my budget and get just one room." "Ahh, that's what this is about," Mulder laughed. "Sorry to burst your bubble, John, but we _sleep_ in separate rooms on the road. The temptation to 'sleep late' is too great." "Bet that makes the pressure to solve the case awful high at times," John noted, eyes twinkling. "Luckily, all motels come equipped with cold water in the showers, Huck," Mulder grinned back. John's wife, Celia, picked him up about ten minutes later. John and Celia both insisted that as soon as the case was over, the two DC agents had to come over for dinner and Mulder shrugged while Scully readily accepted for them both. After waving goodbye, the partners walked across the street to the motel. "What did you find at the house?" Scully asked as she opened the door to her room and let him in. The connecting door between the two rooms had been left open when they checked in, so he went into his room to change. "She was a neat freak," he called from his bathroom. "The place looked like the health inspector lived there." "Did you find any signs of motor oil?" Scully asked, coming out of her bathroom in sweat pants and tee shirt, her hair pulled back in a pony tail. "Motor oil?" Mulder met her at the door, wearing cut off sweat pants and his New York Knicks jersey. "Yeah. I found motor oil or something like it under her fingernails. And the ME, Maynard, said she had some on her legs and ankles." "That's weird. Scully, that woman didn't own a car. She walked to work or rode her bicycle." "Maybe it was grease for her bike chain," Scully shrugged. "Then she would have poured it on herself--they don't need that much. Not enough to get it on your legs." Mulder flopped down on her bed, stretched out and put his hands behind his head. He was frowning. "Maynard thought I was looking for poisoned oil. You know, like Times Beach," Scully said, flopping down on the other double bed in the room. "Funny, I was thinking poisoned oil, but not Times Beach," Mulder said, chewing his the inside of his cheek. "Remember that French salvage mission?" Scully frowned at the mention of the crew of a French salvage operation who had all but one died of radiation poisoning just a little over a year before. "Mulder, these people are dying of strokes and embolisms, not radiation." "I didn't say it was the same stuff, Scully. The coincidence just struck a nerve," he grinned with a shrug of his shoulders. "Well, I sent the sample to be analyzed, I should hear something in the morning. Pendrell's replacement is a little slower than he was, but what can we do, right?" she said, and a feeling of heaviness decended on them both at the mention of the deceased lab agent's name. "Game's on. Wanna watch it with me, since there isn't much we can do right now?" Mulder offered, and she knew he was trying to lift the veil of guilt that was threatening to smother her. She smiled at him. "Sure. I love watching you sleep through athletic events, Mulder." At eleven o'clock, the game ended and Scully shoved Mulder through the connecting door and back into his own room. In less that three minutes, he was back, without his shirt and with a toothbrush in his mouth. "Ah wath thingink" he mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste. "Spit and rinse, G-man, then try that again," she laughed at him. He went back to his bathroom and returned, drying his face on a handtowel. "I was thinking." "You alert the media, I'll cover the press conference," she shot back with a grin and he gave her a threatening look that only caused her to laugh at him. "That oil you found--when will we get the results?" "Tomorrow morning, IF they do as I asked and put a rush on it. If not, it might not be in until day after tomorrow," she answered. "Mulder, don't get stuck on that--it could be nothing," she warned gently. "I know, I know. But Scully, this is driving me mad. Look at what we've got--nothing. Just a statistical abberation. People die of strokes and embolisms all the time. Hell, it could be caused by high power lines, for all we know." "But Mulder, look at the locations. This is the only area, these three little towns with populations of less than 10,000 between the three of them, with that many deaths by stroke in that short a period. You could be right, it could be a statistical anomaly--they do happen. But it just doesn't--" "Feel right," he finished her sentence. She nodded. "Product tampering at a pharmacutecal factory? Remember the Tylenol case back years ago? Maybe that's the cause," she pondered out loud. "Possible," he agreed. "But wouldn't it show up? I mean, wouldn't you be able to pick up a common thread in the bloodwork--if not the toxin, at least the masking substance?" "Not if it's a universally used drug like that. On any given day, go out on a street corner and try to find the number of people who _haven't_ popped a pill for a headache, cramps, back pain. Face it, we're pill poppers in this country." "But what are the chances that an entire lot would find it's way to the sticks of suburban Trenton? Wouldn't some of it show up somewhere else? And the safeguards in place in the factory--the chances of pulling it off successfully would be astronomical," Mulder asked, pacing the room. "Well," Scully said with an exaggerated yawn, "I'm too tired to think about it right now. Hit the sack, G-man. I'll see you in the morning." She walked over to him, gave him a smile and a hug and showed him to the door. He turned once, putting his hand on the doorjam. "Promise you'll miss me?" he pleaded, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'll dream about you all night," she vowed, her right hand raised. "Well, in that case, I could always just sleep over here," he started back in the room, but she shoved him through the door and closed her side. In a second she opened it a crack. "Don't let the bed bugs bite, G-man," she called softly. "That's it, Scully! It's killer bed bugs!" he cried, but before she could answer, she heard him pulling off his sweatpants, tossing them in a corner of his motel room, then pulling back the covers and crawling in the bed. It was enough to flood her with a deep, abiding desire to drag him back into her room and make love to him till his eyes fell out. She grinned and shook her head at her own thoughts. "Go to sleep, Mulder," she called back in a threatening tone. Then, once he was quiet, she got into her own bed and tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep. The call came at 6:45 am. Mulder wasn't back from his run, and Dana was trying to find her hair brush that she was certain she'd packed in her bag when the Chief of Police in neighboring Windsor called her room. "Sure sorry to call so early in the morning, ma'am," Chief Jim Warren said by way of greeting. "But Neil Simmons told me you and your partner were up from DC lookin' into these deaths here abouts and I think we have another one for ya." Fortunately, Mulder walked in the door as soon as she hung up and the two dressed quickly then drove to the address in Windsor that the Chief had given her. end of part two Somewhere Under Wraps 3/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one Hampton Residence 24 Countryline Drive, Apt. 16 Windsor, New Jersey 7:45 am "For a bachelor, Mr. Hampton was neat as a pin," Scully commented as she met up with her partner in the kitchen of the victim's apartment. "Even the toothpaste tube was spotless and the cap was on." "Are you trying to tell me something here, Scully?" Mulder asked with a raised eyebrow and slightly mocking tone. "If the toothpaste cap fits, Mulder," she stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "We shipped the body over to Robinsonville," Chief Warren said. "Figured ole Doc Maynard would do the honors. 'Course, if you'd rather, Agent Scully," he offered with a shrug. "Actually, I'd prefer it if Agent Scully did the autopsy," Mulder spoke up. "No offense to 'old Doc Maynard', but Agent Scully will be looking for some specific markers and I'd like to have her take the lead. If that's all right with you?" His tone made it clear that the correct answer to the question was 'yes'. "Perfectly fine, Agent Mulder. Perfectly fine." Warren looked happy to be handing over the investigation to Mulder. He looked like he'd turn it over to his cat, if he thought he could by with it. "Then I'll need a ride back to Robinsonville," Scully noted. "I want to get right on this one." "Chief, if one of your men could take Agent Scully back, I'd like to stick around here and have a better look around." Mulder didn't wait for the answer this time, he just wandered off to the living room, where the body had been found. As she was leaving the apartment building, Mulder came running out to catch her. "Scully, I just wanted you to be sure to look for oil," he said with a lopsided grin. "Mulder," she sighed in exasperation. "I know, but humor me on this one, please. I can't get it out of my head." He leaned over so that only she could hear him. "Kinda like you," he whispered in her ear. She tried to look stern, but it just wouldn't happen. So she settled for a superior smirk and got in the squad car, leaving him at the curb. Memorial Hospital Robinsonville, New Jersey 11:15 am Mulder walked in just as Scully was washing her hands. "You find anything noteworthy?" he asked, and she couldn't tell if he was teasing or just very hopeful that she had. "If you mean did I find any oil, I have to say yes. If you're now going to ask if I find any significance in that--" she said evenly. He held up his hand to stop her. "Thomas Hampton was an auto body repairman, yeah, I heard." He still grinned at her, and the twinkle in his eyes made her smile back. "But you didn't take that for granted, right." It was a statement, not a request. After all this time, he knew she'd not take anything for granted. "Of course not. But when I messengered the sample, I called and asked about the one I sent yesterday. Mulder, it was 40 weight motor oil." She knew he'd be somewhat disappointed. "That's it, just motor oil? Nothing else?" he asked, doing a poor job of masking the urgency he was feeling. "They said it was motor oil. Now, most cars use 30 weight, but 40 weight is pretty common. They sent it along for some spectral analysis, those results will be in later." She looked at him and felt the need to cheer him up. "It doesn't preclude the possiblity that the perpertrator is connected with the oil, you know, Mulder. It just means it's probably not the 'far out' reason you were first thinking." He shrugged and nodded. "You're right. So we look around for a killer who can cause otherwise perfectly healthy people to have strokes leaving no trace of toxin behind and carries an oil can. Too bad we're not in Kansas, Scully, I think I have a lead on this guy." The twinkle in his eyes was stronger than ever and she gave him a curious frown. "Big guy, silver, carries an axe and wears a funnel for a hat--think Wizard of Oz, Scully," he chided and she grinned at him and shook her head. "I think you're blood sugar level just bottomed out, Mulder," she teased. "C'mon, we both missed breakfast. Let's get something to eat and you can tell me what you found at the crime scene." Mulder refused Scully's suggestion that they could grab a sandwich in the hospital cafeteria, so they went to the diner they'd eaten in the night before. After ordering, Scully watched Mulder toy with the paper covering of his straw until she was ready to strangle him. "Mulder, what did you find?" she asked as calmly as she could. "I pulled some prints, but I don't think they'll lead anywhere, Scully. I've been thinking of your theory of product tampering. I made note of the guy's medicine cabinet--he was into holistic medicine. Not a bottle of Tylenol in the joint. Lot's of seaweed extract, stuff you'd turn your nose up at, but nothing that would be called 'common'. Then I thought about toiletries. I mean, toothpaste, shampoo, barsoap--maybe the stuff is inhaled or absorbed through the skin. It would be a damned sight easier if I knew _what_ the hell I was looking for. But there again, I didn't recognize any of the brands he had--all of it was mail order, probably. This guy just didn't fit. Maybe he was just a stroke waiting to happen." "But he was only 27, Mulder. I checked his family history--no sign of stroke, high blood pressure, no indication that this could be a family connection here. There is no reason that man should have had a massive embolism, Mulder. I even ran a check on his chloresterol level--sometimes the plaque can break away and cause the clot in the brain resulting in the thrombosis. But Mr. Hampton was obviously a health food fanatic--his chloresterol--" She stopped and stared pointedly at Mulder's double cheese burger, dripping with mayonnaise and ketchup colored grease and the seasoned curly fries on their way to his mouth and forced herself to swallow back a scream. "You were saying?" he asked innocently, munching another huge bite out of the burger. "Never mind," she sighed. "Let's just say there was no decernable reason for that man to have a massive stroke and leave it at that. It's too early in the day to try and reform your eating habits, Mulder." She grinned at his wounded look. "Anyway, that reenforces the 'poisoning' theory. But it's got to be fast working--Mr. Hampton had only been dead 4 hours when I performed that autopsy." "Could it be something that our tests don't pick up?" Mulder suggested. "I can't imagine what that could be," Scully replied, pushing away the last of her Cobb salad. "Something hidden in 40 weight oil, perhaps," he shrugged back. "We'll just have to wait for the spectral analysis, then," Scully relented. "What's the plan?" "I want to talk to the families of the victims. Maybe there's a common exposure that we've missed so far. And just because Mr. Hampton has reason for the oil to be on his body doesn't preclude him acquiring it in a non-job related manner. As you said yourself, the guy was a neatnik. Not the kind that would forget to wipe the oil off his hands." "Ankles," Scully corrected. "Again with the ankles," Mulder muttered, his brow wrinkled into a severe frown. "Why the ankles?" "I have no idea, Mulder. I wish I did. But it's obviously another piece to the puzzle." "I'd give my right arm to find the piece with the church steeple on it right now, Scully," he said with a demeaning grin. Of the thirty-two victims, 7 had lived alone with no nearby relatives. That left 25 families to call upon. Mulder suggested that they split the list and thus make a bigger dent into it before calling it a day. Chief Warren had happily loaned Scully the use of his car for the duration of their stay. They agreed to meet back at the motel at 6:30 and get something to eat.. Scully tried for ten minutes to get out the door of Mrs. Janet Wilks house, but the woman just would not stop talking. She glanced at her watch when the older woman wasn't looking and noted that Mulder was probably getting ready to eat the bedspread--it was already after 7:00. "I just don't understand it, Agent Scully. She was so healthy. And smart. She had a full scholarship to Princeton starting in the fall. She was going to be on their basketball team," the woman sobbed into her tissue. "To find my baby girl dead like that--I know the police are thinking it might be some kind of serial killer, but I just feel it was God's will. I know sometimes things happen and there is no reason to be found. It just hurts so much, you understand. It hurts so much to lose someone you love." "I understand, Mrs. Wilks. And I know that sometimes people die unexpectedly. But if there is something else going on, if someone is killing these people, it's my duty to find that person and stop them. Thank you so much for talking to me about this. I know it's painful to dredge up all these personal details so soon after your daugher's death." Mrs. Wilks nodded and Scully was able to take her leave. Ramada Limited 7:25 pm "Have you eaten my toothpaste in retaliation?" she asked as she entered the room. "Nah. You use the gel stuff, and I hate that. But I did find that stash of raisinnettes that you were hiding in your garment bag. It's history," he grinned. "I ordered a pizza about 5 minutes ago. It should be here in another 20 minutes." "Getting psychic on me, Mulder? How did you know I'd get here in time?" "Not a psychic, Scully--just a good bloodhound. I called the last three names on your list. Tracked you down to Mrs. Wilks house, and she told me you'd just left. Your battery is dead on the cell phone, by the way." "Yeah, I noticed. This one doesn't keep a charge. I'll get a new one when we get home. Luckily I have a spare with me." She grabbed jeans and a tee shirt and went into the bathroom to change. "Any luck?" she called out behind the partially closed door. "If you call getting plied with fifteen different cups of coffee 'luck'," he shot back. "The only thing I can say with any certainty after today's interviews is that the people who died have absolutely nothing in common--except having lived in New Jersey." She came out of the bathroom and gave him a tired smile. "Some would say that would be enough," she joked and he rewarded her with a quiet chuckle. "Come here," he commanded and patted the area of the bed next to him. On wooden feet, she trodded over and sat, slump shouldered. Immediately, he got on his knees behind her and started massaging her neck. "Mulder, you are wrong. You _are_ psychic," she sighed contendedly. His chuckled breath brushed her neck as he pushed her hair aside to work on the muscles there. "I don't think so, G-woman. I can just tell when you need a good rub. And when I'm done with you, I fully expect you to reciprocate." "Deal--if I haven't fallen asleep," she murmured and groaned aloud as he hit a particularly painful knot in a muscle. "My stomach growling will keep you awake," he promised. He'd always been able to work magic on her back, but the times had been few and far between. It wasn't until they'd become intimate that he offered to do it more often, and she'd come to rely on it to relax her after a bad day. She stretched her neck over to the side, hoping to encourage him in that direction, but instead of his hand on her skin, she felt the electric sparks that signaled his lips on her body. Her mind had the immediate image of a pitcher of ice just as boiling tea was poured over it--the ice cracking, spliting, exploding as it surrendered to the heat of the tea. She melted completely at his kiss. She turned toward him and grasped his hands to still them. With eyes closed, she reached up and kissed him on the lips, a slow kiss that was meant to make him feel the way he was making her feel. She traced the outline of his upper lip with her tongue and his mouth opened, his own tongue flicking out to find her lips. They dueled a while before his tongue won entry into her mouth. She lost all her breath in her sigh. Pulling back, a little unsteady from lack of air, she pushed him back down on the bed. For a moment, her surroundings escaped her. She wasn't in a motel room, they weren't on a case. They had been transported back to her apartment, her bed, and she wanted more than anything to engage in activities that they kept locked in that room. For his part, Mulder was as guilty, if not more so, of ignoring their rules as she was at this point. His hands were under her tee shirt, brushing across her breasts and causing a tickling sensation that she felt most strongly in her stomach and lower to her very core. She straddled his legs, and could feel the bulge that had started in his own jeans. Leaning over, she kissed him again and smiled when the bulge grew as she plundered his mouth. It was Mulder who figured out that the pounding was not his heart, but the door. The pizza had arrived. Sheepishly, she rolled off him and watched with a decided flush as he paid for the pizza and closed the door. He stood there with the most wonderfully bashful expression. "Decisions, decisions," he muttered as he placed the pizza on the short dresser. "Which am I hungrier for--" "Mulder--" she said in a warning tone. Now that the moment had been interrupted, she'd had the chance to realize what they'd almost done. It was weighing heavy on her mind. He saw her look and knew his decision had been made. It might not be what they wanted, but it was what had been agreed. "Scully, it was my fault. I screwed up. We decided that work is work and play is play and never the twain shall mix. I'm sorry," he said repentently. "That's not it, Mulder. I was as much at fault as you here. I want you. I miss holding you. I miss--" "So do I, but we agreed that we don't focus on anything but _us_ when we allow ourselves to make love. And we need to focus on the case. Otherwise, we're shortchanging the job. And someday, the job might manage to shortchange our lovelife. I don't want the two interferring with each other. But I got carried away with the back rub and I'm sorry. I'll be a good boy, I promise." He held up his right hand, three fingers up, to seal the vow. "Is that a pepperoni pizza, Mulder?" she grinned at him, flashing him a loving look, a look that said she understood completely and he was forgiven, if he forgave her. "Extra cheese, light sauce. One half mushrooms for the fungus lover," he smiled. "You've always known the way to my heart, Mulder," she laughed, and settled down to eat. Robinsonville Police Department 10:15 am At the request of Mulder, the Police Chiefs of all three towns, in addition to John Tower from Trenton were gathering to go over the results of the investigation. More than anything, Scully knew that Mulder was hoping someone would come up with an inspiration that would lead them in a better direction than going around in circles, as they were now. She also knew he'd had a sleepless night, having heard his television all night and heard him going out for a run before the sun had risen. She'd gone over the autopsies three or four more times. It was getting to be frustrating when nothing appeared to be calling out to her. Usually, there was a point in the investigation when the evidence started falling in place. That wasn't the case this time. It was wearing on her nerves. The fact that the Trenton newspaper had picked up the story and put it out on the wire, which resulted in headline stories across the Northeastern Seaboard did nothing to improve her mood. The last thing she wanted was mass hysteria. Skinner had called twice just that morning, the second time he briefly mentioned that he was being asked to hand their reports directly up the chain of command to the Attorney General. The fire under their proverbial kettle was being turned up--the heat was on. "All right, now let's get this straight before we break. Scully and I will finish talking to the families. Chief Warren, I'd like you to handle the local press, John, you handle the guys that cover the national. It's imperitive that we keep this thing under tight control--we don't want rioting in the streets. In the meantime, Scully's expecting an analysis of the one common piece of evidence at all the crime scenes to date--the motor oil. That's due sometime later in the day, hopefully before lunch. When that comes, we should at least be able to issue some form of alert, so we can stop any more deaths." Mulder was standing still at the table, but the tapping of his pencil on the desk was his own form of pacing, Scully thought. "We are going to catch this one, I promise," he added, with more conviction than he'd displayed to her earlier at breakfast. There was a general murmur in the men collected at the table as they rose to their feet and headed off. Scully was called to the phone and prayed that the results of the spectral analysis were in. She took the call at one of the desks in the main squad room, outside the conference room. "Agent Scully, that SA's in. I can fax it if you want," said Agent Curry, the newest member of the Bureau's lab. "Yeah, that would be great, Curry. Let me get the number," Scully said and turned to one of the officers to get the fax number for the station. She glanced over at her partner and started to give him a smile, but it quickly turned into a concerned stare. Mulder had been talking to Chief Simmons. He'd been handed a cup of coffee, and he had taken a sip and was about to take another. Suddenly, the cup fell from his hand, crashing to the floor and splashing hot coffee all over the two men in the process. But Mulder didn't seem to notice. He stared at his hand, as if it weren't his own. Time and sound stopped for Scully. She stood, terrified for a moment as he looked up at her with a confused and frightened look on his face and then he simply crumbled to the ground. When the moment was over, sound returned with a vengence. Everyone in the small, crowded squad room saw the agent fall, and several people hurried over to help. Scully got through the crowd and moved them back as best she could. She looked up to ask someone to call 911, but John Towers was already doing that. "Mulder, can you hear me?" she asked. His eyes were opened but he wasn't talking. He looked at her, opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. She could see the panic in his eyes. It was a look she'd seen before, when he'd been paralysed by a dart from Samuel Aboah. "It's OK, don't try to talk. The ambulance is on its way. Just relax, I'm here. I'm not leaving." She quickly worked at loosening his shirt and tie, trying to make him more comfortable. She checked his pulse at his neck, noting that it was fast, but not erratic. At least he wasn't experiencing a heart attack, what he was going through was bad enough. He lifted his right hand to touch her, but his fingers wouldn't move, he couldn't grasp her arm. He dropped it to his side. She almost didn't notice John Towers leaning down over her until she saw Mulder focus on his friend. "Dana, this isn't what I think it is, is it?" John whispered in her ear, trying to keep from causing his friend more panic. "Not now, John," Scully hisssed, then turned back to Mulder. His eyes were drooping and his mouth hung open. She slapped his cheek to bring him back to consciousness, but it was to no avail. The hospital was close, and even Scully was impressed at the speed in which the ambulance arrived at the police station. The EMTs readied Mulder for transport, supplied him with oxygen and started an IV. Scully informed them that she was his next of kin and could give a complete medical history. At this point, Scully was all too aware of the problem. Mulder was suffering a stroke and time was of the essense. But she also knew that even if they did everything right, there was still a very strong chance that her partner would not survive. end of part three Somewhere Under Wraps 4/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one John drove her to the hospital. The ambulance was just unloading as they arrived, and one of the nurses hurried Scully into the ER to get Mulder's medical history. After they went through his basic information, name, age, smoker and the like, the harder questions surfaced. "Any history of stroke, high blood pressure, heart disease?" the nurse, whose tag announced her as Eman asked in clipped tones. "Yes," Scully replied, trying to see into the curtained exam cubicle where Mulder was being worked on. "His mother recently suffered a stroke, about a year ago." "How's his chloresterol? We'll check for it in the lab, but if you could give us a heads up it would sure help," Eman said, writing furiously. "It was normal last time it was checked. That was, ah, about five months ago." Scully shuddered as she remembered his last hospital stay, following his collapse in his parents summer house in Rhode Island. "Any complaints of headaches, dizziness, weakness on one side or the other, anything else we should know about?" Eman continued, noting that her informant was more than a little distracted. "Ah, yes. He had--an incident," Scully said, furiously trying to put events into words. "He underwent an experimental treatment for memory loss." How in the name of God could she explain to this woman, a nurse, that her partner had willingly let someone drill a hole into his brain, nicking an artery and causing seizures, while taking hallucinagenic drugs? It would make him sound insane, but it would cast her in an equal light for letting him go through with it. "He had a small hole drilled into his skull, on the left side of his forehead, at the hairline. It caused a minor subdural hematoma. The drill nicked a smaller artery, but there was no sign of permanent damage, no paralysis or weakness in his right side. He was fine." Eman made no move to hide her disdain. "Does he do things like that very often?" she asked. "Not when I can help it," Scully replied honestly. "Any relatives that we should be contacting?" Scully thought for a moment. "Not at this time. I'm his next of kin. May I go see him now?" she asked, and Eman lost a little of her detachment when she gave her a sad smile and nodded her head. The doctor in charge of Mulder's treatment was quick to introduce himself. "I'm Jeffery Scott, I'm in charge of the ER here. I've contacted a neurologist I know in Trenton, he's on his way out right now. I understand from Neil Simmons that you're a medical doctor." "Yes, but my speciality is pathology. I'm sorry, I'm not that up on the current treatments of stroke," Scully admitted. Dr. Scott smiled. "Neither am I. That's why I called in the big guns. To be honest, this is the first stroke victim that we've had, even with all the deaths. When it hits, it's been massive enough to be almost immediately fatal. Maybe we can do some good this time," he said with a reassuring smile. "While I had him on the phone, Dr. Morrow did instruct me to get a CAT scan as soon as possible. He'll want to see it when he arrives. He feels that if we begin treatment as soon as we get the initial assessment, your partner stands a much greater chance of a full recovery." Scully was listening as best as she could, but it was only with the last sentence that the events of the last hour made an impact. Her knees started to buckle and Dr. Scott just managed to grab her arm and steer her toward a molded plastic chair before she fell to the ground. He was in front of her in a second. "Dr. Scully, I want you to listen to me. How long has it been since medical school?" he asked not unkindly. "I finished my residency in 1990," she answered, never taking her eyes off her partner. "Well, they have done some wonderous things since 1990. We're coming to terms with stroke, and we're having success with it. That's why I called Bob Morrow. He's one of the best, and I introduced him to his wife, so he owes me big time," Dr. Scott grinned. "I've seen him work wonders. Your partner will be in good hands." Scully simply nodded, not speaking. Eman parted the curtains, followed by two orderlies. "They're ready down in X-Ray, Dr. Scott," she said softly. Dr. Scott looked at Scully as he stood up. "You're welcome to sit in on this, if you want, Dr. Scully," he said, offering her his hand. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that," Scully responded and took his hand as he helped her stand. She reached over and took Mulder's hand as the gurney moved. He was unconscious, but she still leaned over so that she could whisper in his ear. "Still here, G-man. We're going down to X-Ray. Hope you studied for this test because I'll be really upset if you flunk it," she teased. It hurt her more than she would admit that she didn't feel any response in his limp hand. Halfway through the scan, they were joined in the observation room by Dr. Robert Morrow. Dr. Scott got up from his seat next to the computer monitor and let the neurosurgeon take his seat. "Bob, this is Dana Scully. She's a pathologist for the FBI. That's her partner in there, Agent Fox Mulder." Dana shook Morrow's hand. "Are you the ones investigating these allegations of poisoning and their connection to the increase in strokes in this area?" he asked as he started at her intently. "Yes," Dana admitted. "We were searching for a common element, possibly something consumable, that could be involved." Dr. Morrow turned his attention back to the screen. "Well, it looks like your partner just stumbled on something." In color, the interior of Mulder's brain was displayed on the monitor. One area, on the left side of his brain, Dr. Morrow enlarged with a few keystrokes. A colored line, which Dana knew to be an artery, showed with the red stain, up to a point deep in the brain. Abruptly, it stopped. "There's our problem," Morrow announced. "OK, I don't see any bleeding. Jeff, I think we're safe to try t-PA." He turned to Dana. "It's relatively new, but it's been highly successful in clinical trials. It works best when given within three hours of onset of symptoms, which puts us in range right now. It shrinks the thrombosis, and reduces the chances of subsequent strokes. I'd like to begin treatment immediately." "That sounds fine with me," Dana said, somewhat encouraged. "Good. Thanks, Rob. I'll get him up to a room, intermediate care," Jeff added. "I think I'll stick around, see how he settles. Judging from the placement of that clot, he might develop some respiratory problems in the next few hours." By late that evening, Dana found herself sitting beside her partner's bed in the intermediate care unit of the small hospital. It had been decided that he'd be better off remaining there, rather than risk moving him to a large facility in Trenton, as long as Dr. Morrow felt his needs were being met. Dr. Morrow had been right on the money about the respiratory problems, and Dana remembered from her own neurology rotation that swallowing and breathing were often at risk during and immediately after a stroke. A patient often developed pneumonia because saliva ended up going down airways rather than where it was supposed to. Mulder looked pale under the flourescent lighting. The thin tube of the respirator rested on the right side of his mouth. He was on an IV, and was receiving regular dosages of the drug, t-PA. Dr. Morrow had scheduled another CAT scan for the morning, to determine if the clot was indeed shrinking. Now, the only thing she could do was wait. The door behind her creaked open and Dana looked over her shoulder to see John Towers tiptoeing into the room. "He's unconscious, John. You couldn't wake him up if you tried," Dana said with a sad smile. "What did the Trenton neurologist say?" John asked, and Dana was a little surprised that he knew that much. One of the nurses must have been talking to the agent. "It was a stroke resulting from a thrombosis, a blood clot, on the left side of his brain. He's on an anticoagulant, it's been very successful in trials. Dr. Morrow was able to get his hands on a copy of the NIH study--I was just reading through it. It's our best hope, at the moment," she said with a sigh. "Dana, I want you to know, I'm here for you--and Mulder, of course. I called Walter Skinner for you. He sends his regards and wants me to be sure and keep him up to speed. He's going to be sending some additional agents in the morning, I think he might be coming up himself." John was quiet for a moment, wondering how to approach the next subject. "But this has to be hard on you. Why don't you let me take the night shift. You go on back to the motel and get some sleep." Scully shook her head fiercely. "I told him I wouldn't leave him. Thanks for the offer, John, but I want to be nearby, in case he wakes up." "Dana, I don't want to get nasty, but Walt Skinner said to tell you that you're still on the clock. And he gave me a direct order to pass along to you. You are to get some rest. I'm not going to invoke the 'eight hour' rule that he wanted me to, but I think he's right when he says you won't do Mulder any good if you slump over yourself." His words raised her blood pressure considerably, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to leave her alone. "I'll check with the nurses station. Maybe there's a cot in the breakroom they'll let me borrow for a couple of hours," she said tersely. After brushing her hand against Mulder's cheek, she turned to go. As she left the room, she was certain she overheard John whispering to Mulder, "You have your hands full with that one, Casper. But by all accounts, she's worth it." end of part four Somewhere Under Wraps 5/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one 11:21 pm The older style hospital bed was in a small room that had been left over when the hospital had remodeled some years before. The room wasn't big enough for even a private suite, but was too large for a supply closet. It contained it's own bathroom and so the doctors often used it to catch a few winks when they were watching over a patient. Since Jeff Scott had gone home for the night, and Rob Morrow had gone back to Trenton sometime before dinner, Dana had the room for as long as she needed. She was certain she wouldn't sleep, but at least in the privacy of the darkened room, away from prying ears, she could finally give herself some release. She crawled up on the bed, and taking the pillows firmly in her hands, she buried her face in them and sobbed until she was sure her heart would break. The irony plagued her. To think that just a year before, she'd been beside him as he had driven all day to get to his mother's side as she lay striken with the same malady. He'd been so quick to give up at that time. She remembered distinctly the look on his face, the tears that fell from his cheeks as he held his mother's hand in his own. She remembered the feel of his shoulders, the defeat bending them down as he confessed to her that he'd had a link to Samantha and had lost it, yet again. They'd sat for hours that night, just their knees touching. He talked about his feelings of hopelessness. She had once again vowed her help and had given back his hope. She remembered clearly telling him not to give up. But now, when faced with the same situation, she understood how hard it was not to feel defeated. She knew all too well what was happening to her partner. She'd done autopsies on people who had died of stroke. She'd seen the blood clots, known that the cells of the brain died and never regenerated. Brain damage was almost a certainity in any stroke. If Mulder survived, he still only had a 40 percent chance of returning to his previous life. Chances were much better that he would remain impaired permanently. That could range from simple weakness in his right side, to something resembling a vegetative state. If he did regain consciousness, depression over his condition would immediately send him into a tailspin. It would take months of grueling therapy to try and make it back. If that was even an option. She cried for him, but she cried also for herself. They were finally making headway. They were coming to terms with their love for one another and for the first time in her adult life, she wasn't afraid that she would die alone and lonely. She knew he would be beside her, regardless what would occur. >>From the time she'd been informed that she was barren, the thought of never having children had caused her enormous grief, but she had always thought the burden was hers alone. After their first night together, when she had callously joked that at least they didn't have to worry about any 'little surprises', she'd been shocked to find tears in his eyes. He went on to explain that it saddened him to think there would be no little 'uber Scullys' to carry on her spirit in the world. They had wept together, for a long time, cleansing both their hearts in the process. He'd made a commitment then, vowed to her that if she were ever ready for motherhood, he wanted to adopt. It wasn't exactly a marriage proposal, so much was unspoken but understood. And in a strange way, just knowing that he was so much in tune to her feelings had made her feel better. But now, she realized, there was the very real possiblity that their dreams of that future would also be closed to them. That she might lose him, if not to a grave, then to a state of being that would be worse than a grave. He might live for years, but never awaken. Just a shell where a strong and loving spirit had once lived. In time, with a heavy heart, she cried herself to sleep. Hours later, she awoke to his kiss. She knew it was dream, one of her more tame fantasies. He was walking beside her and suddenly leaned down and kissed her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw the blank walls and dull overheads of the little hospital room. She wiped at her cheek where the kiss still warmed her skin and was mildly surprised to find it wet. Leftover tears, she determined. She got up and went to see how Mulder had done during her absense. John was reading when Scully opened the door to Mulder's room. She knew he was taking in her puffy, red eyes, the tear stains on her cheeks, but, to his credit, he said nothing. "The nurse was in a little while ago. His blood pressure is up a bit, but she said that wasn't anything to worry about. I don't know if it's just me, but the last couple of minutes, he's been looking calmer, more comfortable," John told her. She scrutinized him then, trying to determine how much was 'bullshit' for her benefit, and how much was truth. The look he gave her spoke to his sincerity. "Thanks, John," she said quietly, then walked over and stood next to her partner. "John! Get the nurse!" she shouted over her shoulder. The nurse at the desk placed a call for Dr. Scott. Mulder was slowly regaining consciousness. The movement of his eyelids that had sent Scully into such excitement was accompanied by some movement on his left side. His eyes were still only partially opened, but he swallowed against the tube in his throat and Scully was certain that he could hear her. She sat on his left side now. She'd gently turned his head so that he could see her through the small slit between his lashes. His blinks were slow and langorious, like he was drunk, but she didn't mind. It was a good sign to have him open his eyes at all. She's spent the half hour they waited for Dr. Scott murmuring to him about anything she could think of. She told him that he was in the hospital, and she apologized that he was going to have to eat hospital food once again. She told him that Skinner was coming and that, if nothing else, Mulder's little 'stunt' of the day before had won them both a well-deserved vacation. She chided him for going a little too far to find the evidence. She never let go of his hand. Even though he was pleased with the improvement, Dr. Scott advised Scully to wait until the scheduled CAT scan later in the morning before getting her hopes up. She tried to put a lid on her excitement, but after the night she'd had, it wasn't going to happen. After Scott left, she felt Mulder's hand tighten around her own and she looked up to find him focusing on her face. He blinked and focused again and she smiled at him, her best smile, the one she saved just for him. His hand relaxed, even though the fingers remained curled around hers, and she watched him drift off to sleep. Assistant Director Walter Skinner arrived just as Mulder was being wheeled into the CT machine. At her request, Dr. Scott agreed to allow him into the computer room, as long as he remained quiet. Scully could see it rankled her superior to be told to 'behave' but he also seemed grateful for any information on her partner. The computer screen glowed against Skinner's glasses, Scully noted. Sitting in the room, watching Mulder being swallowed by the huge machine in the glass enclosed room, she suddenly flashed back to another room, another CT machine. Then, Mulder had only been a faint ghost image reflected back at her from the camera he had fastened to his headpiece. He was hunting a murderer, one they both knew could manipulate people in any way he wanted. She remembered watching Mulder turn toward the glass of the enclosed room and in a voice so quiet that only she could hear he murmured 'I love you' to her before the video screen went blank and she knew he was in trouble. The dread she felt at the moment so long ago was with her again, so she was a little taken back when a large, warm hand found it's way to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She looked up and saw Skinner, his eyes full of reassurance and support. She gave him a weak smile and leaned into his hand. This time, Dr. Scott saved his comments for the privacy of his office. Mulder was taken back to his room and Skinner agreed to sit with him while Scully talked to the doctor. Scott had taken the time to fax the results of the scan to Rob Morrow, who was currently on the speaker phone in Scott's office. "How bad is it?" she asked. She'd tried to watch the image on the computer screen, to analyze it herself, but what she'd seen had frightened her so much that she wanted someone else to explain it to her. "I won't beat around the bush, Dr. Scully," Morrow's electronic tinted voice said, and Scully knew his tone had to be practiced. He was giving bad news and there was no way a person could do that without hurting a little themselves, Scully was all too aware of that. "The t-PA did the trick, at least as much as it could. The clot is reducing and there is some limited flow to that area of the brain. But there was massive destruction among the cells in the affect area. We can't be certain until he's more fully conscious, but I'm afraid he's facing paralysis, possibly total paralysis on his right side." Scully's excitement from earlier in the morning evaporated like a brief shower in the middle of the desert. Not enough moisture to sustain life, it only left the earth feeling more bereft. "But he's waking up," she heard herself saying. Deep inside her, the skeptic that she was wasn't ready to accept defeat just yet. "Yes, and I expect him to be more fully awake by the end of the day," Morrow replied. "But waking up may not be enough in this case. He still might not be capable of breathing on his own, he still will have to be fed. He won't have movement of any kind on his right side. We don't know for how long, or if he'll ever regain any of that sensation. I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. I just want you to know what might lie ahead." Scott cleared his throat to break into the conversation and picked up a piece of paper. "While he's still critical, Rob and I think it's best to keep him here. But in the next week or so, as we assess what we're dealing with, I suggest you start looking for a private facility to accommodate him." "He'll come home, with me," she said firmly and hated it when her voice cracked at the word home. "Dr. Scully," Scott answered her with a gentle sadness in his eyes, "you know that might not be the best place for him. Or for you, for that matter. He's going to require extensive therapy, regardless of his improvement. A private facility can meet his needs, and you will still be allowed to visit, as long and as often as you want. The world goes on, Dr. Scully," Scott added kindly. "You have to live in the world--for both of you now." "I want a second opinion on any treatment from now on," Scully replied, her voice now cold as stone. Scott did his best to hide the arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "I don't think that will change the outcome, Dr. Scully." "I can fax you a list of neurosurgeons in the New York area," Rob said on the speaker. "As well as a list of suitable facilities in the DC that you might want to consider." She bit her lip hard and nodded, then left the room without saying a word. Scully was stumbling with tears clouding her vision as she made it back to Mulder's room. As she entered, she realized that Skinner was still there and even though it was the last thing she ever wanted, she couldn't hold the sobs back any longer. She felt the strong arms reach around her, guide her to the chair, still warm from where her boss had been keeping watch for her. She suddenly became aware of a handful of tissues being pressed into her fingers and a hand rubbing tender circles on her back. It was a long time before she could acknowledge any of these comforts, so she just sat and cried and let herself be engulfed in his presense. Finally gaining a foothold on her control, she sat up straighter and Skinner dropped his hand, then pulled another chair up next to her. She started to talk, but he held up a hand and stopped her. "Take your time, Dana. Just sit for a minute. I'm not going anywhere." She smiled at his use of her first name. She'd never heard him call her that before in the entire time she'd known him. "Thank you, sir," she whispered and took a few deep breaths before taking a sip of water that he'd gotten for her. She looked over at Mulder, grateful that he appeared to be still asleep. "Was he awake at any time?" she asked. "No, not that I could tell. The nurses checked him when they brought him back from the scan, but he's been sacked out all the time I've been here." Skinner looked over at Mulder and swallowed hard. "Scully, you don't have to tell me everything--I just wondered . . ." "It was a stroke, sir," she said, interrupting his apology. "Massive, on the left side of his brain. As far as we can determine, he's paralyzed on the right side. He was partially awake a little this morning, but he's still critical. He's asleep now, and that's the best place for him." Skinner closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, he was all business. "I assume you've been given a prognosis." She nodded sadly. "They can't say for certain. The clot is reducing, but the cells in that part of the brain were without oxygen for over twenty hours. A cell is just like a human in regards to air, sir. No one could live in a vaccuum without air for twenty hours. That's the problem with a stroke. Even after the inital emergency, it takes weeks sometimes to understand how extensive the damage is. It's too difficult to determine how many cells were killed in the primary attack." "But his mother had a stroke, last year," Skinner was quick to interject. "She's fully recovered, from the reports Agent Mulder gave me." Again, Scully nodded. "Yes sir. And her attack was equally severe. I have no explanation for her recovery, sir. By all indications at the time, she wasn't likely to survive at all, much less recover fully." Scully looked up at Skinner and gave him a sad smile. "Miracles do happen, sir. I've never denied that possiblity. I've just learned not to expect them." A single tear fought it's way loose from her bottom lashes and careened down her right cheek. She wiped at it angrily with her fist. "Maybe some miracles require outside assistance," Skinner said. "You, of all people, should know that." He stood up and placed a hand on Mulder's head, his expression thoughtful. "Don't give up hope, Dana. He never has," he said and left the two agents alone. John Towers was by later in the afternoon. Mulder had come around again, and was a little more alert. He tried to turn his head at the sound of his old friend's voice, but the muscles in his neck refused to budge. Scully directed John to come over and stand on the left side, next to her. Mulder's left side of his mouth crept up in a grotesque imitation of a smile, but just the sight of him trying made Scully's heart almost burst with pride. 'How's the investigation going," she asked, when they'd arranged the chairs so they could sit next to each other and Mulder could see them both. She felt Mulder squeeze her hand in gratitude for bringing the subject up. He might be in serious condition, but he's still working this case, she mused, and once again was amazed at her partner's persistence. "They sent a guy named Colton. I think he works out of Baltimore now," Towers said. Dana had a difficult time hiding her disgust at the mention of her old acquaintance and noticed that Mulder's grasp of her hand was almost bone crunching in it's intensity. "Pardon me for asking, but is this guy on some unofficial shit list with you two? I only ask because if it's something that might impede the case--" "No, John, honestly," Dana was quick to make amends. "Tom's a decent agent. I've heard he's done some good work in the last few years. But he hates Mulder. It was a weird form of jealousy, more than anything. Tom and I were friends at the Academy and he just couldn't take it when I chose following Mulder's leads over his on a case once. Mulder was right, but Tom never admitted it. I've not seen nor heard from him since then. I just hope he focuses on the case, and doesn't see this as a way to get back at us." "Well, I've made it clear that Mulder's illness is the reason we've added more agents. I'll 'impress upon him' the importance of this investigation," John said grimly. "Is that 'impress' as in--" Dana asked, leaving John to fill in the blank. "I don't think you want to know, Dana," John said with a quiet smile. "No use making you a co-conspirator. Anyway, Mulder appears to be our last victim, to date." Scully shook her head. "I don't know if Mulder fits the victim profile, John. His mother had a stroke just last year. It's in his family. He eats all the wrong stuff, he's sleep habits would render most people zombies, he was feeling frustrated because we couldn't get a handle on this case. It's very possible that he just had a stroke." She looked over, suddenly realizing that her partner, the person she was describing, was awake in the same room. In all likelihood, he'd heard and understood every word. Mulder raised his left hand and started grabbing at the air with his fingers. Scully frowned in confusion, but John picked up the gesture almost immediately. He dug in his pocket and found a small pad, then a pen. Scully had to swallow back the overwhelming feeling of deja vu--the scene reminded her so much of the one she'd participated in when his mother had been in the hospital. John put the pen in Mulder's hand, curling the fingers around it, then held the pad in a position so that Mulder could write. Scully watched intently as Mulder fought his hands sluggishness to form the first letter. S. Then a moment before another ragged letter appeared. R. He was grunting now with the effort, but another letter moved on the page. S. She watched him try to take a breath, but the ventilator stopped him. He tried again to move the pen. G. SRSG. The pen went slack in his hand as he dropped it to his side and stared hard at her, willing her to understand. She took the pad from John's hand and held it to the light. SRSG. Nonsense. Not a word, no vowels. It meant nothing to her--just gibberish from an injured man. He was still staring at her and the pen dropped completely from his hand as he reached for her. She took his fingers in her hand and the touch of their skin was electric. She gazed long and hard into his hazel eyes, he was desparate for her to understand what he was telling her. Suddenly, the letters appeared in her mind's eye. This time, though, they weren't in black Waterman ink. They were in blood. Smeared across the floor of Mulder's apartment, next to the body of a man she knew only as X. "Special Representative to the Secretary General?" she asked, breathless. He couldn't nod, so he simply closed his eyes, but the relief was obvious. He motioned for the pen again, and this time she put it in his hand and held the pad. After painstaking moments, he drew a small heart, like a child would draw, and next to it the letter U. She smiled at him, her special smile. "I love you, too, G-man." She leaned over and kissed his lips. "Get some rest," she whispered. Once again, his eyelids drooped and he drifted off to sleep. "Wanna tell me what that was all about?" John asked seriously. Scully smiled ruefully. "No, John. I don't want to make you a co-conspirator," she replied and promptly changed the subject. John had once again offered to take the night shift, but she could see the strain his vigilence was causing. His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles gave his face a ragged appearance. "Thanks just the same, John, but I think it's time to call in the reenforcements," she smiled. Dana's mother was unavailable, having decided for once in her life to take the ads in the diocesean newspaper seriously and make a pilgrimmage to the Holy Lands. Although Dana knew her mother would return the minute she heard of Mulder's illness, Dana didn't want to make her come back when there was very little she could do. No, Dana decided, it was time for his own mother to take up the burden. It was a difficult call to make, but she squared her shoulders and dialed the number from her small address book. After two rings, the line was connected. "Hello?" "Mrs. Mulder, this is Dana. Dana Scully." "Oh, yes, dear, how are you?" the older woman asked amiably. Then, as if the thought suddenly occured to her, she drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, dear god, it's Fox, isn't it?" "Mrs. Mulder, please. I have some distressing news and I need you to stay calm. Fox has had a stroke--" "That's impossible," the older woman interrupted. "He's too young, he's only 36!" "I understand how you feel, but I've seen the CAT scans myself. He's here in Robinsonville, a small town just outside Trenton, New Jersey." "Why haven't you taken him to Trenton or New York? There must be better facilities there. How is he? Is he conscious, can he speak? When did this happen?" The questions were all demanding answers and Scully was trying to keep them all straight in her mind. "Mrs. Scully, we have a neurosurgeon from Trenton working on Fox' case. He has advised us to keep him here. Believe me, if it appears that it would improve his chances, I'd have Fox moved in a minute." Her calm voice over the line seemed to have an equal affect on the older woman. "Of course you would, Dana. I'm sorry. I know I should expect this kind of news with him, but it still comes as such a shock. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to question your decisions. I know how much you care for him." "Yes, I do care for him," Dana admitted. "He's in and out, right now, Mrs. Mulder. I don't want to leave him, but I have to make a trip tomorrow. I'm hoping to find some information that could help in a case--a case that we were working on when Fox became ill. I know it's a lot to understand, but he's indicated, as best as he could, that I should make this inquiry for him and I feel I need to go." "Is he able to speak?" his mother asked. "No, not speak. But he can write, very limited of course. I just feel he's counting on me to do this for him and I can't deny him, Mrs. Mulder. I just can't." "Of course not. Tell me, what can I do? Do you need me there?" "Yes, I think that would be best. He needs you, Mrs. Mulder. He needs everyone who loves him right now." "Give me the name of the town and the hospital again, Dana. I'll be there just as soon as I possibly can." With John's help, and the help of some of the agents from the Boston field office, Mrs. Mulder was on her way to Robinsonville and was expected to arrive sometime during the night. John convinced Dana that he could hold down the fort until Fox' mother arrived, and with great relunctance, she plodded down to the little private room and collapsed on the bed, falling asleep as her head hit the pillow. end of part five Somewhere Under Wraps 6/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one She snuggled closer to his bare chest, her head resting on his shoulder. Mulder was so warm, his skin was so smooth--like the satin sheets under them. "I love you, G-woman," he murmured into her hair. She giggled, his breath tickled her scalp. "You find that funny?" he asked, in mock annoyance. "You tickled me," she replied in a sleepy voice. "No, Agent Scully. _This_ is tickling," he corrected her and took that opportunity to reach his long fingers around her waist and dig into the muscles of her side. She couldn't stop her reaction with a tank--she started laughing uncontrollably. "Stop . . .Stop . . . Mulder, STOP THAT!" she commanded between peals of laughter and gasps for breath. As quickly as he'd begun, he ceased his actions, letting his hand rest on her bare hip. His fingertips danced in a slow small circle, caressing her skin. "I need this, Dana," he said after a few quiet minutes. "I need this to go on." He was silent for a while then, he voice trembled a little when he next spoke. "I'm so afraid." That thought got her attention. "Afraid of what, Mulder?" she asked with deepening concern. "Afraid that I'll lose you, that I won't find my way back. God, I don't ever want to lose you, Dana. Never," he admitted and she looked up to see tears in his eyes. She didn't understand his fear, but she knew better than to question him on it. She knew what he needed right then, and it was confidence in them, in their love. "Well, put that fear aside, Fox," she said with solid assurance. "I'm never going to let you go." "I'm counting on that," he said, swallowing his tears and leaning down to catch her lips with his. He kissed her long enough to take her breath away. As he continued to kiss her cheeks and her nose, her chin. His right hand reached up and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. "I saw the most amazing thing last night, Scully," he murmured against her skin. "Uh-huh," she encouraged him, though for the life of her she didn't know if she was encouraging his statement or his actions. "It was like the invasion on the beaches at Normandy. Millions of them, all with one goal. Only one could be successful, but they all seemed to go after it as if they were guaranteed that they would be that one. It took my breath away." His thumb and index finger were massaging her right nipple as he dipped his mouth to suckle her left nipple. Her head soared as her stomach clenched with desire. "You're taking my breath away, Mulder," she sighed, and ran her hands over his back, bringing them up to knead his shoulder muscles. "God, I love your back," she complimented him. "Thank you," he said, her nipple still in his mouth and it made her giggle. His right hand left her breast and she frowned at the cold air that hit it, but he moved his hand down onto the smooth expanse of the stomach and she tingled, anticipating his next move. "I guess I should feel a bit superior. I mean, I've heard they survive in the right conditions for up to seven days, but I never imagined it actually worked that way in real life." He was kissing his way down her stomach and then he stopped his direction and moved over to place gentle kisses at her right side, near her waist. "Right there. That's where it all began," he informed her. "I love you so much, you know that don't you?" His one-sided conversation was leaving her in the dust. She had no idea what he was talking about, nor, at that moment, did she give a damn. "Mulder, less talk, more action," she growled low in the back of her throat. His hands were now stroking the tops of her thighs. Her fingers were curled in his hair, but occasionally would travel down and tickle his ear and caress the soft spot behind his ear. He groaned. "One ovum, Scully. That's all it takes. 40 million sperm to one little ovum." "Mulder, can we talk biology later?" she pleaded. "You don't look different. Not yet at least. Your breast aren't any heavier. You don't seem overly sensitive. God, will you feel different? I can't wait to see you plumped up and huge and glowing and radiant," he told her through smoky eyes. "Now that I know it's true, I can't wait, Scully." "Mulder, stop talking," she ordered without ceremony and with no acknowledgement of his words. All she could hear was the sound of the ocean roaring in her ears. She was lost at sea, but safe in his arms. She held him tight and they both washed out to sea, dragged under by the currents and then pounded by the surf back to the shore. "Too late guys. The room's been rented," he gasped and collapsed upon his arms, holding himself off her until he could balance enough to roll next to her and pull her close. She was almost asleep when he kissed her forehead. "Watch yourself with Marita, G-woman. She's a viper in snakes clothing. Don't believe anything she gives you willingly. That's how she'll set you up. If you don't have to pull teeth to get it, it's a lie." "I'll be careful," Scully vowed sleepily. "I love you. Remember that. And what you've given me, what you're going to give me, it's more than enough reason to fight my way back, love. I won't give up without a fight." "Good, because neither will I," she replied, and snuggled in his arms and into a fast and restful sleep. She woke up some time later. The same dull white walls greeted her. The same rough, starched sheets lie tangled around her waist. It had been a dream, she realized with an empty feeling inside her. All a dream. But as she moved to get up off the bed, she couldn't help but notice the telltale sticky wetness between her legs, or the very recoginizable odor that rose up to meet her from the sheets. She knew that odor from her own bed, when she and Mulder had made love. It was the scent of their bodies joined, and belonged just to them and them alone. That truly was one hellava dream. Robinsonville Memorial Hospital 7:05 am Scully could hear her partner's mother's voice in a low murmur as she approached the door. Not wanting to intrude, she gave a soft rap on the doorcasing before pushing the door the rest of the way open. Mrs. Mulder looked up and smiled tiredly as Dana came into the room. A glance at her partner told her that he was awake, but just barely. She smiled back at his mother before coming to stand next to the bed and taking his hand. "Hey, G-man. Keeping your Mom company, I see. Try not to monopolize the conversation," she teased softly. His mouth quirked up on the left side, what she'd come to recognize as a smile. He flexed his fingers to reach for her hand and she grabbed his and gave it a light squeeze before bringing it to her lips to place a kiss on his knuckles. He moved his fingers, curling around her's. She nodded and picked up the pad and pen from the bedside table. He struggled with the pen for a moment before the letters N and Y appeared on the page. "I'm driving up. I leave at 8:30. I figure I'll meet this person at the office--less chance they'll try to run on me there," she confided. He blinked once and swallowed. She could tell that the tube down his throat was irritating to him, and she winced in sympathy when he grimaced in pain. "Sorry about the respirator, but hopefully it won't be necessary much longer," she told him. "Just as soon as you're strong enough, I'll make sure they lose the darned thing, OK?" He flashed his thanks with his eyes. "I think he's looking better this morning," Mrs. Mulder said, breaking into their private conversation. "I mean, I got here about midnight and he seemed to be distraught--restless even though he was sound asleep. Then, about an hour or so later, he seemed to be calmer, not as pale. Then, about 6:30, he woke up and gave me a smile." She reached over and patted his leg, smiling at her son. Scully furrowed her brow. 6:30 was just about the time she was waking up that morning, too. The images of their lovemaking from her dream were so strong as to cause her a physical reaction. She blushed, hoping his mother didn't notice that she was practically drooling over her partner. New Jersey Turnpike North toward New York 9:00 am The New Jersey Turnpike rolled underneath her at close to 78 miles an hour. Usually, Scully wasn't one to speed, but she didn't feel like maintaining the posted 65 miles an hour limit. She'd hated leaving Mulder at the hospital. She waited until he fell asleep and even then, it took her almost half an hour to get out the door. His mother had been very understanding, even going down to 'get a cup of coffee' so that the two could have a few moments alone together. Scully had taken the opportunity to kiss him goodbye. While he was sleeping, it was almost possible for her to ignore the respirator tube snaking down his throat, or the fact that he'd not moved a single muscle on the right side of his body for over 48 hours. It was almost possible to convince herself that he was just sleeping, that he would wake up and yawn and stretch and take her in a bear hug before clamoring off to the shower and starting the day. She could almost make herself believe he was all right. Almost. Her thoughts drifted back to the dream of the night before. It had been so real, so tactile. She could still taste the sweat as she kissed his chin, smell his breath as he kissed her. Feel his hands gliding over her body, bringing her alive. He'd spoken in her dream. She realized suddenly, that never in any of her other erotic dreams had he ever spoken. Or if he did speak, she never remembered what he said. But she remembered him speaking in this dream, and she still puzzled at what he was saying. Something about an invasion? Beaches at Normady. Something about ovum and sperm. Something about not being able to wait to see her plump? It made absolutely no sense. But then, why should a dream Mulder make any more sense than a real Mulder, she wondered. Then she remembered the warning. Funny, she'd taken that in stride. It seemed perfectly natural for Mulder to warn her to watch her back. And especially when dealing with one of his 'informants'. She didn't know a lot about Marita Corrvarubus, but what she did know, she didn't like. The woman was a consummate gamesman, and had been instrumental in getting Mulder into Russia several months before. And into a Russian gulag, Scully fumed silently. Mulder had been very closed mouth about his time in the prison camp. His entire report consisted of telling her that the water was bad, the toilet was a hole in the corner of the cell and he missed his couch. But his eyes held a haunted look as he spoke, like there was something else he wasn't telling her. Something so horrible that to speak it aloud would cause him more pain than keeping it secret would cause her. Scully was willing to bet her bottom dollar that Marita knew what that horror was. And that she would use it to her advantage. Dana negotiated the streets of New York, heading for the United Nations building, thinking about Mulder's informants. Scully had never trusted any of them. She remembered distinctly the night that his first informant, the man she called Deep Throat had died in her arms. At the time she'd felt that he'd been sent to throw them off track, to impede their work. After his death, she discovered that he was a safety net she never knew they had--or needed. Next came X. At least with X she always knew where she stood--on the receiving end of his Sig. She didn't like X any better than she liked Deep Throat, but at least she could understand him. He was in the game, but his strong sense of self-preservation was always present, visible, tangible. If sides were to be taken, there was no doubt where he would stand--he would stand only for himself and no one else. Before his death, she'd almost come to respect him for that. Then Mulder had stumbled across Marita. She'd once tried to find out more about her, using the UN databases. She was at an assistant's level, really just a glorified secretary, but she seemed to have powers that went beyond the strictly clerical. And Scully had, at one time, been jealous of her. Mulder didn't play the field. In the time she'd known him, she could have counted his dates on one hand. But the little she could determine about Marita from dealing with her second hand through Mulder, Scully was positive the woman knew the true meaning of the words 'sleep your way to the top'. Sure, it was a sexist attitude on Scully's part. But Scully had been around long enough to know that attitude didn't make the impression false. Scully hated Marita from the moment she first knew she existed. She now had to steel herself to deal with the woman. It was a faint hope at best, but she couldn't stop feeling that maybe Marita could help Mulder's condition. If that were the case, she'd deal with the devil himself. She wove her way through the building, looking every bit the seasoned professional she was. Her fitted business suit melted right in with the bureaucrats surrounding her. Government was pretty much the same, she'd discovered, on any level. World government meant bigger budgets, nothing more. The offices for the Special Representatives were on the 14th floor. A great view of the harbor was out the window of the ante room she was ushered into. She glanced at the coffee table, noting a copy of People Magazine sat buried under copies of the Far Eastern Economic Review and the Christian Science Monitor. She decided against any of them and sat, her hands playing with the nap of the side chair she sat on. Marita came through the door looking expectant. "Agent Scully, I must say I'm a little surprised to see you here," the blond woman said in a smoky voice that Scully despised instantly. Scully stood up and straightened her back, giving the impression of more height than she'd been graced with. "No doubt," Scully replied, with a even gaze. "But I'm here on behalf of my partner. He's taken ill, but he felt that you might have some information that could help us on a case we're working on." "How is Agent Mulder?" Marita purred, and Scully felt the concerned look was a bit more than was necessary. "He's suffered a stroke," Scully said. To be honest, she didn't want to go into any great details with this woman, but Scully was sure Marita knew as much about Mulder's condition as she did herself and was willing to play the game if it gave her any clues. "That seems awfully strange, given his age. He never seemed in ill health to me," Marita said with a shrug. "He wasn't. Neither were any of the other thirty people that have died of strokes in a small area of west central New Jersey. That's what we were investigating. That's why I'm here." Might as well lay all my cards on the table, Scully determined. All she wanted was out of that office. Marita pursed her lips and thought for a moment. Then she walked back through the door to her office, coming out again with a folder. "I believe you are familiar with this substance already, Agent Scully. You've dealt with it before." She handed Scully a file folder. "You and Agent Mulder spent a great deal of time earlier this year tracking down the origin of a rock that came into this country in a diplomatic pouch. An exobiologist at Goddard Space Center tried to determine it's origin, and paid for the information with his life. The entire population of a nursing home in Florida was likewise adversely affected. You should know that other samples of that very same rock are currently being brought into the United States every month, but they aren't going through customs, nor are they inspected by anyone in your government." "How is that possible?" Scully asked, flipping through the folder. Her heart dropped--it was the Mars Rock, as Mulder called it. Scully was never entirely sure what it's exact contents were, but she knew how it affected people--most of them ended up dead. The file contained copies of bills of lading, products from a company called 'Pristine, Ltd.' that had it's headquarters in Helsinki, Finland. She finally came to a page that had been highlighted in yellow marker. "Water purifiers?" "For home use," Marita said with a nod. "Most purifiers use charcoal filters. There are other substances that can be used. In the case of a few dozen, you might be interested to learn that the substance used originated in Tunguska, Siberia." Marita's totally even expression seemed to downplay the impact of her last words. "The Mars rock," Scully whispered, staring at the pages but not seeing them. "Agent Scully, I don't know how much your partner told you about his time in Siberia. To tell the truth, I'm not sure how much he remembers. But it does have some bearing on this case. And I can assure you that it's the reason he is alive." Those words broke Scully out of her ruminations. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "Those people died of stroke caused by direct contact with the lifeform living in that rock. But the stroke your partner experienced was caused by the same lifeform--one that seems to thrive in an oil based environment. The others died, he didn't. Would you believe me if I told you that Fox Mulder was exposed to and contracted the disease commonly refered to as 'the black cancer' while he was in Russia? But he was also the only person to receive a prophylactic injection of a serum they hoped would prevent the adverse reaction to the cancer. Agent Scully, your partner has been experimented on by people not of your government and apparently, he passed." "Passed?" Scully hissed, barely able to breath. "He's paralysed on his right side. He can't breath without the aid of a tube down his throat. He may never walk again, talk again--and you're telling me he passed a test? What the hell kind of test leaves the subject a vegetable? And what do you mean he contracted the black cancer? We found no sign of it when he returned." "Agent Scully, your test wouldn't show it's presense. These people are quite thorough," Marita smiled in return. "Who are these people? Tell me who they are, how I can find them?" Scully ordered. Marita smiled again. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you because I don't know. But you shouldn't be so quick to give up on your partner. His intial condition can be reversed, with time. Miracles happen, Agent Scully. You, of all people should understand that." The woman turned to leave. "Oh, by the way, congratulations, to you and your partner." She was through her door before Scully had a chance to ask her what she meant. end of part six Somewhere Under Wraps 7/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one Scully hadn't even made it to her car before she was dialing Skinner's number on her cell phone. Kimberly put her right through to the Assistant Director. "Scully, how's Mulder?" Skinner asked without greeting. "He was asleep when I left him, sir. That was about 9 this morning." She glanced at her watch, it was just a little before noon. "Sir, I'm in New York." "I don't think I want to know this, but why are you in New York, Scully?" Skinner replied tersely. "I have a lead on the case in New Jersey, sir. But I need your help. I'm going to be sending some samples to our labs. It's imperative that they receive the topmost security and that the lab techs maintain level four containment procedures." "This sounds like something for CDC, Scully. We aren't equipped for that kind of hazard," Skinner advised. "Then we need to borrow their labs, sir, but we need to keep control of this. I'm certain it relates to the deaths surrounding the rock from Russia. Sir, please, indulge me in this. Do everything in your power to make sure the FBI stays in this loop. I'm afraid if we don't all the evidence will disappear--just like the rock did last time," she added forcefully. "That's an eventuality I'd like to avoid, Scully. Just as much as you would," Skinner assured her. "I'll get to work on the details. Now, you go and get us the materials. And Scully--" "Yes, sir?" she responded. "Be careful. One agent in critical condition is enough for any partnership. Let Towers and his people handle the details. I'll see what I can do about getting a detox team up there before nightfall." "Thank you, sir. I'll be counting on you." Without thinking, her fingers punched the first speed dial number on the phone. It rang for some time before a strange voice answered. It took her a moment to recognize Mrs. Mulder's voice. "Hello?" the older woman said hesitantly. "Mrs. Mulder? This is Dana. I was just--" She stopped. I was just so excited about the case I completely forgot that my partner couldn't answer my phone call, even if he was awake enough to understand what I was saying, she thought. With a heavy sigh, she continued. "I was wondering how our guy's doing," she finally choked out. "Oh, Dana, it's been a good day. The doctor removed the respirator just before lunch. Fox had a bit of trouble swallowing, we're still working on liquids. But he seems more comfortable without that thing sticking down his throat. And he's writing a bit more. Just one word or two. I remember how it is, it's so frustrating. But at least he's able to communicate." Scully could hear the woman talking to someone in the background, she assumed it was her partner. "Dana, are you still there?" "Yes, ma'am, I'm still here, but not for long. I'm on the exit for the Lincoln tunnel," she said while she negotiated the off ramp "I just wanted to put the phone up to Fox' ear so he could hear you. I know he's been worried about you while you've been gone. Here, I'm putting the phone up to him now." Scully took a deep breath. "Hey, G-man. I've got some good news. There might be a common link after all. Remember Mars rocks?" She stopped when she realized she had asked him a question and caught herself before she did it again. "Look, I'm on my way back. The tunnel is a little slow, but I should be back by the end of your afternoon nap." She swallowed to keep the tears out of her voice. "I love you, Mulder. I'll see you soon." After a moment of silence, Mrs. Mulder was back on the line. "Dana, Fox just wrote you a message. Here, let me see what it says. Oh. I think he wrote 'careful'. Yes, he's smiling at me, it must be careful. He wants you to be careful." "Tell him I will," Dana said with a smile at his concern. "And Mrs. Mulder--would you tell him, . . . tell him again that I love him," she choked. "As often as I can, dear. As often as I can." After a quick call to the Danny, Mulder's favorite researcher, to look up the United States distributor for Pristine, Ltd, her next call was to John Towers. "John, I've got a lead on the case. Go back and check the inventory of the victims homes and track down any water purifiers. We're looking for a brand manufactured by 'Pristine, Limited'. I should have the distributor by later this afternoon." "Water purifiers? You mean they put poison in the purifiers?" John gasped. "Something like a poison, yes," Scully replied, deciding not to go into details just yet. "But John, if you find one, do NOT touch it. Repeat: do not touch it. This substance can be absorbed through the skin. Now, not all the purifiers are affected but we aren't taking any chances. The Assistant Director is sending up a decon team to handle the materials, I just need your people to secure the locations and the stores where they were purchased so the decon guys don't have to rampage through the towns looking for these things. Have you seen them before?" "Yeah, my wife has one, but not from Pristine--that I know of. They look like a water pitcher with a little filter that hangs down?" John asked. "Those are the ones, yeah. And make sure you alert everyone to avoid contact with them. I suspect we've seen the results of most of the contaminated filters already, but there is a possiblity that there are one or two still floating around." "Oh, God, Dana, do you think that's what happened to Mulder?" John's sigh caused Scully's own chest to constrict. "Yeah, John, I do," she whispered, not trusting her voice to normal tones. "Shit," came the anquished reply. After a moment, John continued. "I went up to see him earlier. His mom was with him. He's looking a little better, without that tube down him. Dana?" "Yeah, John?" "If you two need _anything_, anything at all . . ." The rest of the sentence was lost in a deep, sorrowful breath. "Thanks, John. I'll keep that in mind. Right now, let's put a lid on this case. I think that would be the best thing for everyone." Scully arrived at the hospital a little before three. When she got to the room, Mrs. Mulder looked up and smiled. "Sweetheart, look who's back," she said happily. Mulder's eyes blinked open. This time when he smiled, Scully was certain that at least a couple of muscles on the right side of his face responded and she saw him flex a finger on his right hand. Her heart soared as she leaned over him and gave him a kiss, totally ignoring his mother's presense in the room. "G-man, you've been busy," she purred in his ear and he smiled crookedly again. "A new doctor came by. Dr. Foster. He said you'd called him," Mrs. Mulder said, and didn't seem to notice that his partner had just given her son a very passionate kiss. "Yeah, I did. Paul Foster's a neurologist that I went to med school with. I looked up his number this morning and called him on the way up to New York. What did he say?" she asked as she sat down in one of the chairs next to the bed. "Well, he said it was too soon to tell for certain, but there is every indication Fox is regaining at least some control over his right side. He said that the fact that his eyes have both been working in tandem, that he focuses with both of them, indicates that the damage was not as severe as we might have thought." The older woman looked over at her son with a sad smile. "Guess it takes more than a stroke to keep us down, huh, baby boy?" "That's interesting," Dana mused. "After talking to Dr. Scott and Dr. Morrow yesterday, I was afraid we were in for a difficult time. I never thought about the fact that both his eyes opened at the same time." "Well, that's why you called in a second opinion, isn't it, dear? To make sure we didn't miss something important? I'm just happy we have some good news. Of course, Dr. Foster did make sure that we understood this would still be a long recovery. There is still the possiblity that some weakness will remain. But generally speaking, Fox has a good chance of making a full recovery," she concluded proudly. "Oh, Dr. Foster did want to talk to you, dear. He said he'd call later." "I want to talk to him," Dana said with a determined look. "And I want to talk to Dr. Morrow, too, for that matter. I can't believe they tried to get me to put you in a nursing home--" She skidded to an abrupt stop when she realized how much she'd just revealed. She could feel the blood red blush flare on her face and she prayed he'd understand why she hadn't said anything. As always, she didn't have to worry. Mulder waved the pen in his left hand, a signal his mother understood to mean that he wanted to write. Mrs. Mulder brought the pad of paper up so that he could reach it. FORGET IT appeared on the page, just a little jagged. His eyes told her how much he understood--there was nothing to forgive. "I know, but it still infuriates me," Scully replied evenly but her whole demeanor screamed that she would do anything but forget it. "At a time when he should have been encouraging me, he was dampening my hopes. I knew it was a good sign that you could open your eyes so soon after the attack, but I let him talk me out of that hope. I wonder how many other families he's talked into doing something before they had all the facts. Good god, with 'quality of life' issues, it makes me sick to think of what damage this man has possibly done!" she fumed. Mulder tapped on the blanket with the pen. His mother resumed her pose and he wrote, turning the paper only for his mother's eyes. "OK, Mulder, keeping secrets from me," Dana accused with a twinkle. Mrs. Mulder chuckled as she handed Dana the page. Mulder's eyes were dancing with mischief. The page had only a single word. IRISH "Oh, you are gonna get it later, Mister," Dana warned with a laugh. "Wait till Maggie Sullivan Scully hears this. You better watch your step because if you think I'm bad, you haven't seen her on a good day." "Dana, while you're here, I think I'll slip down and get some coffee. Would you care for some?" Mrs. Mulder asked. Dana started to shake her head, but noticed that Mulder was already writing NO on the page of his pad. She gave him a curious look, but he smiled innocently and shrugged on his left shoulder. His mother smiled quizzically at them both and left the room. Mulder gave a left-sided smirk and picked up the pen again. NEW YORK? Scully's cell phone interrupted her before she could reply. It was Danny with the name of the distributor. "You sure that's the right spelling? K-A-L-L-E-N-C-H-U-C-K. OK, yeah, I've got it. Kallenchuck Imports. And the address is in San Diego. Thanks, Danny. Yeah, well, he's doing better, but I doubt he'll be using those season opener tickets for the Redskins next month--want 'em? They're yours." She grinned widely at Mulder bewildered look. "Yeah, I'll be sure to call if I need anything else. Bye." Mulder had the pen on the paper again, scribbling furiously. MY TICKETS!!! Scully laughed. "Oh, come on, if you're up and around by then, I'll get you tickets somehow. But for now, we need to keep Danny on our side. You know, that name sounds familiar. Kallenchuck. Where did we run into that name?" FRENCH SALVAGE MISSION he wrote on a new sheet of paper. "Jeraldine Kallenchuck! Now, I remember. But I thought she died in Hong Kong," Scully countered. ME TOO came the written reply. MARITA? he wrote out at the bottom of the page. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I forgot that I didn't tell you on the phone. Marita gave me some information. She knew how these strokes could be happening." She pulled the file out of her briefcase and showed it to him. "Basically, it's a water purifier--a filter. Made by a company out of Finland. But in some of them, a couple of dozen apparently, the substance in the filter is not just charcoal--it's from the Tunguska meteor." At the mention of Tunguska, Mulder's eyes flew open in surprise. "That was my reaction," she smiled. "Anyway, according to your favorite Global bureaucrat, this whole thing was an experiment for you. And you passed, just by survival, I assume." A dark cloud passed over his eyes and he glared at the folder, not looking up at her. She placed a hand on his arm to get his attention. "She also told me that you would recover. Mulder, I hadn't talked to your mom at that time, I hadn't heard about Dr. Foster's prognosis. Marita knows more about this, but she wouldn't tell me." She cupped his cheek in her hand. "Mulder, what really happened in Russia?" He scowled at her for a moment, then reached for the pen and pad. NOTHING IMPORTANT jumped off the page. She felt the tears burning the back of her throat. "Don't you trust me?" she whispered. He picked up the pen again. DONT TRUST MYSELF They were quiet for several minutes before he wrote something else. GET FILTERS "Yeah," she replied. "Skinner sent a detox team up from DC. Since we know we're dealing with a toxic substance, I felt that would be best. But I begged him to keep it in the FBI--I don't want a repeat of last time." For the first time in over three days, Fox Mulder was able to nod. He only did it once and just a fraction, but it was enough. The pen danced over the pad again. LGM "Oh no, Mulder. Not that! Anything but that," she cried, shaking her head vigoriously. The pen slipped from his hands and he sighed. She was amazed at how much of his 'wounded look' was expressed in his eyes. And now they looked bloodshot and tired on top of it. He'd run out of the little burst energy her return had inspired. "I'll do some checking, and maybe I'll give Frohike and the boys a call," she compromised relunctantly and was rewarded by a wicked half grin and a wink. "Stop that, Mulder," she growled. "I won't hurt you now, but I can keep track and save it all for later." His eyes danced again before he let them close. He was asleep before her lips touched his forehead When Mrs. Mulder returned, Scully decided not to force the older woman to endure her conversation with the Lone Gunmen, not to mention their insistence on using only non-traceable 'ground lines' for communications. Her partner's nap was the perfect opportunity for her to sneak down to the pay phones on the first floor and put in a call to the 'bat caves' as Mulder once called the Lone Gunman office. "Lone Gunman," came the crisp answer. Now I'm scared, she thought to herself. I'm starting to recognize voices when I call there. "Byers, this is Dana Scully," she sighed. "Turn off the tape." "Tape off, Agent Scully. Mind if I put you on speaker--the guys want to listen in, if you're on a ground line, of course." "Speaker away, Byers, I might need the combined mental powers of all three of you for this one." "How's Mulder doing," came Langly's voice after Byers explained who was on the phone. She softened a little by the concern she heard in his words. "I imagine you know that he's suffered a stroke," she began. "You've double checked that, haven't you, Agent Scully?" came Langly's voice, followed by a quick "Of course she has, you dolt!" from none other than Frohike. "Yes, I've gotten a second opinion, guys. No doubt about it, Mulder had a massive thrombosis of one of the secondary arteries of his brain. But fortunately, they started him on a new drug--" "t-PA, right?" chimed in Byers. Scully closed her eyes and shook her head--why bother with these guys? "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is t-PA." "And it worked, right?" She smiled at the optimism that flowed over her through the line. "Yes, it worked. But we don't know how much damage the clot caused. That will take time. Right now, he's partially paralyzed on his right side, but the paralysis is easing every day. He's still unable to talk, but he's been writing us notes. He's doing well, guys. Really. Maybe, when we get home, you can come by and visit." "Totally unscheduled, of course," Byers assured her. "But that's not why you called, just to give us a medical update, is it?" Again, the three had brought a smile to Scully's face. "No, Byers, that's not why I called. Remember a year or so ago you helped Mulder find out some information on a French salvage operation in the Pacific?" "All that Zeus Farber stuff, right?" Langly shot back. "Yes. There was an import office in San Diego--J. Kallenchuck. Well, I don't want to go into details, but I think they are still in operation." "Agent Scully, I understand your hesitency to reveal sensitive information. But please, rest assured that anything you say will be held in the strictest confidence," Byers assured her. Scully drew in a deep breath. They would need to know more than she was telling them, if she expected them to get her the right information. "OK, guys, I'm going to trust you with this one. But please, don't ask for more than I'm giving you, all right?" "Agreed," came three voices in unison. "I've been given information that pieces of the meteor that crashed at Tunguska, Siberia in 1908 have found their way into water purifiers that are now being sold in three small towns in west central New Jersey. The substance in these filters is believed to cause massive clots in the brain, leaving no trace. So far over thirty people have died of strokes. I'm getting the evidence to tie those victims to these filters. The filters are manufactured by Pristine, Limited out of Helsinki, Finland, but have been distributed in this country by--" "Kallenchuck Imports--we're on it, Agent Scully. This is how Mulder got sick, isn't?" Frohike asked. "Frohike, you promised," she scolded gently. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. I understand," the little man replied sadly. She almost didn't catch when he whispered 'the rat bastards' to conclude his remarks. There was a moment of tense silence before she heard one of them speak. "You know, Agent Scully, Mulder's one tough dude. Something like a stroke, it might knock him back a bit, but it's not going knock him out. Why, the only thing they've ever done to him since we've known him that has sent him in a tail spin was when they've took you--OOOF!" "Langly, you idiot!" came Frohike's terse whisper. "She doesn't need to hear that now!" "You didn't have to hit me so hard, Fro," came the whiney reply. "I hate to cut this short, guys," Scully interrupted, not bothering to comment on the revelation she'd just received. "I need to get back upstairs to Mulder." "He's in our prayers, Agent Scully," Frohike said tenderly. "Thank you, Frohike. Thank you, all of you," she said and hung up the phone. end of part seven Somewhere Under Wraps 8/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one When she got back to the room, a dinner tray sat on the bedside table. Mulder wore a disgusted and angry look on the side of his face that could hold expression and his mother was standing, arms crossing her chest, equally upset. "Is there a problem?" Dana asked, but she figured out that part rather quickly. The tension in the air was stifling. "Dr. Foster feels he can eat a liquid diet. But he refuses to try. Keeps writing this--" Dana caught the pad as Mrs. Mulder flung it toward her. A single word stood stark against the white page. CHOKE She knew this would come. Depression was so much a part of stroke recovery that most medical schools listed it as a symptom. Why did she expect her own partner to be any different? She knew this refusal to eat was his way of dealing with his anger at his condition. She'd seen it before--a thousand times on hundreds of cases. But she needed to handle it now without preexisting modes of behavior interfering with her work. "Mrs. Mulder, you look exhausted. You got in late, you've sat here all day, you're probably starved. There's a little room on the floor below us, the room is at the end of the hall on the right, the nurse can show you. Why don't you get a nice dinner in the cafeteria, and go on down to that room and catch some sleep. I've been there the last two nights, I know you'll be comfortable." At first the older woman looked ready to refuse, but after glancing from her son to his partner and back again, she decided it wasn't that bad an idea. "Thank you, Dana. I just might take you up on that offer," she said with great dignity. She looked at her son, and her expression soften. "Please, Fox. Eat a little something. For me?" If looks could turn a person to stone, his mother would have been Venus di Milo. Mrs. Mulder shrugged and left, closing the door behind her. "Well that was a rather nasty display of the terrible two's," Dana risked pointing out. He might not be able to talk, but he could glare with the best of them. "Mulder, G-man, I know you're frustrated. It's got to be awful, wanting to tell us things and being so limited. But it's temporary, love. You know that. Just like when you were hit by that dart." He grabbed for the pad, and she leaned it on his leg. TWO DAYS he wrote. "I know, you were only in the hospital two days then before your muscle control came back. You're not going to have that happen this time, your recovery will take longer, but believe me, Fox, it will come back." A single tear skidded down the right side of his face. It dropped silently to his green hospital gown. I WANT TO GO HOME he scratched angrily on the paper. "Soon," she whispered. "I promise, as soon as you're able, we'll go home. But we'll get there a lot faster if you eat," she countered. CANT SWALLOW he countered on the paper. Tears were coming from both eyes now. "Yes, you can. I'm watching you swallow right now. We'll move the head of the bed up, prop you up on pillows and the jello and broth will go down by force of gravity, if nothing else," she grinned. His mouth turned up on the left side to match hers. It took a minute to get him in position, and then another minute or two to get the tray around, the lids off the food and the silverware unwrapped. She noted that at least he had orange jello. If it had been green or yellow, all bets would have been off. He was still too weak to feed himself, so she picked up the spoon. The first swallow as a bit rocky. Less than a half teaspoon full of jello, but he did seem to have some difficulty with it. Scully's mind flashed to all the textbooks from med school, the warnings of aspiration when a stroke victim swallowed liquid and it went down the bronchial tube instead of the esophogus. She held her breath when it looked like he was going to choke. But the jello went down. And stayed down. And was followed by a sip of broth, and a sip of tea and when Scully took the time to look in his eyes she saw delight--and gratitude. He finished off the jello, most of the broth and half of the tea. He looked longingly at the still wrapped crackers, but Scully grabbed them off the tray and tossed them in the wastebasket. "We'll tackle the tough stuff later," she assured him. He shot her a crooked smile. "The gunmen sent you their best wishes," she told him after she'd settled him back in a more reclining position. He looked at her expectantly. "They're tracking down Jerry Kallenchuck for me. If she's in on this, I can imagine who else is involved," Scully said, chewing on her lip. RAT BASTARD--KRYCEK came the reply. She tried hard not to smile, but it broke through any way. "Yes, your former partner," she teased. A yawn took her completely by surprise, but Mulder noticed. He was getting that sleepy look to his eyes again, too. But before he let his lashes drop, he wrote again. MOTEL--SLEEP "Mulder, I don't want to be so far away," she all but whined in response. He replied by underlining the words twice and tapping the pen point on the paper. "I assume that is a 'direct order', Agent Mulder?" she taunted. He returned her look with a crooked grin. "OK, I know when I'm not wanted," she sighed in mock rejection. He was able to move his arm and hand far enough over to grab her wrist. His grasp was not weak any longer and his touch made her head spin. Before she knew what she was doing she was kissing him with all she was worth. When she leaned back up, they were both a little breathless. "Let's practice that again tomorrow," she smiled and kissed him again on the forehead. "G'night G-man. I love you." He drew the little heart and U on the paper and pressed it into her hand before she turned to leave. Ramada Limited 10:35 pm Scully dragged herself into her room and collapsed on the bed. More than anything, she wanted another one of those dreams, the dreams where Mulder was well and they were together. "Pretty sick, Starbuck," she said aloud in the darkness. "You didn't have sex for four years and now the thought of not having it for a couple of months has you dreaming plots to one of Mulder's videos." She rolled over and punched the pillows in frustration. She missed him. It was that simple. She missed their give and take, missed his theories, missed his reactions when she tried to reign him back to earth. The few moments in his hospital room when they'd discussed the case had been like a small wafting of breeze on a scorching day. It left her wanting more. Finally, in an act of desparation, she went into his room, grabbed his Knicks jersey, pulled it on over her head and crawled up on the bed. The maid had come and gone, the pillow cases and sheets had been changed. But if she closed her eyes, she could still imagine that she could feel the impression that his body had made while he slept. And tugging the stretched out hem of the jersey close to her face, she could smell his smell, a slightly sweaty mix of soap and faded cologne, but Mulder, all the same. That's how she fell asleep. The ringing was too distant. She couldn't place it. It sounded like a buzzer under water--muffled. It took her several seconds to realize that it was her cell phone and it was ringing in the jacket of her suit coat. She ran into the other room to grab it before the other party hung up. "Scully," she rasped, breathless after her tangle with the coverlet and Mulder's jersey. "Agent Scully, sorry to wake you," came Byers clipped tones. "We have some information that you might find interesting. It seems that an old acquaintence of yours is in Trenton, New Jersey tonight." "Who?" Scully demanded, then softened her voice. "Sorry, Byers, it's been a long week. Who are you talking about?" "Alex Krycek. We found a number of rental agreements made out to him--all for Kallenchuck Imports, Inc. One of them was a lease for warehouse space--made out three months ago. Our guess is that's where they were keeping the filters before they delivered them to the stores." "Where is this warehouse?" Scully was scrambling for her notepad and a pencil. Chances were good that Krycek was trying to cover his tracks by now, but if she was really lucky, she might catch in the act. "It's on the south end of town in a new industrial park. 5523 Crichton Drive," Frohike chimed in. He quickly detailed the best route to take to get to the warehouse. "There's a phone number, too," he added gleefully. Scully gave a short grim laugh. "No, thanks. I prefer to come unannounced. I owe you guys." "Hey, consider it a 'get well' present to your partner. But the minute he's up and around, you're both back on the tab," Langly teased. "Agent Scully, please, be careful," Byers warned one final time and the line was disconnected. It took her less than an hour to get to the warehouse. All the way over she'd convinced herself that she'd check it out and if there were any suspicious activity, she'd call John Towers for back up. At least, that was the plan. It would have worked as a plan if she hadn't been run off the road. The warehouse was in a new industrial park, it was the only building in the section farthest from the road. Scully was so intent on looking around for signs of activity that she never noticed the dark blue car, headlights turned off, as it came up almost silently behind her. To be exact, she would never have noticed it except when the driver revved that engine and rammed her from behind. Scully took that jolt, but the next one hit even harder and drove her directly into a newly installed cement light pole. She woke up to a face full of airbag and the sound of a radiator hissing against the night air. Before she could move, the driver side door flew open and rough hands were pulling her from the car. At first, she was disoriented enough to think it was paramedics from some rescue team. It was only when she shook her head and felt one of the burly men pull her arms behind her back, securing them with duct tape that she realized she was in serious trouble. The cloth soaked in chloroform was the last piece of evidence she needed to decide that she was probably a little too late in calling for that back up. end of part eight Somewhere Under Wraps 9/9 vmoseley@fgi.net disclaimed in part one It was cold when Scully woke up. And dark. The floor she was laying on was damp and smelled of mildew. A basement, she immediately surmised. Her hands were still taped behind her, but she was grateful to discover that her captors had left her legs free and her eyes and mouth uncovered. She tried unsuccessfully to look around her prison. A tiny sliver of light about the four sides of a wooden door was all the illumination she could detect. By standing and placing her back against the wall, she was able to determine the approximate size of the room--somewhere around 10 foot by 10 foot. Two of the walls were damp cinderblock or brick, two were wooden--she assumed it was an old coal bin in the cellar of an older home. After figuring out as much as she could about where she was, Scully turned her thoughts on getting out. The door seemed to be the only means of escape. If there were windows, they were above her head and she couldn't reach them. There was no furniture in the room, so climbing on anything was out of the question. She was forced to wait and see who came through the door. She didn't have to wait long. The door creaked open with a sickening squeal and the person standing in the doorway was nothing more than a black sillouette. He was tall, judging from where he stood in the doorway, and not what Scully would ever describe as thin or weak. Her heart dropped when she realized there weren't too many ways to overpower this joker with her hands behind her back. The silouette reached forward and pulled a chain from the ceiling--the room was instantly illuminated by a 75 watt bulb the swayed to and fro. Scully blinked at the brightness before focusing on the face of her captor. Alex Krycek. "You know, I was going to say we have to stop meeting like this, but it occured to me that we've never met like this before," Krycek said with a cruel smile. "Oh, by the way, condolences on your partner. Guess the old wiring wasn't up to par, huh?" "Cut the crap, Alex, I know what you've done. You were behind all these murders. You and Jerry Kallenchuck," Scully hissed. At the mention of Kallenchuck, Krycek's face darkened. "Jeraldine is dead. I used her name because the company already had the connections to get items into the country unnoticed." "What's the matter, Alex? Don't tell me you had feelings for Ms. Kallenchuck," Scully taunted. Maybe, if she got him mad enough, he would make a false move. But anger wasn't his response, just a deep sense of sadness. "You and Mulder aren't the only ones in the universe to lose a sibling, you know, Scully," he said quietly. "But that doesn't matter. I have a new associate. Two of them, in fact. And that's all you need to know for now." Krycek didn't bother turning around, but yelled over his shoulder. "Hey, Bob. Come on in and say 'hello' to your collegue." He grinned foolishly at the shocked look on Scully's face at the sight of the other man. "Agent Dana Scully, I'd like you to meet Dr. Robert Morrow. Oh, but then, I forgot--you two have already been introduced." Krycek didn't even bother to hide his own laughter at his joke. Scully's shock was soon replace by red hot anger. "You son of a bitch! You tried to get me to put Mulder in a nursing home! What were you going to do? Make sure he didn't survive?" "On the contrary, Agent Scully," Morrow said grinning ear to ear. "It simply makes it easier to get the raw materials. Your partner is a very important person, in a universal sense. He's now the only living repository of antibody for the 'black cancer'. His bone marrow is our only factory at the moment. His blood is priceless." "Leave him alone," Scully seethed through clenched teeth. "Ah, now, Scully, you know we can't do that," Krycek chimed in. "No more than we could let you live now that you know what we're after. But don't worry. Our other associate, Dr. Jeffrey Scott, is just waiting for word from us. He's going to be giving your partner a little shot tonight. Nothing to die from, but enough to ensure he never wakes up completely. See, Scully, he won't even miss you." At Krycek's laugh, Scully lunged, head down, ready to butt him in the stomach. Morrow stepped up and flattened her with a right hook to her face. She landed in a heap but was on her feet in a split second. This time, Krycek grabbed her with one arm, while Morrow produced a syringe which he imbedded in her thigh. "You thought I was stupid enough to underestimate you, didn't you, Scully? You always were more fun than that scarecrow you hang out with. Nighty night, Scully. I'm afraid I won't see you in the morning." The last thing she remembered was hearing the door slam shut and the lock click in place. It took several kisses to get Scully to wake up. She groaned and tried to roll over, but with her hands behind her back, she resembled a turtle that had been placed on it's shell upside down. "Easy, G-woman. Think about where you want to go and use your legs more." "Mulder?!" she whispered hoarsely. "My God, Mulder, how did you get here?" Almost as soon as the words left her lips, she realized their impossiblity. "Mulder, you shouldn't be here. You should be at the hospital." "Scully, quit trying to rationalize this. I'm trying to get you out of here," her partner replied, a little hotly. "Mulder. Are you wearing any clothes?" It seemed a perfectly reasonable question--given the rest of the situation. "This is NOT the time, Agent Scully," Mulder shot back. "Yes, it is. Answer the question." There was a pause. "Yes, I'm wearing clothes. What about it?" The returning pause was even longer. "Now I'm really confused," she sighed. "What's the matter, Dana?" Mulder asked, his tone one of gentle concern. "If you were naked, I'd say this was just another one of those dreams I've been having. But if you've got clothes on, either this is a different dream or I'm hallucinating," she answered distantly. "Scully. There is another possiblity," he replied with quiet determination. She snorted out a breath. "Well, whether a dream or a hallucination, you're running true to form, Mulder. What's the 'other possiblity'? This should be good." "I don't expect you to believe me, Scully, but I refuse to lie to you just to make you feel better. Remember that time we ran into Sgt. Rappo Trimble?" "The time you tried to convince me that a paraplegic vet was killing people through astral projection?" she taunted. "That's the one." "So what are you saying, Mulder. That you are 'projecting astrally'?" she mocked. "If the shoe fits, Scully." "Mulder, get real! I mean, listen to me. I've been knocked out, given a strong sedative, I'm locked in a basement--there is a lot more evidence that I'm dreaming you up than there is that you are really here--or spiritually here--or whatever you want to call it." "What if I could tell you something that I should not know--something totally impossible for me to know at this time, and you can verify it--would you believe me then?" he asked. "That's ridiculous, Mulder. Not only that, if I'm making this up--I would already know whatever you're going to tell me," she countered. "Not this, you don't," he shot back. "OK, hit me with your best shot," she challenged. "You're pregnant. By less than one week. And it's a boy," he said evenly. "Fuck you, you bastard!" she seethed. "Scully, listen to me. It's true. I saw it. I still can't believe it but it's true and I have a theory why it happened. When the stroke hit, I felt so cut off, so alone. God, I couldn't feel you near me. I've never had that feeling before, not since we met. The other times, when I've been hurt, like when I was shot or when I was in Alaska and had the virus, I always knew you were there. But this time--I don't know, maybe it was the electrical storm raging in my brain--I couldn't find you. I couldn't feel you." "Stop it," she whimpered. "Scully, I'm NOT doing this to hurt you. Hell, I'm trying to help you! So when I got so scared that I couldn't find you, I knew I had to look for you. Suddenly, I was floating. Not very far. You were still in the hospital, you had only gone down to this little room. It had white walls, the window was cut in half, I guess a wall was put up after the window was put in. And the sink had a light fixture, but there was no mirror--only the brackets where they'd been. Anyway, I found you there. And I wanted so much to hold you, to feel your arms around me. So I did, I leaned over and hugged you. I must have hugged too hard because I was suddenly traveling through your skin--into your body. It was incredible. I knew I wasn't hurting you, but it gave me the willies at first. Then I started looking around. Scully, I saw it. I saw our baby's conception. Right there, in your womb. The ovum came from your right ovary. I saw the sperm attack, god they were persistent little suckers. I saw the one successful one, the guy with the big Y on his back--Scully, it's a boy. And I saw the fertilized egg implant itself, or rather himself, on your uterine wall. Scully, they lied. You aren't barren. You don't have that many left, ova that is, but you aren't barren. It only takes one, you know." She was silent for a long time. This wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. But it was only a nightmare if the story he'd just told her was false. Could it be? Could she really be pregnant? "You're lying," she concluded flatly. "I've never lied to you, Dana. I may have omitted some of the facts a time or two, but outright lie to you--never. And you know it." She sighed. That much was true. Even when he'd run off, it was never really like a lie. There was rejection there, but she never felt lied to. "Why are you telling me this, Mulder?" she rasped. She didn't know when the tears had formed in her eyes, but they were clouding what little vision she had in the darkness. "Well, one reason is that I'm so happy, and I wanted you to know how very much I love you--both of you. Another reason is I have to get you out of here, or you and the baby are going to be dead, if Krycek and Morrow have anything to do with it." He stopped for a moment. "And there is that self-preservation thing. I don't want to sleep for the rest of my life, Scully. And I sure as hell have no intentions of being somebody's 'antibody farm', either. So I have to get you out of here so you can get to the hospital and save my sorry ass again. Sorry, love, but somebody has to do it, and you're the only one I trust." She sniffed loudly. "How are you going to get me out of here?" she asked. "You ask the best questions, Scully. I need you to pound on the door." "Then what?" she asked, getting a little concerned. "Then, when somebody comes to the door, I punch their lights out and you take off. I can tell you how to get out, and where they've got the keys to the car and how to get back to the hospital. By the way, John knows you've been taken. The police found his car at the industrial park, abandoned with the airbag inflated and your cell phone on the ground. It's history, by the way. John and the team have been combing the area for you since midnight." "Mulder, if you ARE really a spirit just projecting, how the hell do you expect to physically manifest yourself enough to punch somebody's lights out?" Scully hissed. She jumped a foot when she felt his lips on hers. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, and then forced them open. She felt his hands grab her shoulders and he kissed her, his tongue stoking her gums, the roof of her mouth, dueling with her own tongue. His body pressed up against her and she could feel his strong response to her, hard and demanding. He moved his hips and she thought she'd pass out right then and there. He pulled back before she melted to a pool at his feet. "Enough demostrations. Are you convinced?" he asked, not even winded. "Door . . . pound . . . punch . . ." she responded weakly. "Yeah, I think you've got it," he chuckled. She waited a few minutes before she started pounding. She told herself that the escape plan was a decent idea, astral Mulder at her side or not, but in a deep secret part of her heart, where only she knew her thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder if he might not need to 'restore' himself a little after the passion on their kiss. She knew she needed to. "OK, Scully. Show time," he said finally. She went up to the wooden door and started to pound. "Krycek, hurry! Get in here! I have to tell you something. Something we discovered about the black cancer! You need me, Krycek. I've done more research on this thing than you can imagine. I have imformation, Krycek--I'm willing to trade." She didn't know how long she pounded, or how long she yelled, but finally, she heard footsteps in the hall. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Scully, but I've got Morrow here with me, so if you try anything, it's nighty night time for good--got that?" Krycek yelled through the door as she heard the key in the lock. The minute the door was open, she felt a strong wind blow past her. Krycek, a surprised look on his face, was momentarily suspended in midair, then went crashing into the wall on the far side of the hallway. His head hit the cinderblock with a sickening thud--a thin trail of blood outlined his progress as he slid boneless to the floor. For his part, Dr. Morrow proved to be easier. Obviously not trained in combat, especially with an unseeable opponent, he dropped the syringe and started to sprint for the stairs. Scully couldn't see a thing, but suddenly the syringe was brought up and impaled itself in the good doctor's hindquarters. The plunger depressed, but not fully, then the syringe dropped to the floor. Morrow looked at Scully with a mixture of horror and awe before his eyes glazed over and he, too, landed in a heap on the cold cement. Before she could even focus on the bodies laying before her, she heard a ripping sound behind her and her hands were free of the tape. Scully ran over and checked pulses on both men. "They're alive." "Good," came the disembodied voice of her partner. "Come on Scully. I know they're both out of it, but let's not take chances." All the way up the stairs and through the small farm house, she could feel Mulder's hand on the small of her back, directing her, guiding her. She found the keys in the kitchen, Mulder had led her right to them. She found the car parked in the back--again, Mulder had pushed her gently in that direction. It was only a moment before she was behind the wheel and a slight tug on her arm forced her to turn right at the main road. In the distance, she could see the lights of a town. She headed straight for them. "Mulder?" she called in the darkness of the speeding car. "Mulder, what town is that ahead of us?" Silence greeted her. "Come on, Mulder. I know you and 'shy' is not in your vocabulary." No voice answered her. For that matter, the comforting presense of her partner, a feeling that she often took for granted on cases, was no where around her. But just as she was beginning to think she actually was dreaming the entire night, she looked at a passing road sign which proudly announced that Robinsonville was home to a Kiwanis Club which held it's meetings at the local Shoney's. She was less than five minutes from the hospital just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Robinsonville Hospital 6:12 am She was willing to kill for a cell phone, or her gun for that matter. But she had neither. So she parked at the Emergency door, effectively blocking it and left the keys in place and the engine running. Flying past the confused and angry security guard in ER, she pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward the car. "Evidence in a kidnapping. Call Chief Simmons." Without looking back, she sprinted for the elevators. When she got to Mulder's floor, Mrs. Mulder was standing out in the hallway talking to one of the nurses. "I just don't understand," the older woman was saying, wiping tears from her eyes. "He was doing so much better yesterday. He was moving his right side and all. How could he slip into a coma so quickly?" Dana didn't even bother to acknowledge Mrs. Mulder or the nurse. She punched open the door and ran to the bed. Mulder was perfectly still, breathing shallowly on his own. She leaned over and touched his cheek. He didn't respond. She shook his left shoulder and shouted his name, but he didn't move a muscle. "Nurse!" she shouted into the hallway. The woman ran into the room, with Mrs. Mulder hot on her heels. "I want blood drawn and sent to the lab immediately. Tell them to look for any sedative or general anesthetic. I suspect he's been given an ample dose--enough to keep him out for some time." "But Ms. Scully, there were no orders given for a heavy sedative," the nurse protested. "None at all! I can show you his chart--" "When was Dr. Scott here last night?" Scully asked. The nurse looked back at her, surprised. "Let me look, it'll be on Mr. Mulder's chart." She ran out to the desk and was back in a few seconds. "I don't understand. Dr. Scott usually makes his rounds late in the day, but this entry says--" "He was here after midnight, wasn't he?" Scully asked evenly. She was reaching for the phone at Mulder's bedside. "He injected the drug into Mulder's IV while he was here, knowing that it would give the appearance that Mulder had gone into a coma," she told the nurse. She turned to a near hysterical Mrs. Mulder. "Scott was probably going to come back early this morning and convince you to put Fox in a nursing home as soon as possible--probably this afternoon. One that he would suggest, no doubt." "Dana, I d-don't understand," Mrs. Mulder stammered, shaking her head, eyes wild with fear. "It was a plot, all along, but I caught on to it. Or rather, we did." Scully gave her partner a smile. "It's all right now, Mrs. Mulder. I can't explain all of it right now. I have to get hold of John Towers and the police. But rest assured, I'll make sure Fox is safe." The nurse hurried past them with the vials of blood, while Dana placed the call to John Towers. "Where in the Sam Hill are you?!" Towers demanded and calmed down only slightly when Dana explained that she was at the hospital. She directed him to send a team to the farmhouse where Krycek and Morrow had held her and requested an All Points Bulletin to be sent out for Jeffrey Scott. John agreed to meet up with her as soon as he'd checked out the farmhouse himself. "What do we do now?" Mrs. Mulder asked tiredly. "Wait," Scully replied. "With time, probably by late tonight or early tomorrow, he should start to wake up on his own. We need to watch for complications, but with any luck, he'll be fine." She sat down on one of the chairs and reached over the bed rail to take her partner's hand. "At least, I hope so." Robinsonville Hospital Two Days Later Scully woke up to find a pair of hazel eyes staring at her. As she focused on them, they danced with the smile that grace the rest of the long face. Both sides of his mouth were turned up, something that she'd come to cherish in the last few days. "Nice nap?" she asked. He nodded, a little jerky, but she didn't mind. He pointed to the open file folder in her lap. "Just John's report. I'll save it for you, you'll get a real kick out of Colton's description of sitting next to John's car for 6 hours, waiting for the forensics team and the tow truck." He chuckled soundlessly and favored her with a hearty 'thumbs up'. He pointed to the report again. "Generally speaking, about what you'd expect. By the time they got back to the farmhouse, the place was deserted. They did find a trail of blood where Krycek connected with the wall in the basement, and it confirmed that it was Krycek's blood, but both of them were long gone. I found out while you were sleeping that Jeffrey Scott was found dead in his garage. Apparent suicide." She nodded at his responding shake of his head and frown. "I know, I don't buy it either, but there were no prints, and no reason to suspect foul play." "John thinks they rounded up all the filters. You were infected by a filter they found at Mrs. Gillman's house. Fortunately for her, she kept it for her husband's coffeemaker and she doesn't drink coffee. When she made you a cup, you injested the substance. It took a while for it to affect you." She looked at the folder again. "I hope someday you'll tell me what you remember from Russia." She looked up when she heard a soft thuding. Mulder was patting the bed next to him. She frowned at first, but then quickly got up and closed the door. Taking off her shoes, she crawled up into the bed on his left side--still his strongest side--and curled herself around him. His arm came around her shoulder protectively and he placed a gentle kiss on her temple. "Love . . . you," he said in a low halting whisper. "Love you, too, G-man," she murmured into his shoulder. She pulled back when she felt him shake lightly. Afraid that he might be experiencing a seizure, an after affect of the sedative Scott had given him, she looked at him with concern. "Are you all right, Mulder?" He was laughing! It had been so long, and he still couldn't quite make the sounds, but he was laughing quietly with her in his arms. When he finally got control of himself, he kissed her again. "Door . . . pound . . . punch," he rasped and laughed again. She looked at him wide eyed. She had told no one how she'd dreamed that Mulder had come to save her. In essence, she reported that she'd been able to startle Krycek and throw him against the basement wall by throwing her weight against the door as he opened it. No one had questioned her on it, least of all her partner. "Mulder, what are you saying?" she demanded. He didn't respond directly. He just let his arm move down her back until his hand was resting on her waist. His fingers caressed tiny circles on her stomach. "Love . . . you . . . too . . . little guy," he said softly, and then stared directly in to her eyes, challenging her to deny what he was saying. "We won't know for a few more days. It's too early for a pregnancy test," she told him. "I . . . already . . . know," he replied, closing his eyes and hugging her to him. "Mulder, I still don't buy all of this. I mean, sure, you might be able to convince me that we have some kind of connection. Maybe I said something while I was sleeping or something. But to say that you 'traveled' out of your body and into mine, that we made love during your travels or that you flew to a farmhouse that you didn't even know I would be at--" He answered her objections by placing his right index finger clumsily on her lips. "Shhhh," he hushed her. "Sleep," he ordered. For once, she obeyed a direct command without comment. the end. Vickie Stand up for what is right, Even if you stand alone. quote from a poster Vickie