From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 17:59:54 -0500 Subject: becoming judas (1/12) by darkstar Source: direct Reply To: clone347@aol.com from: darkstar (clone347@aol.com) rating: pg-13 violence classification: msr, angst, post-colonization disclaimer: inserted here is the obligatory "not mine, never were and i'm not making any money" speech for the benefit of all those greedy Fox executives, *none* of which will be on *my* Christmas card list. :) thank yous : a world of thanX to Suzanna, Christine, and LixyQ Ziut for their patience, encouragment, and words of wisdom on this. you guys are awesome! note : This is set in an alternate universe in which the events of SUZ and Closure never happened. I intended to write it as, among other things, a possible conclusion to the Samantha arc. That unpredictable Chris Carter changed things, but the story was already finished. So, for all intents, and purposes, Samantha is still alive when our story opens up. summary: In the nightmarish realm of earth after colonization, Mulder is offered everything he wants if he betrays everything he has ever believed. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 1/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Two thin bracelets of blood adorned his wrists, only slightly less garish than the tight metal handcuffs that bit into his flesh. He shoved the pain they caused in the same place he stowed the rest of the agony drowing his body. His teeth sank into the soft skin inside his lip, trying to keep from crying out as his captor jerked him forward, embedding the steel even deeper into his wrists. Another slant and it would be fatal. He found the thought oddly pleasant. Quick, painless death would be a sweet mercy compared to the horror waiting for him behind the unmarked door at the end of the hall. The Chamber. The place where they took you when you weren't coming back. The place where you could scream all you wanted but relief never came. Evil radiated from that room. Like it radiated from the man dragging him inch by inch into the darkness. "No...please mister...I haven't done anything wrong...." His fear doused the dying embers of heroism and he began to blubber like a baby. "Please m-mister...i'm just thirteen... !Please!" The man might as well be deaf. The dull thud of his boots on the cement floor never quickened, never slowed, each step multiplying the boy's terror a hundred fold. His captor wore the flesh and blood mantle of a man, but humanity was one trait long dead to the flat hazel eyes staring so intently into space. The boy bowed his head, a film of tears that he could not wipe away filling his eyes. They blurred his vision, like he was looking at the world through a water drop, until they escaped in hot rivers down his cheeks. He may be old enough to hold a rifle and fight in the Resistance but he was too young to die. Too young... They paused a moment at the door, just long enough for the man to punch in a four digit acess code. The metal panel slid open. The boy wished he had enough food in his belly to throw up, to purge the bitter taint of terror from the back of his throat. He wished his lungs would unfreeze so he could scream or breathe or cry or even pray.... His captor let go of his shackles and shoved him into the room. The boy half-ran, half-stumbled a few steps before collapsing to his knees, retching violently. His eyes rolled back, wide with terror, reeling around the room in a drunken arch. Actual human beings were in the room...old men in suits staring at him in frigid detachment, devoid of any sympathy for another of their race. Other "humans" began to mutate reveal hideous creatures with smooth grey skin lined with a thin layer of slime and huge obsidian black eyes. Eyes that seemed to suck in all the light in the room. Then one of them moved. His brain shrieked for him to run, to flee, to escape the pure menace of the eyes and the alien behind them. His body refused to move, transfixed with utter horror as four inch claws slid out on the creature's fingertips, glinting in the dim light. His pulse beat faster and faster and faster until all he could hear was the thunder of his heart echoing through his brain as the thing slit it's own wrist, holding it so the blood fell on him. The boy tried to squirm away, but there was no way to avoid the oily black liquid that splattered his shirt. It was cold...slick...*alive*. He realized in horror that it was moving, pooling over his rib cage. Then it melted into his skin. A searing pain ripped up from his gut like a bolt of lightening before exiting his body in a shriek more animal than human. He could feel...*them*...a thousand tiny worms crawling through his body. He saw them burrowing under his skin...up his arms....into his brain.... The boy's screaming was cut short as the virus invaded his brain, rendering him a twitching heap of flesh and bone on the floor. The alien cocked his head in mild curiosity then his face resolved back into his human form and he rejoined his comrades. From the shadows of a corner the man watched the nightmare from behind the chiseled stone mask of one who had grown accustomed to horror. It wasn't until after the medics came in, loading the body onto a cryolitter for transportation to any one of the many gestation facilities that he stepped into the light. "I believe you owe me something." he said, his voice soft like the whisper of a dagger along satin and just as dangerous. One of the humans, a pasty old man smoking his third cigarette of the meeting, nodded, a smile of vague satisfaction creasing his worn face. "Indeed we do." He inhaled smoke from his cigarette and let it trail in gray tendrils out his nose. "You can pick up the bounty at the door, *Agent* Mulder." Mockery was a privilege belonging to the victors. And he had, after all, defeated his nemesis, turned the bloodhound into a lap dog running forth at beck and call. Mulder nodded in deference then turned and silently left the room, blind to the child's blood smearing the floor behind him. ************* Ten months earlier: The room was filled with the sticky-sweet odor of sweat, dust, and stale air as old as the building itself. Sunlight filtered in through numerous cracks and chinks in the walls and flooded in from the windows, transforming the room into a tawny landscape of golden light and gray-brown shadow. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she divided her attention between the street and the gun she was cleaning. The sun outside burned her eyes and the metal burned her fingertips, but by now she was used to both. This was her ritual, one of the only things she made routine anymore. The simple act of rubbing away dust then reloading was valuable far beyond the better protection a well-cared for weapon would bring. The feel of her gun in her hand was a constant reminder that Dana Scully could still control something in her life. Outside the noon sun poured out its wrath on the scarred face of a dying world, leeching to color from the landscape until all that remained was the tan of dried out soil and the sickly blackish-green of trees that had gone far too long without rain. The sky was an unforgiving blue, and cloudless, giving the illusion of peace when there was none to be found. The little town was trapped somewhere between the brown and the blue, a dusty collection of buildings as worn as the rest of the landscape. A paved road reminiscent of a time long passed away snaked towards it then curved away at the last moment, as if to avoid the town if possible. The whole scene looked like a cut out from an old Western movie. Maybe they were out west. All the terrain looked the same nowadays. The people mirrored the buildings- weather-beaten and tired. Even the young looked old, and the old seemed ancient. She knew that all but the youngest children would bear the memories of a time short eternities ago when each of them had better lives- real jobs, plenty of food, clean water. Those memories were something like fairy tales now, told at night to wide-eyed toddlers who couldn't imagine such luxury. There were other stories as well. Stories of the silver craft that swooped down from the heavens, of the swarms of bees spreading a new Black Death over the face of the earth, of the nightmares that rose from the very bodies of anyone who became ill. Of highly sophisticated methods of genocide, aided by some who even dared to call themselves human. Of near extinction, prevented only by complete and unconditional surrender. She knew these were stories the children did not hear. Life was bleak enough for them the way it was. They did not hear that half of them would be taken to laboratories or sold as slaves before they reached the age of twelve. Nor were they told about Earth's growing attempts at covert resistance, for it might plant seeds of free thought in their minds. Horror of horrors, she thought to herself, the bitterness in her mind never disturbing the mask of calm over her face. Free thought was dangerous not only for the individual but for the entire community. The very fact that the town was still in existence meant that the people had sacrificed much to survive, too much to cash it all in on some hollow dream of freedom. Not to mention that any aid to "counter-revolutionaries" would result in the annhilation of every man, woman and child without mercy. That was the very reason she read suspicion and downright hostility on those who noticed her watching them. Scully didn't suppose she could blame them. If it was her family on the line she'd be wary of strangers too. But then all the family she had left was the resistance. Her sole baby was the Sig Sauer 9 mm her fingers caressed so lovingly. She could hollow out a nickel from five hundred yards easily. She considered herself a good mother. Counter-revolutionaries. Such a nice, positive sounding way to condemn thousands of dissidents to any one of a hundred deaths. And most of them merely perceived threats slated to be weeded out just to be cautious. Not like her. She was a real threat, or at least the Colonists seemed to think so, and as a result there was not a place in the whole planet safe for her. Not even this little town, as sleepy as it seemed. She turned away from the street, finished with her task for today, to see a chipped mirror. The view startled her, and her reflection jumped when she did. Had it been three months since she had last seen a mirror, or four ? Not, she thought to herself, that there was much of anything to see. Dulled hair, falling just to the bottom of her shoulder blades, dyed brown and pinned away from her face with two somber black barrettes. Paper thin skin that had long ago lost it's ivory pale to the sun and sand and wind. A simple charcoal gray dress barely managing to hang onto a gaunt frame that bordered skeletal. Eyes the color of faded blue satin. It was like a stranger had inhabited her body. Only her eyes remained the same, and yet even they were different, haunted by the years of one who has seen too much too soon. She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the musty maroon quilt, and emptied the contents of her lungs in a long, slow sigh. For her, life after colonization was something of an let down. It had taken so long to arrive and then it was over so fast she found herself wondering exactly when her life had collapsed into this depressing montone of existence. When Mulder came to get her from her apartment, at the very beginning of things, with a story that she didn't want to believe? When it turned out he was right, and they could never go home because of the price on both their head ? When she had found what was left of her family's bodies and together with Mulder killed the monsters that had gestated from them? The thrill was definitely gone and now even the jagged arrows of reality failed to penetrate her defenses. Or at least never enough where she'd let it show. There was a creak of wood and a blast of hotter air as the door opened and footsteps padded across the floor. Her fingers curled around her gun, bringing to up dead level with the intruder's chest as the rest of her body twisted around to see who it was. A breath later, the tension in her eyes drained away and she dropped the gun beside her. "Mulder...." His name fell from her lips as a sigh more weary than she had ever wanted. Truth be told, she was bone tired. Tired of running and hiding, and pretending to be someone she wasn't just because there was a price on her head. Tired of town after dirty town, night after night spent on the ground or in cheap motels. So tired but he didn't have to know. "Aw c'mon Scully." White teeth flashed out of the stubble covering his chin as he tossed her a smile. "You don't have to sound *that* happy to see me." She smiled in return but it barely reached her lips. Mulder watched her out of the corner of his vision as he set the brown paper bag that held dinner on the table. It was still strange to see her like this, a long-haired brunette, but the disguise was necessary. Up until now he had thought it was working. They had been running so long, and he could feel more than see her weariness. She wasn't the only one that wanted to stop. He had nutured the tiniest of hopes that this time, this town. they could find a resting place, if only for a little while. His face fell into a grimace as he studied the piece of white paper in his hands. That hope was gone. "What is it Mulder?" Her voice pentrated his thoughts, already sensing something was wrong. She knew him too well for either of their goods at times. "When I went out to get supplies I found this posted in the town square." Without turning around he handed her the paper, unable to face her reaction to the fact that the hunters had caught up with them once again. Scully's first impluse was to scream, then to bolt for the door and never stop running. She didn't move. Or make a sound, as her eyes studied the black lines of print with a practiced detachment. WANTED FOR HIGH TREASON AGAINST THE STATE !!! The headline shouted the words out like a medieval herald in tall, bold lettering. Underneath was two names, and two sketches of the crimnals. Dana Scully was on the left side. Fox Mulder was on the right. Anger at the injustice of it all closed her fist around the sign, crumpling it into a little ball. Mulder was waiting, back turned, for her answer. "Sketch artists these days." She shook her head and tried to infuse a casualness that wasn't there into her words. "I look at least twenty pounds heavier than I am and did you see what they did to your nose?" It was like a heavy weight had been lifted off the room, and he turned around, smiling wryly. "It can't be much of an exaggeration there." Scully laughed out loud just to prove to herself that she could. The sound tinkled like broken glass across the air then shattered into silence. She took a deep breath and freed a nagging question from her mind. "When do we leave ?" "Tomorrow." Mulder hated himself for having to break the news, but better him than a Colonist Bounty Hunter. "It's too dangerous to stay here long. I tore down all the posters I could find but I might have missed one. Someone could ID us." "I thought we'd be safe here." Scully heard herself accuse him but it wasn't him she was angry with. It was the faceless men who dangled her life on a very short chain. He stopped unpacking as her words cut straight to his bone. "I thought we were." She stood to her feet and crossed the room to stand beside him, the floor warm on her bare feet. "Where to this time?" She rearragned the ration containers into a little pyramid as she talked, an old trick she had learned to avoid full impact of a situation. You take your mind off it by little meaningless things that don't require thought. Not thinking can be a good thing. "South, I think. Try and make the border. The Colonists have much less of a presence in South America." It was a good idea. The thinking part of her brain quickly dissected it and found no fault. "How close are they this time?" He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm betting they still don't know we're here or we'd be sweating bullets right now. Could be they're just fishing for leads. I mean, you have to admit, your disguise has worked everywhere so far." "Huh." Scully half-smiled. "I've almost fooled myself." A little voice in her head reminded her again that the situation at hand needed to be dealt with, and she sank into a chair. "So we leave tonight." Personally she hated the thought of spending another night running through the desert, but survival came with a price and this was just one part of it. "As soon as it's dark." Mulder regarded her carefully before he answered. They had been on the run for nearly a year, but the past month had been the hardest yet. Most of the time they had ran at night and slept during the day, on foot because the few cars left attracted unwanted notice. Sometimes capture had seemed inevitable but they had always escaped. Not once had he heard Scully even say she was tried. He should have known that was a sign that the strain was catching up with her, that she was becoming exhausted. Mulder kicked himself for not noticing it earlier. Of all their enemies, exhaustion was one of the most deadly because not only did it sap your strength, it drained your mind and made you lose focus. Losing focus led to mistakes. Mistakes led down a one way road to the prison camps. "No." he said, noticing the surprise arch in her eyebrows. "We can leave tomorrow morning. It'll give us both time to rest up." Nothing changed about her expression, except a subtle shift in her eyes, the color melting from light blue to sapphire for one instant. She liked the idea. "Fine with me." A shadow of worry crossed her forehead. "What if a bounty hunter shows up in the mean time?" He smiled as he pulled his sawed-off shotgun from out of the shopping bag and checked to see if it was loaded. "We'll be ready." It was his new weapon of choice, although Scully preferred to stick with her Bureau-issue handgun. His gun was harder to conceal, but it made up for it by the raw firepower. He could keep her safe this time, with this gun. Setting the weapon carefully on the table, he picked up one of the ration boxes and tossed it to Scully. "So, what do you want for dinner- beans, beans, or beans?" ************* Boss Gordon was the Marlboro Man aged a couple years past billboard prime. His hair remained jet black, but the stubble of his beard was salt-and-pepper gray. His skin was weathered until it was like leather or the hide of one of the deer he sometimes killed. There was no mistaking the intelligence glinting in his sharp black eyes, or the strength in the muscles rippling his skin. The man watched his face carefully, looking for any reaction to the wanted poster he had handed him a moment ago. "The man, he is familiar, but the woman could be anyone." Gordon drawled, his hand running up and down the length of his shot gun at the same time. It was an action no doubt designed to make strangers nervous but the man had been around guns longer than he could remember and it was more amusing than disturbing. "We've had some strangers here recently, but I can't rightly say they fit this here description." "Then you'll be doubly interested in what I have to say. Both are here. Staying in that motel right across the street." The man gestured to the boarding house. "And we both know how serious that could be for your town." If the news shocked Gordon at all, he recovered before it showed, more angry than afraid. He picked up his shot gun and clicked the safety off it. "Why don't we just go see about that ?" he growled. "If you're right, us locals will take care of them fine. No need to bring your people in on it. We're law-abiding, loyal citizens. We have our own ways of taking care of trouble." The man laid one hand on Gordon's shoulder in a gesture meant to show comraderie. "I don't see the need to work it any other way." He smiled broadly. "Think of this as nothing more than advice from a friend. But as a friend, I say wait until night. She shoots like a sniper and he has eyes like one. If they so much as get a hint you're coming, you'll be faced with a small battle trying to bring either of them in alive." The man glanced over at the boarding house. "Chances are he'll be picking your men off through the window while she'll be running out the back, if he can convince her to leave- which isn't likely. The two of them have taken down more than their share of strike teams." "You talk like you have personal experience." "Let's just say I have had some scores to settle with both for quite some time." Gordon forced himself to relax and regarded the man in new eyes.He was near six feet, with eyes that shifted between almond and coal black, like a jungle cat. Gordon decided that's what the man was, a predator long used to the thrill of the chase. But the hunt had cost him something, so he noticed. The hand that held his shoulder was real enough but the other was shiny like plastic. Krycek noticed Gordon's scrutiny and released his shoulder to pull the glove tighter over his prothestic hand. He turned to find the cantina and a pretty girl. The hard part of his job was over. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch the fireworks. ************* The night was restless, hot and too silent for either of their tastes. Scully lay in the bed, pretending to attempt sleep, but instead watched Mulder as he paced back and forth across the room, the moonlight slipping through the blinds to paint stripes across him. She could see his face twisted into the familiar grimace of deep thought, his teeth pulling at the skin of his lower lip as the wheels of his mind raced at warp speed. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were tensed. He was worrying again, for her, for both of them. Once he got started, he'd be at it all night. "Mulder." Her voice was soft in the darkness, a whisper. "C'mon and get some sleep." It had been awkward at first, sharing a bed, but after about three weeks of taking turns with floor shifts they had both decided it was the easiest way. Besides, she trusted him where she wouldn't trust any other man and knew that if anything besides sleep was on his mind, he would keep it to himself. He stopped to face her. "You're supposed to be asleep Scully." His voice chided her gently. "And you're not ?" She sat up in bed, her hair falling around her face in a wave of tangled curls. Mulder was glad it was night so she couldn't see him staring. *She is so....* Words were elusive and hard to find. All that he knew was she looked like a silver goddess in the moonlight, and he didn't know whether to hold her or worship her. He settled on watching her, but it wasn't nearly the same. "No. One of us has to keep watch. It might as well be me." His voice left no room for argument. She might as well let him play the white knight....goodness knows her body craved the rest. His reply melted into the thick and heavy silence of a dark summer night. She brushed a rebellious strand of hair out of her face before she spoke again. "Do you ever get tired?" she asked him. "Not sleep tired. Tired of the running and the killing." "Every day of my life." "I always feel like I need to wash my hands." she said, holding her hands out in front of her. "Like the blood won't come off, even after it's gone." Scully looked up at him. "In the past month I've killed more men than I ever did in my whole FBI career. And the thing is, now I don't even know why I'm killing them. For survival? For this?" She gestured around the room. "Is it really worth the death?" "Don't think of them as men, Scully." Mulder told her quietly. "We do what we have to do to fight back. That's what it's all about. Not just survival." "Life has to be better than this somewhere, doesn't it? Some place where we can be normal again." Normal. She had only dim memories to remind her what the word even meant. "I don't know about you but I never did fit the normal description all that well." Mulder sat down on the bed beside her, easily covering her tiny hand in his. "I know what you mean though." His voice was low and urgent, like honey over gravel, the only "normal" thing left in her world. "And we can find that place." It was not an idle wished breathed into air. It was a solemn promise. "Far away from this wasteland and this death. And you won't have to wash away the blood." "Sounds good to me." She smiled faintly. "Let me know when you get there, okay?" "Why can't you ever believe me?" Mulder asked her, noting the wistful glow behind her eyes. "You want to, but you don't." The curves of her lips flipped downward in a frown and she pulled her hand away. "You're right. I want to, Mulder, but I find it a little hard. We've had extremely good luck this long, and idle dreams aren't going to keep us out of the camps." He started to interrupt her, but she silenced him by placing one finger on his lips. Her hand dug under her pillow until she found her gun. Holding it up, she let the metal drink in the moonlight. "This is our future Mulder. You can dress it up, and idealize it, and pretend we're fighting for the greater good all you want, but this is it. This is us. We will run and we will fight and we will kill until we die and then it will be over. Or even worse we'll be shipped off to one of those death camps they scare children with rumors about. You'll be executed and I'll be dissected. One lab rat, coming up." She traced the metal edge with her finger. "Those who live by the gun...." She placed the barrel against her temple. "Die by the gun." Mulder closed his hand around hers, lowering the gun until it sat in her lap. "Point taken." She redefined stubborn, and it hurt to see her falter under a world of burdens simply because she insisted on carrying them all herself. "Scully." He cupped the side of her face in his hand, knowing that the heat of her words was not meant for him, but for the same people he cursed in his nightmares. "Go to sleep. You're tired, and you're angry, and it makes for a bad combination. Don't even think about the camps. You aren't going there. I won't let you." The intense sincerity in his tone crumbled her walls just enough for her body to remind her of the overwhelming urge to sleep. Mulder was right. She could keep herself safe. And if she ever faltered, he could keep her safe too. He always did. She squeezed his hand one last time and then sank back against the pillows. "G'night Mulder." she murmured, already slipping into dreamland. "Wake me...if you....tired." Her eyelids floated shut and she was in oblivion. He was loathe to leave her side. The empty half of the bed beckoned him, making him keenly aware of how long it'd been since he slept through the night. There was no one else to keep watch, but if he just closed his eyes and rested for fiteen minutes what harm could it do....Mulder was halfway to the pillow when he jerked away, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Sleep was not an option, no matter how seductive. He picked up his gun and resumed his path across the floor, not even bothering to cover his yawn. It was going to be a long night. ************* The air was clogged with smoke and fog and death, the lining of his throat burning more and more with every stolen breath. A wall of fire, worked it's way up the streets of downtown Washington DC, devouring everything in it's path. Mulder was running down the street as fast as he could, just one body in a sea of panicked humans although he alone was pushing against the flood, pushing toward the fire despite the fear that ate his stomach like acid. Overhead, the stars fell to earth, taking the form of spaceships. So much for the truth being *out there*. It was here. And he didn't care. All he felt was fear of the fire, but even that succumbed to concern for the woman whose hand he had somehow lost in the confusion. "Scully!!!" His cry was swallowed up by the roar of the fire and the screaming of the crowd. Where was she? How could she have slipped away so easily? The waves of people parted before him as if by magic, just enough so he could see her. She slumped unmoving on the pavement even as the fire drew closer and closer. Mulder shoved his way toward her with renewed intensity, desperate to reach her. His throat clenched in horror as man came walking out of an alley scarce feet away from the fire, his attention focused solely on Scully. Mulder could only watch as he lifted her helpless body into his arms, her blood soaking his clothing. The man looked at Mulder, his face split in a leering grim. It wasn't just any traitor. This Judas had a name, had a face. "Leave her alone Krycek!" His curses, prayers, and threats were lost in the pandimonium, but her scream scraped against the burnt velvet of the sky to echo in his ears as the crowd surged ahead, pushing him away from her. "Mulder!" The crack of a gunshot drowned her scream. ************ The sound bridged the void between his nightmares and reality, jolting him awake as the report of the gun shot slid like a bolt of lightening down his spine. His eyes flew open, adjusting to the darkness, even as his hand grasped for a gun that wasn't there. < !!Wasn't there!!>. In the murky black he could barely make out the shapes of strange bodies crowding the room, of a dark mass falling away from Scully, clutching his stomach as two came to take his place. The thunder of her gun spit bullets amid yellow sparks, but the larger of the two men grabbed her wrist and wrenched it away from her. "Make the little witch pay !" a rough voice came from the darkness. "She killed Bernie and Tomas is wounded too." The next thing Mulder heard was Scully's scream of rage as the goons rushed to follow orders, the guttural cry quickly changing into a sound of pain as her slight frame kicked and writhed against the larger men. Adrenaline mixed with the sudden fury of a typhoon cauterized his veins, propelling him through the hands that reached for him, onto the bed. Mulder let his momentum carry his foot full force into the solar plexus of the nearest enemy, deflating him like an oversized balloon. He grasped Scully's shoulder's and pulled her close to him, barely managing to hang on as the second man slammed a meaty fist into his face. Shaking his head to sling the blood away from his eyes, he felt her fingernails sliding down his arms and realized they were trying to drag her away again. A torrent of words poured from her mouth, either cursing or praying. Probably both since he didn't recognize any of *those* adjectives from the Hail Mary. She screamed again, a cry born not of fear but of anger, and he found himself cursing too as her body slid against her will closer to the edge of the bed and the shadow strangers. Their hands met in one last desperate effort, fingers lacing until the joints were white. Scully became the focal point for a human tug-of-war. Her face was turned toward him, whiter than the sheets beneath them, but her eyes shone for one instant with something beside anger. They glowed bright with one stab of terror that pierced him to the core as her fingers begin to slip away. It was a heroic battle but one they had lost from the start. Strong hands surrounded him, pummeling his body like so many iron mallets as they pried his fingers loose. He was losing his grip....and in a heartbeat she was gone, wrenched away as a giant shadow hauled her off the bed by her ankles. There was an audible *thunk* as her head struck the wooden floor, followed by the sickening thud of a boot striking flesh. "Take that, sow." Another thud, this time followed by her sharp gasp and a mangled curse hurled defiantly at the man. Sheer hatred turned Mulder's blood to fire, and he lunged toward the tall brute that had kicked her, planning to crack his skull open and present his brain to Scully on a silver platter. He never made it. There were too many others, waiting to pin his arms behind him and shove him to the floor. His face collided with the floor in a solid smack, knocking the contents of his brain around. Under the bed he had a clear view to Scully, just in time to see the ogre pull her up by her hair onto her knees. His hand snaked out toward the edge of the bed, hoping to pull away, but a heavy bone crushed his effort and almost did the same to his fingers. The same boot or one much similar to it delivered a punishing kick to his ribs, emptying his lungs of air. Mulder abadoned all hope of resistance in favor of another breath of air, gasping as his arms were twisted back behind his back with such force the joints popped. Something rough like rope chagged the skin of his wrists, nearly cutting off the circulation, as a voice hissed in his ear. "You want to see what's going on ? Fine. We can watch it together." The floor slid away underneath him as he was dragged past the edge of the bed, out to where he could see what the giant and his friends were doing. The giant was taking his turn in the fun, and from what Mulder could see he had forced Scully to her knees in front of the man she shot. A large pool of blood was collecting on the man's chest, and her muscles quivered as she tried to resist the man's efforts to push her face in it. "You see this? That man was my brother. He had a wife. And a kid." Even the moonlight couldn't soften the ugly hate written across the man's features. "You wanna take a good look at what you done? C'mon, a little blood never hurt anyone." Scully turned her face to the side as the nauseating smell of warm blood hit her head on. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mulder straining against no less than five men, could see dark lines of crimson begin to form around his wrists as the rope rubbed away his skin. She had to get out of this nightmare before the giant had her face in the blood. She paused for a moment, gathering her strength, and then whipped her whole body to the side, out of the man's hold. Scully rolled to her left, snapping her leg out to catch the man in the stomach. He grunted, doubling over, and she used the opportunity to swipe his left leg out from under him, toppling him like an overgrown bush. Face down onto his brother's body. Shock of what she had done numbed her senses until she found herself on her feet, the joints in her arms screaming as two men bound her hands behind her back. The giant rose to his feet, blood dripping from his face and hands, then lunged at her with nothing less than murder in his eyes. Out of the darkness the familiar shadow of Mulder's body appeared in front of her. She could see his muscles tense as the man's fist connected with his body, the force behind the punch sending them both onto the floor. Obviously certain members of the crowd were beginning to worry about the survival of their prisoners, because she found herself yanked to her feet once more and swiftly herded toward the door. The rope around Mulder's wrists bit into his raw flesh as the men jerked him forward, the static electricity of pain doing little to clear his head. All that remained of consciousness was a cumbersome burden, a view of the world dominated by tiny red balls of pain dancing before his eyes. His lower lip was split in two by the giant's final punch, and now the metallic tang gagged him as he began to choke on his own blood. His feet began moving down the stais but the rest of his body wasn't as willing to please, his legs folding under him halfwar down. He didn't even have time to regain his beath before two hands clamped around his neck in a bruising grip and hauled him up. "What's the matter *rebel*?" A voice sneered. "Can't take a little pain?" Mulder's mind staggered back a couple steps with the implications of the thoughts. So that's what this was about. They had been discovered. A cold chill started at the base of neck and slithered like icy tentacles down his spine. Rebels. The five letter word spelled their death sentence. The door burst open under someone's foort and the part spilled out into the street. The glow of at least a hundred torches painted the dancing shadows of a mob on the walls of the buildings. A very angry mob. Even the faces of the children were twisted in hatred, as they shouted for the rebels to be murdered in ways that it shocked Mulder children even knew. Something small and soft brushed against his arm. Scully. There was a cut on her forehead that dripped blood in crimson rivulets down her face. Her hands were tied behind her back. She met his gaze, residual anger simmering in her eyes. Mulder was amazed that she wasn't afraid. He hadn't been, until now. Now he was terrified because the reality was beginning to sink in that she was going to die in front of him and he could do nothing to save her. He only prayed that her death would be quick, painless. That they wouldn't make him watch. "Scully, I'm sor-" His words were cut off as a rope collar landed around his neck, yanking him forward to his knees. An overripe tomato landed on the ground in front of him, splattering red goo all over his shirt and pants. The crowd cheered. A strangled cry cut under the noise and Scully landed on her side in front of him, chest heaving as she wrestled with the noose for breath. An egg sailed through the air and hit her head, oozing the contents down her hair and neck. "Get up!" The vigilante on the other end of Mulder's rope demanded, pulling so that pressure began to build on his windpipe. Mulder scrambled to his feet, waiting for Scully to do the same. She didn't. She tried, she really did, struggling until she was on one knee, but it wasn't fast enough for them. A boot caught her in the shoulder from behind, sending her flying as far as the rope would allow. Mulder recognized the giant from upstairs as the man delivered a brutal kick to her stomach. This time, she didn't even move, just lay with her face pressed into the dust to muffle her groan. The blood from her forehead turned the dirst around her into scarlet mud. "Leave her alone!" Mulder lunged forward only to be pulled back at the end of the length of rope. He tried again, throwing all his weight into it, until suddenly the man's grip was loose enough for him to pull free. He stumbled to her side, shielding her body with his own as he drew up to his full height and stared her tormentor dead in the eye. It was not a request. It was an order. "Leave her alone." The man cussed violently and spit in Mulder's face. "Don't make requests....the filth killed my brother!" The man punctuated his statment with a crushing blow to Mulder's already sore ribs. Mulder felt his knees weaken but forced himself to remain standing. "Leave. her. alone." It took all of his energy to repeat just those three words, to continue defiance. He had faced men like these before, overgrown bullies drunk with power and fed by rage and he would not back down. The man's fist drew back again like a loaded gun and Mulder tensed for a blow that never came. Instead the man dropped his fist and stalked away. "Let Boss Gordon decide how we gonna kill 'em." he growled. Mulder allowed his lungs to breathe again. Boss Gordon, he remembered, was the leader of the town. A reasonable man, or so he hoped. Prehaps he could work a deal, persuade him to let Scully go. He had plunged willingly into this crusade, and dragged her along with him. She had never once wanted out. She had never quit. She of all people deserved anything but this. He turned back toward her, watching her scramble to her feet as best she could, grating coughs wracking her body with each attempt at movement. Moving as close to her as possible, he supported her weight with his shoulders, pushing her up until she was standing, albeit leaning heavily on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" That was all he had time to say. She nodded and then the ropes pulled them forward, straight into the thick of the crowd. Mulder took a deep breath and braced himself for the inevitable. ************* Scully didn't know how much longer she could stay on her feet. It seemed every human being- she used the term quite loosely at this point- wanted a piece of the "criminals". Pieces of rotted fruit, eggs, and even stones pelted them from all angles. She heard curse words she didn't even think existed hurled in her direction. Some of the men, smiling lewdly, reached for her dress, tearing the cloth as she stumbled by. She twisting to avoid their reach, too concerned about how she was going to walk to fight back. Every step jarred her body like she was on the rack. But once she hit the ground in this mob, Scully harbored no illusions that she would be getting up again. Mulder fought back for her, shoving his body in between hers and their hands, snarling curses and even spitting in their faces. His stand earned him more than his fair share of their abuse; his face was beginning to take on the color of a bruised melon. Scully felt both immensely guilty and intensely grateful. Every stolen touch brought the bitter tang of bile to the back of her throat. It was her fault- if she could just get the world to stop spinning she could tell him that she could take care of herself. She wanted to, but the simple truth was that for right now he was all that stood between her and the crowd. Both of them knew that, which was why he hovered around her like a misplaced guardian angel. Twice she stumbled, nearly falling. Twice he was right there under her to push her right back up. Her whole body was becoming numb, tired of the punishment and detaching itself from the pain. She only wanted to fall, to sink to the ground and never move again no matter how much they beat her. He wouldn't let her give up. She owed it to him to keep going. She owed it to herself. Scully pushed the crowd, the torches, the night out of her mind, and latched her gaze onto Mulder like a drowning woman clinging to a life line. One step. Another step. Life had gone from complex to simple in a matter of moments. It had ceased to be filled with the worry of how to escape, where to go, and become nothing more than the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed one moment longer than eternity, but the crowd parted around them and they were standing on the edge of town. Beyond them for miles piled on endless miles stretched the desert, and a sky full of glittering stars. The moon was full. It was a beautiful night to die. For one moment hope coursed through her veins, giving her new strength. Prehaps they were simply going to be beaten and then turned out into the desert. Alive. They knew how to survive...they'd done it before. All hope was dashed when she saw Mulder's face, the unbridled horror bleeding from his eyes. She traced his gaze to the far outskirts of town, when two objects stood straight as sentinels against the night sky, surrounded by piles of dry grass and brushwood. Two stakes. With flaming torches planted in the dirt on either side. She closed her eyes and begged God to kill them now. to be continued. . . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas: 2/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - She felt a tremor of fear pass over her body and knew that she was shaking. A glance at Mulder brought relief that he had not noticed, that he too was staring at the stakes. Just two seemingly insignificant pieces of wood, surrounded by even more insignificant brush and grass. When all was said and done, the most horrible deaths were the most commonplace. Here they were, fugitives from the government of the next millenium and beyond, and their fate would be almost perfectly similar to the fate of many during the middle ages who had stood apart from the masses. Even in a world ruled by aliens, the basics never changed. Truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne. She had never planned on *dying* for the cause, things had just worked out that way, but at least she had Mulder with her... Scully choked on her next breath as she remembered. They couldn't burn Mulder- they couldn't. Let them do whatever they wanted to her, but not to him. Not this. Her heart began to pound wildly in her chest, first with frustration, quickening into out and out anger. "Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, you stand accused of high treason, of aiding the rebellion, and the murder of one of my people. The penalty for that is death." A gruff voice snapped her attention to the man standing in front of them, flanked by two others, each armed. The man himself was unarmed. "In your treachery you have endangered the lives of everyone in this village. What do you have to say to these charges?" She recognized him as Boss Gordon. The man who held their lives in his hands. "I am a member of the resistance." Mulder spoke up before she could open her mouth. "I make no apologies." An wave of angry shouts rippled across the crowd, along with cries of "Burn him! Burn them both!" Gordon held up one hand and all was again silent. Mulder plowed right ahead, spinning a lie he silently begged Scully to go along with. "She is innocent." He looked at her in rank disgust. "As innocent as a government spy can be." The contempt melted into pride. "I captured her, and was taking her to my superiors for questioning." Scully's mouth dropped open to form a perfect O. He had his moments of insanity, but this....this was unacceptable. If she died, she died. Living alone would be just as bad. "He's lying." She said, the hot strength of anger pushing her forward. "I'm every bit as resistance as he is." "Scully!" Mulder hissed her name, his voice razor sharp. "What are you doing ?" She ignored him, turning toward Gordon. "We are rebels. If you can call it that. You talk of treason, of treachery...well let me tell you something of treachery! *Treachery* is when human beings turn against human beings, when they are willing to destroy them for the simple crime of standing up to oppression! *Treason* is when we hunt each other down like cattle for a government who thinks of us all as nothing more than pests to be exterminated!" Scully whirled to face the crowd, jabbing her finger in their direction accusingly. Mulder watched in stark admiration as her blue eyes hurled electricity down on the mob. This was his Scully in full battle armor, and he never ceased to be amazed. "You are the traitors here. You think yourselves so brave with your guns and your vendettas. In truth you are but cowards! Weakened dogs, killing off those who are different from what you will never be. You can kill us, but it will not change your state at all." Her voice was calmer now, as the eruption faded away. "We may die tonight. But you will die every day for the rest of your miserable lives." She was finished. Nothing more to say, no more strength to say it with. She turned her back on the crowd, desperation beginning to creep back into her eyes as she waited for Gordon's decision. The whole world was silent. He shifted in his stance, his eyes meeting hers in a mix of regret and steel. "Kill them." That said, he turned and walked back into a building, taking all her resolve with him. His words struck her like a physical blow, and she stood with her head bowed for a moment before looking up at the only thing she wanted to see. Mulder could barely look at her. The face of death was in no way as crushing as the complete despair rampant on her features. But he could no more look away than cease breathing, held captive by her eyes. One tear slid down the side of her face, carving a path through the dirt and the blood. It carved a gash right down his soul as well. He hardly felt the crushing grip of the men pushing him to the stake, barely acknowledged the burning on his skin as they re-tied his wrists behind him. Another length of rope lashed his ankles to the wood. It didn't matter. She filled his gaze and mind and soul so completely, that even death was momentarily forgotten. They were not dragging her. Scully was *walking*. Slowly, stately, more like a queen surrounded by her court rather than a martyr condemned to die. The monsters hovered around her, waiting for her to try an escape. She didn't. She walked up the stake and drew herself up to full height, staring straight ahead as they tied her. Her arm was no more than a foot away from his. So close... but too far away. The men were going for the torches now. What were his last words going to be? "Scully..." He called her name in a whisper, and she turned her head until she could see him. Scully could almost feel the torture in his eyes. She knew she could take the pain of dying but she couldn't sit and listen to him take the blame for it. "Mulder, don't." "Don't what?" "Apologize." She smiled sadly. "You're not responsible. I'm here for the same reasons I always was. Because I want to be." "I wouldn't mind dying this way if it could save you." It was true, but his thoughts were a thousand miles from his words. He couldn't say the three words in his mind. Even though he'd never get another chance. Some secrets were best carried to the grave. Besides, what good would it do, now, here? "You have saved me Mulder." She whispered back, then her eyes widened, and he followed her gaze. Two men stood in front of them, the flames from their torches orange-red against the backdrop of night. "Let's see how rebels burn." One of them said, a sneer on his face. "Not hardly as hot as she talks." The other added, laughing loudly. He passed the torch slowly across her face, inches above her skin. Scully turned her head, trying to keep from screaming. "Let her go." Mulder said, not caring if he was begging. "Please. If you have to kill her, do it some other way." The man pulled back, laughing again. The kind of laughter of a boy who is about to pull the wings off a butterfly. "Now what would the fun be in that ?" He ran his fingers down the side of her face and along the ridge of her shoulder where the cloth had been ripped away, then pressed his lips to her neck. She pulled her head away. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back toward him, then placed his lips on hers for a long moment. Every muscle in Mulder's body quivered with rage. Just five minutes alone with that scum was all he'd need. Five minutes and then maybe he'd let Scully finish him off... She spit in the man's face. He merely wiped it away with his hand and turned to Mulder, a huge smile on his face. "Too bad she has to go to waste like this. I'd have liked to take her out for a spin. How would you have liked that, hero boy?" Mulder let him know in a very lengthy string of four lettered words he saved for just such occasions. "No more chatter." The first man said. "On with it." The tips of the torches touched the grass, the flame kissing it just long enough to set them on fire. ************ His fingers tightened around the rope as the brush flared up around his feet, the hungry flames already lapping at his shoes. For the moment the smoke was worse than the fire, filling his lungs and stinging his eyes until each breath was stinging hot and painful. Fire. His worst enemy. It was like his dream all over again. Or a scene from one of his darker nightmares. But this was real, and searing pain began to shoot up his legs as the heat reached his feet. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, the image shimmering in the heat as she fought to breathe.Mulder couldn't tell whether smoke or pain or both caused the tears that trickled down her face. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to look at her anymore, to carry this last image of her into eternity. Not like this. So he closed his eyes and tried to remember any sort of prayer. *Hail Mary, full of grace...hallowed be thy name.. blessed art thou and forgive of our trangressions..." This was useless. He had to see her again before he died... Mulder opened his eyes. A pain so intense the fire was nothing ripped through his gut. Her body slumped against the restraints, her head lolled to one side. Mulder wanted to believe she was unconscious. He refused to believe that she was dead. That this was really it. But believing or not believing had no bearing on cold reality. His head dropped to his chest as the black hole of despair came rushing up to swallow him whole. He wanted nothing more than to embrace the flame, to let it carry him to a place where he could see her again. His thoughts were frozen and his eyes shot open when a wave of freezing cold water doused him, turning the fire into nothing more than a smoking pile of wet embers. Mulder snapped his head toward Scully so fast he practically heard the vertebrae in his neck popping. She was soaked too, but she wasn't moving. Not at all. He tore his eyes away from her long enough to thank their savior. And instead found himself face to face with the man from the dream himself. A very smug Krycek stood before him, holding an empty water bucket in his good hand and smiling like a cat that had just caught a mouse. Two mice to be exact. Krycek held his gaze a moment, then turned back to a very disappointed crowd. "I hate to ruin your evening, " he said, setting the water bucket down. "but the barbecue's been called off. These two belong to me." "Says who??" The man who had kissed Scully stepped out of the crowd, brandishing a crowbar. "We found 'em. We do what we want with 'em." A murmur of agreement swept through the crowd. "Is that so." Without so much as a change of tone, Krychek pulled a 9 mm from his leather jacket and squeezed off two shots. The man screamed horribly as he crumpled to the ground, two masses of blood and bone chips where his kneecaps used to be. The mob shut up, no one daring to move even to help him. For the first time in his life Mulder agreed with Krycek. The vigilante had gotten exactly what he deserved. He only wished he could have pulled the trigger himself, although if he had been holding the gun he would have aimed a little higher. Krycek was talking again, clearly in control of the crowd. "See this?" He held up his left sleeve, showing the crowd the yellow and black insignia of the Enforcers, the Colonist's secret police. "This means that they are my prisoners, and I decide what happens to them. If anyone else has a problem with that, step forward and join your friend." No one so much as breathed. "Good. Now I need four of you to untie them and two more to get the trash out of the street." He gestured to the man writhing at his feet. "Your services will be duly noted, as always." Mulder forgot about the urge to lunge at Krycek the moment his hands were free in his concern for Scully. The moment her ropes were severed, she slid down the stake into a small heap on the ground. To his surprise, no one tried to keep him from her side. He was there before a breath had passed. She had never looked so tiny. Her eyes were closed and if her chest was moving he couldn't tell. The rest of the universe blurred around him as he covered her mouth with his, emptying his lungs into hers. No matter how much he tried to keep her safe, things always ended up this way- with her breathless and him trying to hold her on the planet for just a little while longer. Maybe it would be better if he just let her go... No. It wasn't even an option. If she died, he would die. And if he died, the bad guys would win. But didn't they always anyway? Time unfroze at the sound of a small cough, then another. Her eylids fluttered like butterflies trying their wings for the first time then opened. The blue of her eyes danced with bewilderment and hope as she tried to speak, her voice thick and raspy from the smoke. "I'm not dead..." "Shh." He noticed that soot from the dead fire was smudging her hair. She shouldn't have to lie in the dirt like some kind of animal. Sliding his arms underneath her, he pulled her half-into his lap. "Can she walk?" Krycek's voice demanded attention which he grudgingly paid. "I doubt it." Mulder said, not bothering to purge the hate from his voice. "Be nice to me Mulder." Krycek smiled. "I saved your life. And hers." "Why? Did you want to kill us yourself?" "You misjudge my motives." he said. "As alluring as the prospect may sound, I don't want to *kill* either of you. There's a hefty price on your head and it will belong to me in a matter of hours." He felt Scully's muscles tense and remembered their earlier conversation. How many promises would he break? "I don't suppose you'd let her go." Mulder said. "After all, I'm the big prize. She's not a threat without me." It was a lie and they both knew it. "Oh but you don't give her enough credit. I am full aware of what she's capable of." he looked at his watch. "Well it's getting late, or I should say early, and we have a long way to go." He leveled his gun until an invisible arrow from the barrel bored into Mulder's forehead. "So if you will follow me, we can all walk out of this nice and peaceful like." "And if I refuse? Will you shoot my knees out too?" The sarcasm was clear, and Mulder was satisfied when Krycek stiffened. "No." He snarled back. "I'll shoot out hers." His tone made it clear that it was no idle threat, and Mulder kept his arguments to himself as he willingly followed the man he hated most into the midnight. ************* The moon was falling like a burned out rocket toward a horizon tinged with gray dawn and they were still walking. And walking. And walking... Each movement jarred his tired body one inch past the unbearable. The rough terrain was unforgivable on his bare feet as he moved from patches of silver to shadow to silver again. Unfortunately most of the sharp plants seemed to prefer shadow. Not for the first time he wished for his shoes. Or that he could rest. Or even ease the weight of the body in his arms. He felt a bit guilt at even associating Scully's featherweight with "heavy", but his arms could only take so much in one night without turning into noodles. She had held her own for the first few hours, telling him she was fine right until the second she dropped unconsious in the sand. To tell the truth, Mulder was surprised she stayed on her feet as long as she did. Krycek had offered to carry her once but Mulder's quick and rather nasty refusal made it clear to him not to offer again. The thought was almost sacriligious, not to mention the fact that it was beyond an insult to admit to Krycek that he was getting tired enough to consider the offer. So he carried on, step after brutal step. Krycek, for his part, stayed a wary glance away from Mulder's side, the gun never wavering in his hand. The flint hard shine in his eyes telegraphed to Mulder's the ready consequences any escaped attempts. The very notion made Mulder want to laugh. To be absolutely fair, he *had* thought about it, but the ideas had began and ended with the woman in his arms. Escape was impossible as long as she was out of things. But as soon as she returned to the world of the living.... Maybe it was sunrise or maybe his swollen eyes were just playing tricks on the rest of his brain. Either way he was fairly sure the black blur three paces ahead of him that made up Krycek was stopping. He gave his body the order to stop; it just sort of died on him instead, leaving him standing like a robot with a rag doll in his arms. Was this it? Their execution? He wanted to at least be able to see the end of his life, of his quest, when it came. He blinked twice, slowly and deliberately, until the world came into clearer focus. The reason for their halt was far less final. Krycek had a car- a rusty black Jaguar that had seen far better days. Mulder was both surprised and impressed, then surprised he had been either. Only influential members of the new hierarchy were allowed the privilege of cars. But then Krycek's insignia had been Enforcer. You didn't get any more influential than that. They were made up of a potpourri of aliens, humans, and hybrids with one common ground. Each was the best at what they did, and there was talk that the *real* power of the government rested in their hands. "Nice wheels." He croaked. mainly to see if the parched remains of his vocal cords still worked. They did, but barely. "Well unlike you," Krycek turned his back to him long enough to fiddle with something on the trunk. "I know how to pick sides." "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you. How does it feel to be a lackey? Oh...how silly of me...you've been one all your life." The trunk popped open with a whine and Krycek spun just fast enough to let Mulder know that he had hit another nerve. The smile wanted to come but he remained deadpan for full effect. "Lackey is one thing to call it." Krycek said, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to match Mulder's calm. "Although I'm not going to end up in some alien death camp having my brains fried out of my head, like you are. But you're used to that." he edged forward as he spoke. "No, the real hard part will start when they hook her up to the machines. You know what I'm talking about, don't you Mulder. When she screams your name and you'll wish you were deaf because deep down inside you know..." He stopped inches away from Mulder, his breath hot and sour like hard liqour. "That there's not a thing in the world you can do about it." The hate made Mulder forget how tired he was but he remembered that his arms were full of Scully just in time to keep from attacking the man. As it was, he let the heat of his anger forge the lines of his face into steel and denied his enemy the privilege of a reaction. "Put her in the trunk." Krycek ordered, stepping aside and waving at Mulder with his gun. "Put her in then get in after her." The steel cracked over his eyes and allowed the tiniest sliver of shock to register. Krychek had not only known about Scully's abduction, he had *orchestrated* it. So he would have known about the last trip she had made in a trunk and what it would do to her to wake up in another one. Sadistic little... "What are you waiting for ?" Krychek's voice broke into his thoughts. "We have a long way to go before the heat of noon sets in. Get in the trunk." "No." Mulder looked him eye to eye, their pupils dancing as he refused him for the first time. "Not the trunk. She can't go in the trunk." Krycek laughed, a thin cynical croak devoid of all mirth. "Still haven't curbed that defiant streak, have we Mulder ?" The smirk flipped into a snarl and he pushed the barrel of his gun deep inbetween Scully's ribs. Her lips parted slightly in a silent moan but she came no closer to the surface of consciousness. "Maybe you still had smoke in your ears when I said I would shoot her. My orders were to take you alive. She is expendable. And I know a lot of slavers between here and there that would love to get their hands on a pretty piece of work like her-" Mulder's spat a curse that broke him off. Instantly, he felt chagrined for letting the little weasel get under his skin. Perhaps if he tried another approach. "Let me go in the trunk then. Put her in the back seat. Look at her...she's unconscious. What plan could she possibly have?" "I don't know." Krycek said. "But I have heard the recent stories around you two. You seem to specialize in convenient miracles. No less than half a dozen of Their best bounty hunters have lost you and I have no taste to follow their path. Now get in the trunk and we can all be on our way." Two heartbeats thundered like crashing boulders in Mulder's ears before he made his decision. Biting his lip and silently begging Scully to forgive him, he walked over to the trunk. Three short steps was all it took. The air inside hit his face like a blast of heat from an oven. As gently as he possible, he laid Scully inside, her hair spilling around her like a sea of chocolate froth. His eyes met Krycek's one last time and he let the hatred pour through with one additional promise. The vow did not need words to be understood, and he let the full weight of impact sink in before he climbed into the trunk after Scully. A second later he heard the trunk slam shut behind him, locking out the light. Musty air assaulted his nostrils with maddening intensity. But he hadn't looked back, hadn't watched Krycek's face as he shut them in like another game prize. He hadn't wanted to see the triumph. ************* Hot. The air was hot. Stale air, like it hadn't seen sunlight in eons. Her lungs shuddered when she breathed in the stuff. For the moment she allowed her eyes to remain closed, until her mind could bring her up to speed on what exactly had happened. Oh God. Now she remembered. The crowd, the men, the ropes, the fire, the blackness that she had thought was the abyss of death itself swallowing her whole. But it hadn't. She was here, and obviously alive, so what had happened? Maybe if she opened her eyes, she could find out... Still black. Was she dead after all? Or perhaps her brain was still a little smoky. It wasn't until she blinked that she realized her eyes were open. The smothering darkness around her just made it impossible to tell a difference. She sensed a wall no less than four inches away from her face, so close her breath bounced off it and back into her face. At least what little breath made it past the sudden constriction binding her throat with cords of iron. Step two. Find out where she was. Her fingers stretched out tentatively, above her head. Another wall- or was it a ceiling ? The first edges of panic began to creep around her like demons from the dark. The fear compounded when she recognized the heavy weight of another body pressed up against hers in a very small, very confined, *moving* space. They were in a car. Or the trunk to be exact. Just like before. Just like when the nightmares had started when her own government sold her out for the first time and not for the last time.... She didn't mean to scream. It just sort of erupted up from her gut in one lightening fast wave, filling the tiny compartment in an earsplitting shriek. The world blurred around her, her fists flailing helplessly against the demons in her head. "Scully." The sound of her name formed an uneasy tether back with reality. Or maybe it was just the voice that said it. Mulder was here. He was alive. She wasn't alone after all. "Mulder?" His name tumbled out of her lips in a breath, , half-ashamed of her scream but at this point too consumed with the double potion of terror and relief to care. "I'm right here." Somehow his hand managed to find hers in the ebony. He pulled her even closer to him, and despite the thick heat of the trunk, she felt herself shivering uncontrollably. A desperate need overtook her to make sure it was him, and her hands fumbled in the dark until she found his face. He must have known what she was doing- he didn't so much as breathe until her fingers had explored every feature to her satisfication. "It's me Scully. It really is." His hand over hers tightened to back up his words. "What happened to us?" She breathed, allowing her head to come to rest against his shoulder. "Why aren't we dead?" "Krycek didn't kill us.." "Why?" Scully wasn't entirely positive she wanted to know but she had a guess. "The bounty brings more alive." Every muscle of her body stiffened ramrod straight as she fought to regain the trappings of dignity and control she needed so much. "Alive." Her whisper was a dim echo in the darkness, waiting for affirmation of the cold truth. Alive meant something far worse than death. Life in the very camps Mulder had promised her she would never visit. If that was to be Fate's final say to them, she refused to shy away from it. She was strong and more than that she was a Scully. What would her father have done? Or her mother, or Bill or Melissa or Charlie? The grim reality was that she didn't know. They were all lucky, all were granted the privilege of death as opposed to an endless cycle of dying commonly known as life. No, she would never scream again. But she would be strong for herself, and for Mulder too. He blamed himself for far too much as it was. "Where are we going?" She listened to the ghost of her voice fade away after she finished talking and was pleased to her that it had not shook the way her hands were. There was an uncomfortable gap of silence before he answered. "Enforcer headquarters I figure. Krycek will be eager to get his greedy little plastic fingers on the reward for us. From there...I don't know....we can be shipped off to any of the facilities in the nation. Since we're such high profile catches we'll probably wind up in one of the Arizona camps." He didn't tell her of the other possiblities. That they could be split up, that he would never see her again. Or even worse, that she would be sold into slavery as a diversion for the rich and powerful. Mulder had come to the firm resolution that he would be willing to kill her before he let her go that way. There was no need to tell her of all this. Scully was smart, and chances were she already knew twice as much as she was letting on. But there was always the slim chance she had been able to shove it somewhere besides the forefront of her mind, unlike him, and he wasn't planning on dragging it up if she didn't want to face it. He knew he sure didn't but better him than her. "At least we're alive." She was moving into a layer of Scully that came out whenever she was faced with something that was both horrible and inevitable. It was predictable. She had gone from fighting reality to confronting it and now she was trying to find some shred of optimism for both of them to cling to. "We're alive." Scully was right, he knew. And though for now it seemed a blessing, in the days and weeks and endless months ahead of them, it could turn into a curse. Krycek's words echoed inside the caverns of his mind like the whispers of a thousand nightmares. Whoever coined the phrase was right- the truth hurt. Like fire and needles and barbed wire but most of all like helplessness. He could not protect her from the monsters any more. That had ended when a night and an eternity ago when he had slipped in his vigilance once and lost their freedom, maybe forever. Krycek had said their escapes were legendary. And perhaps there was a grain of truth to it. They *had* eluded five or six Bounty Hunters in their time. Mulder had personally turned three of them into piles of green goo. Scully preferred dealing with humans, but she was deadly in her field of choice. But this time was different. Because he had been thinking of escape options, racking his brain every moment since the trunk lid slammed shut. And the most painful truth of all was that he could not think of a single way to earn their freedom. Not one. to be continued. . . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas: 3/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - He had come to grips with the very real possiblity that Krycek had forgotten that human beings needed air in order to survive when there was a small click and the lid of the trunk popped open in a rush of fresh air and blinding sunlight. Mulder squinted to see through the haze of golden light, his lungs working greedily to make up for the staleness of the last few hours. "We're he-re." Krycek leered, giving Mulder a not-so-friendly hand out of the trunk. "I noticed." Mulder growled, more intent on keeping his balance than on anything the little ferret had to tell him. A slightly smaller blur emerged from the trunk, and he assumed it was Scully. She seemed a little worse for the wear but Mulder noticed that she had no trouble pushing Krychek's hand away when he tried to help. He charted a course for her side, his eyes still watering from the million rays of sun hitting them like tiny needles. "Hey." he mumbled, not quite being able to stop bumping into her. "Sorry." Obviously they wouldn't have that much time. The sound of hurried footsteps to the left drew Mulder's attention, just as a group of black distinctly threatening blurry...soldiers?....emerged from the sea of morning. Their voices faded in and out, like a bad radio transmission, but Mulder had the whole litany memorized anyway. "Stay still sir.....hands behind.....escape attempts..... severe punishment." The familiar pull of handcuffs tugged at his wrists as they secured his arms tightly behind his back. Mulder shifted uncomfortably as the tiny steel teeth of each one bit into his skin. Class-six containment bracelets. Whoever the men in black belonged to was taking no chances. Then they were moving, again, or at least trying to. From his view the world was underwater and he was trying to swim with his eyes open in chlorine. Mulder stumbled once, but Scully spared him the humiliation of falling down by a well-placed shoulder. Straight ahead, immense and gray and forbodeing, was a building. The guards conveniently "forgot" to tell him there was a door until *after* he had walked straight into it. Mulder may be dizzy but he hadn't forgotten his manners. He explained their stupidity in a few clear vivid sailor words he'd learned from Bill. Hey, sometimes it paid to be the man everybody hated. Now was definitely not one of those times. Inside the door the breath of cooler air on his face and the muted lights did wonders for his eyesight. Within moments the needles stopped and he could regain the awareness of his surroundings he needed. He immediately wished he had remained blind.The name of their fate was written in iron lettering across the top of the huge stone doorway. Enforcer Headquarters. Vive Novus Ordo Seclorum Long live the New Order of the Ages. Such a grand title for the birthplace of so much carnage. There wasn't much time for staring, since the guards were already shoving them into the belly of the building, a sprawling room abuzz with activity not unlike a police station of the old times. They were manuevered through the maze of desks and soldiers and secretaries, up a flight of stairs, and into an office reading Minister of Police. Most of their escort fell away at that point, leaving only one guard for each of them when they walked into the room. It would have been called luxurious even in the height of the world's glory. The carpet was at least four inches thick, the color of red wine, and something his bare feet were very, very, grateful for. The walls were paneled with mahogany stained to a golden brown shine, almost glowing from the inside out. A chandelier sprawled like a great golden spider in the middle of the ceiling and the mellow strains of Bach in the background didn't quite drown out the quiet breath of an actual *air conditioner*. Because of the splendor, it took Mulder exactly three and one half seconds longer than normal to hone in on the real source for the invisible power of the room. He was sitting behind a large, antiquated desk, probably "confiscated" from the office of a dead Senator, with no less than three lightening bolts adorning the shoulders and cuffs of his jet black uniform. The name on the desk read Richard Matheson. Disbelief whipped Mulder's eyes up to the man's face just as "Matheson" turned around. It was like looking into the face of a ghost. No, it *was* looking into the face of a ghost. The real Senator Matheson had been killed in the same mass execution that terminated- literally- Congress. This imposter was very good, however. Same snowy hair, same ernest face...no, wait. Different eyes. The eyes of the Matheson he knew were alive, intelligent, human. The eyes of the man who stared back at him were cold, and utterly foreign. They were lacking any pupil at all , totally black like the void of space. Which was another reason why this wasn't his one time friend and mentor. Merely another of of the aliens, wearing his face of choice. Mulder stiffened in spite of himself, and the Matheson noticed, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Agent Mulder. How very nice to meet you at last." "The agent part is as dead as the man who's face you wear," Mulder said flatly. "Yes, well, there are those among our race who believe it advantageous to keep trappings of the old ways about us." "Some trappings," he snorted, casting a pointed glance at the finery. "The original Senator Matheson appreciated such things. I have attempted to become as much like him as possible, since he is my chosen persona." "Chosen persona. He was a human, not a halloween costume." "You are too easily swayed by your emotions, Agent Mulder." The Matheson put slight emphasis on the Agent. "Which is why you were caught." The door slid open and Krycek entered the room as if on cue. He saluted the man, then fell into a lax imitation of attention, his trademark smirk threatening to split his face in two. "I believe these two are worth something, sir." Mulder was semi-impressed. Even Krycek showed respect to this man. Krycek, who had threatened the Smoking Man on more than one occasion. "You shall have your bounty in full." The Matheson said, leaning back in his seat. "I merely wanted to take a look at the man who was said to have started the rebellion and the woman who belongs to him." Mulder noticed Scully's jaw tighten but she had more sense than he did and kept her voice cooler than ice. Her eyes were blazing though, a fire that reminded him of the way her hair used to be. "I belong to no one," she said, soft like silk over steel. The Matheson regarded her critically. "Scully, isn't it? Your name is familiar- I've seen it in the data files from our scientists. I think they should be eager to have their wayward subject back on the table." Scully may have been ready with a response to that one, but Mulder beat her too it. "You or your cronies so much as *touch* her and I'll personally see to it that they'll be scraping what's left of you off those nice walls with tweezers." The Matheson laughed. "False heroics never got anyone anywhere. You'll learn that soon enough. In the mean time," he waved to the guards. "Start processing them. I'll have their destination orders down in a moment." The guards snapped back to life like good robots and herded them out into the hall. Scully's head was down, but he caught a glimpse of the stark paleness of her face, the way her eyes glittered with an emotion she was trying hard to keep from him. He knew that look. She was afraid. She would never let him know but he could read the emotions brought on by the Matheson and his innuendos about continued testing. He could only hope it was a mind game. Either way he knew from now on that Bach and red wine carpet would go on his list of things he hated. As would the alien behind them. ************* Scully would ultimately forget a great many things about her imprisonment but processing would not be one of them. Even years later, it would amaze her that such a detailed, organized process for stripping away humanity existed. But it existed. No denying it. The first step into the nightmare was the strip search. A pale cold room and a female guard- their only concession to decency throughout the whole thing- to give orders in curt monotone icier than the white walls. Even worse, the red eyes of cameras above her mocked as they recorded the whole spectacle. For a moment she allowed herself to feel enough bitterness to wonder if the alien with the face Mulder knew was watching everything, that same maddening smile on his face. Bitterness led to hate, and it was the hate that sustained her through the rest of the ordeal. It was a privilege though, being able to feel at all. After the primary humilation was over, she was a thin cotton shirt and pants. The shirt and pants were both a pale grey-blue, small enough not to hang too much from her body. And she had shoes, at long last. As soon as the thought crossed her mind she wondered if there even was a God left to thank, or if the aliens had killed him too. She rebuked herself for doubting. Her faith was the one thing that they couldn't take from her unless she gave it up. But she never signed up for martyrdom. She never signed up for this. It was not until after she had dressed again that she was hurried along to the next station and met up with Mulder again. Almost subconscious relief eased the tension in her bones, and from the mirrored emotion in his eyes, he was feeling similar. Also she read worry, even fear that she couldn't fully understand until he brushed close enough against her to whisper a question in her ear. "Did they..." "No." She lied not for him but for herself. She couldn't not bear the weight of his guilt and make it out of this a whole person. Not this time. Was it a trick of her eyes or was that the tiniest hint of a smile playing near his lips ? "Terrible liar." he whispered, the words falling almost like a caress on her ear before the guards noticed and pulled him away with shouts of no talking. No talking. Did that still leave room for screaming? Because that's what she was afraid she would do, if they tried to put needles in her again. Scream and scream until the fragile cord of sanity snapped and she was allowed the blessed haven of madness. If only she could go insane without betraying everything she was. Everything she had left. The second part was simple in and of itself, but if she had known what was coming she would not have let herself think of it that way. Intstead of the old fashioned ink and paper method of fingerprint identification, their retinas were scanned using tiny lasers that irritated her eyes like sandpaper but captured her true self for all time. People could, if they tried hard enough, change their fingerprints. It was a little harder to pop out your eyeballs. She may have let her guard down just a hair's length by the time they reached the third room but Mulder had become tense, even as far as to suspect what awaited them. So maybe that was the reason when the door opened and the horror smacked them across the face he was able to keep walking and she was paralyzed. But then again, he hadn't seen the Chairs before. She had. Right at this second her mind was filled with nothing else. Black like the eyes of Death, they were reclined just enough to pass as macabre impressions of dentist or barber chairs, with a few "minor" alterations. Dentist chairs didn't have straps for your ankles, wrists and head. Barber's may nick you once or twice with the razor but they didn't drain your blood from you like mechanical vampires, taking part of it for records. Most of it for the amusement of the aliens. The paralysis crept over her rather slowly, compounding the sudden dizziness that swirled the room around her like one too many times on a carousel. It was like powerful yet invisible hands had clamped around her arms, around her legs, around her very heart so that it was forced to fight for just one more beat. Scully did not hear the men telling to move forward, did not feel their hands tugging at her, did not see Mulder's eyes trying to pull her back to life. The calm came slowly but the storm was lightening quick and that powerful. Her arm snapped out, catching the nearest guard square under the chin. The others rushed in like wolves for the kill, and in scarce heartbeats she found her arms pinned behind her back. A second later a numbing wall of pain crashed down around the back of her head as the rigid edge of someone's hand collided with the base of her skull, hard but slightly under the force that would have knocked her out. She could hear Mulder now, see him thrashing against the guards and the restraints as they shoved him into the chair. Was he screaming her name? She needed to answer. She had to be fine. It couldn't be a lie. She herself believed it until the soldier she had hit buried his steel toed boot in her gut. The pain sealed her off from the world around her, sucking in all light and sound and feeling until all that was left was numbness, white and cold like the first room. She saw Mulder's mouth forming her name, saw his eyes turn to the guards and spit out soundless words that she could probably guess if she wanted too. But she didn't want to do anything anymore, least of all see, hear, or feel. They were all symptoms of a disease called life. Very slowly, stiffly like the robot she wished she could be, she rose to her feet, bent over from the pain that felt like someone had folded her gut and then stapled it, then sat down in the chair. Mulder struggled when the needles began to pierce his flesh. She didn't. She scarcely acknowledged the pain save as another layer of novacain to coat her world. It was a privilege to feel. A privilege she no longer had. ************* Clickety clackety. Clickety clackety. Her brain melded to the rhythm and hummed along. Clickety clackety. It took a while before she could place it. Train tracks. She was on a train. Her hands felt the floor beside her. Wood. She continued to reach out until she bumped into something warm and soft. Flesh. Oops. Before Scully could recoil a large hand swooped down and captured hers. She flinched in spite of herself. "It's okay. I'm right here." As her eyes adjusted to the dark inky blue of evening she could see Mulder sitting beside her as well as a train car packed full of gray blue bodies. She recognized the slats in the walls from cattle cars. Cattle? So that's what they were now. Her internal clock told her that time had passed since the Chairs but for some reason the memories were slippery and elusive, like tiny fish in a vast and stormy sea. "We're alive." She was bordering surprised. Alive to Mulder meant living and breathing. Alive to her meant anywhere but the manacles and the needles. "Yes." His voice smiled so he assumed his face was too. "I don't remember." Scully blurted out, frustrated with her mind that seemed to love playing such games with her. "It's gone." "It's there somewhere. But you'll have to think about it." He was tentative for some reason, sounding unsure that she should take such a risk. "I would let it slide Scully. You don't have to remember everything." "Not everything." she agreed. "But this I need to." He sighed, and she couldn't help a near smile. It was his "I don't agree but I can't argue with you" sigh, reminiscent of happier days. The smile carried with her when she closed her eyes but vanished like a candle in a hurricane when the memories began to come out of hiding. Her lungs began to constrict and she had to order them to keep breathing. The smile hovered on the brink of recovery but was doused again by the next string of memories. Her eyes shot open and her fingers flew to her wrist. Crinkly waves of red hot pain worked up her nerves and to her brain then back again. "They burned us." Scully turned to Mulder, her eyes widening with disbelief. "Like some kind of animals." "Identification numbers." Mulder said grimly, pulling back his sleeve and running her fingers lightly over the rough skin of his burn. "Looks like our friends took lessons from the Nazis. Or taught them." She leaned her head back against the splintery wood of the box car, feeling the beat of the tracks pound with her pulse inside her head. "So where are we going?" "I heard Arizona. Least that's what they put on our records. It's not to say that it's where we're really going." "I guess it could be worse." Scully wasn't sounding as convincing as she needed to, even to herself. Mulder didn't understand. He lived too passionately to survive the camps. Everything was a fight, everything was a battle. She was going to have to be strong enough to submit to the routine, to make sure he didn't get himself killed. She was used to being the strong one. Not that today had been a brilliant start. How could she take care of Mulder if she couldn't take care of herself? "Mulder, about this morning, I'm sorry." "Sorry? What could you possibly have to be sorry about ?" "I was totally out of control." She felt her soul twist in disgust with herself. "I freaked. I was unacceptable." Her words were clipped, detached. She insisted on doing this, didn't she? Mulder fought the irrational frustration her words brought. But then again, what had he expected? He took a deep breath before he spoke. "The only thing unacceptable about you is the brand on your wrist." he said. "You don't have to be so John Wayne all the time. Look how many times I've lost it, how many times you've pulled me right back in line." "But I...." Whoa...that voice was too close to the tears trying to leak through her defenses. She gave up on explanations and waited for him to do something, anything to break the dangerous silence. His arm slid around her shoulders, securing her against him. He spoke slowly and she could feel the hesitancy in what he said, the way he dragged his words out as his brain racked itself for the right words to say. "You weren't alone, Scully. You'll never be." Her heart stuck in her throat, and she was forced to look away before he noticed the change on her face. How did he do that? Know just what to say and when to say it? Scully let her body relax against him into a warm, dark sleep. She knew she should be awake, turning the events of the day over and over in her mind. She knew she should be coming up with some sort of self-survival plan. But she slept. The world was very, very strange at times. Mulder's words had been just short enough to strip away the novacain. He made her live life outside of her shell, pulled her out of her fortress no matter how much she kicked and screamed. He made her feel again. Looking ahead to the danger and the pain awaiting them at the end of the tracks, Scully wondered how long it would last this time. ************* Morning was somehow lost in a gray shroud of mist when the train stopped and the doors opened. The protesting gears and the shrieking of the brakes roused Mulder from uneasy sleep, and it took him a moment to figure out where they were. Opening his eyes didn't help much. The sea of people in front of him blocked all view of the outside. Everything except the mist, or fog, or whatever it was that reached for him through the slats like the death camp had grown fingers and wanted to pull him into it's belly. Scully stirred restlessly on his shoulder, and though he thoroughly hated to pull her into this warped reality he shook her awake, trying to give her the bad news as gently as possible. "We've stopped." She nodded, blinking as she chased the sleep from her eyes and mind. From somewhere out in the fog came a frenzy of angry shouts, punctuated by the cracking of whips and agonizing screams. He felt her shrink against him, as if she was trying to disappear, but from the look on her face she didn't know she was doing it. The subconscious gesture served to strengthen the resolve he had built up all during the night. Life here was every bit as brutal as the horror stories told and he was going to do everything he could to shield her from that. "C'mon Scully, we have to move." He helped her to a standing position as they waited for the herd of people to shift forwards. "They're probably going after stragglers. So we stay ahead of them, right?" She nodded again, chewing on the corner of her lip. "Ahead of them." "Keep your grip on my arm. It'll be chaos out there and we can't be separat-" He didn't have time to finish his sentence, barely long enough to grab her arm, because the mass of gray blue shirts ahead of them surged forward with all the speed of water bursting through a dam. Chaos was the understatement of the year- the confusion was a living, breathing entity that sucked people into it's vortex left and right. The fog was *everywhere*, obscuring the landscape from five feet away on, and the cracking of whips mixed with screaming beat an otherworldly rhythm just under the surface of things. In fact Mulder found himself wondering if the train hadn't transported them into another universe all together. The thought was hurridly shoved aside by the louder voices of his survival instincts coming into play. Of course it would help if he knew exactly where he was moving. The jam of people seemed to know, or at least they all were heading toward one general direction. He stood on his toes, grateful for once for his six feet of heighth advantage, and was able to catch a glimpse of the goal. It was the camp itself, a black congolmeration of buildings peeking out through the fog like some ogre's castle. Instinct told him that inside the gates was where you were supposed to be and they couldn't beat you if you were obeying them. Instinct was wrong. Mulder was still on his toes when the rifle sharp sound of whips punched holes in the fog behind him and the crowd pushed forward like a stampede of panicked cattle. Scully's thin cry was swallowed whole by the roar of frightened humans as her hand was torn away from his in the craze. He spun on his heels, shoving people out of the way on either side of it as he fought to keep panic of his own kind from freezing his spine. Hopelessness was the first emotion to latch onto his back, raking it's claws across his soul. The fog was gray. Every other human being in the crowd was grey. Scully was gray. The guards were waiting somewhere in between all the grays like sharks ready to strike at any who fell. The blood red of her scream dislodged the demons of despair from his back onto another hapless victim, but he was intent on only one thing. His fists and his curses carved a path through the crush of people in the direction of the sound. Even the fog parted in awe of him, disappearing just enough for the situation to sink in. Scully lay on the ground, clutching her ankle with one hand and attempting the shield her face for the whip poised above her with the other. The guard was barking orders in a stream of slightly marred English, but Mulder was more interested in his hand and the slight flick of his wrist that would drive the whip down into her soft skin. The muscles of the guard's arm twitched. The spring of tension inside Mulder released, exploding him toward her. The black snake of the whip curled through the air, cracking once then hissing as it descended. Mulder heard her grunt as his full weight slammed into her, but his mind was quickly consumed by the knife of pain ripping across his shoulders and back as the whip fell. He gritted his teeth against the sensation, looking down at Scully to reassure himself that it really was her. The guard continued to yell, pulling his arm back for another blow. "You! Keep moving! Into the courtyard! NOW !" The hybrid or whatever it was followed his orders with a few of the curse words he had obviously learned since his creation. Mulder nodded his agreement, hauling Scully to her feet and pushing her in front of him as he rushed as fast as was possible in the direction of the gates, leaving the guard behind to hurl his fury on the next who stumbled. She was running too, but her mouth sucked in lungful after lungful of air in dry gasps of pain. He was torn between watching her suffer or picking her up and delivering a near irrepairable blow to her independence. In the end he chose to let her alone, more by necessity than anything else. If they stopped again they could very well be crushed. The gates of the camp opened before them like the gates of hell itself and he plunged through them willingly. Once he realized they were inside he dragged Scully away from the main stream of people. She collapsed to the ground, panting as she dealt with her pain in that frustratingly silent way of hers. It wasn't until her eyes fell on his back and were filled with fresh shock did the thought of his own pain registered. "Mulder. You're bleeding." Her voice was surprisingly low in the whirlwind of noise around them. "He hit you." "It's nothing Scully." "It'll be fine." She rewarded him with another of her almost smiles. "Isn't that my line ?" "How's your ankle?" "Sore, but I think I'm lucky. It's just bruised." The fine lines of her face twisted in a grimace as she rose to her feet, testing her weight on it a little at a time. "Someone pushed me down." "Well show him to me and I'll kill him while he sleeps." That one got an outright laugh, tinkling from her lips like fairy bells and then skipping out into the fog, the only beautiful thing in the ugliness of the place. "You have such a way with conflict resolvement." "When we have time you can tell me what that means." The sharp shriek of a whistle demanded their attention just as the last of the prisoners ran through the gates, followed by guards snapping whips at their heels. Shouts came to "form a line! form a line!" and Mulder fell into place beside those around him. They were near the front, luckily or not so. At least he could see what was going on. A man strode out of the fog, the black of his uniform standing out sharply amidst the prisoners around him. This man was only two lightening bolts strong, but there must be power there if he ran the whole show himself. A black leather riding crop completed his ensemble, and he carried it tucked under his left arm in imitation of an earth general. Mulder wondered if he had seen it on a movie. He knew the Colonists had preserved some for their "historical records". Then the man began to speak and even without the threat of the whips, every soul in the camp fell to a stone dead silence at the power in his voice. "Welcome to Camp 118." he said, gesturing around him with the riding corp. "The place all you rebel scum will call home for the rest of your pitiful little lives." His eyes raked the crowd like twin daggers. "I am Commander Mastof. You are to call me Commander and if you do not call me that call me Sir." Maston. "Now that we are all accquainted, I'm going to lay down the rules once and only once." He paced from on end of the line to another as he talked, the harshness of his eyes and voice causing more than a few prisoners to flinch and look away. "Disobey, you die. Attempt escape, you die. Follow the rules, you live. Is that simple enough for all of you?" No one answered him but the silence spoke their agreement. Mulder felt an overwhelming urge to break free of his place in line and scream that no, he would not follow the rules and they could just shoot him now. But he didn't. He didn't because of the woman standing beside him, trying to camoflauge the pain that cracked her mask of cool indifference. Mastof's gaze did another searing run across the prisoner's and this time it collided with Mulder's. What Mulder saw shook pieces of his soul because it wasn't the inhuman black of the Matheson's eyes. No, they were the gray of tempered steel. A collaborator. Despite the revulsion the word conjured up, he refused to look away and Mastof refused to back down. The standoff could have come to more than just staring if the loud shriek of moving metal parts hadn't stolen Mulder's attention. The huge gates were sliding shut, grinding together until they slammed shut, locked like the jaws of a monster. Locking them inside. Away from hope, away from help. Away from life that had somehow been swallowed up in the fog. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before the prison consumed them too. to be continued. . . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 4/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh. Thud. His hands slid down the splintery wooden handle of the shovel as it scooped another mouthful out of the dry soil at his feet. Tiny beads of sweat that stung like salt rolled down his forehead and sometimes into his eyes although the sun had risen only a few hours ago. A few hours that had seemed to take all day because of more than just the drudgery of ditch digging. Scully wasn't with him. He was glad that she had been assigned lighter work indoors, away from the brain-frying heat but she belonged by his side. It just felt wrong without her. At times he forgot just how well. She wouldn't want him to worry about her any more than he would want her worrying about him. It was inevitable though. The worrying. "You must be new here." A voice behind Mulder caught his attention in that it was the first friendly greeting he had received all day. He turned around to see a bone thin young man with a bushy mop of blonde hair and eyes like a jade statue. The odd thing was the man was actually smiling which made Mulder wonder about anyone who smiled in this place. "Why do you say that?" he asked. "I noticed you look the guards in the eye. Nobody does that. So I figured to myself that you were either a new arrival or newly out of your mind." The better part of a grin creased Mulder's face. "Some would say you're right on both counts but I am new." "The name is Fess. Johnny Fess. But everyone calls me Trader. " He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you need anything that the Commander and his goons wouldn't exact approve of, I'm the one you see. I can get it. Everything from razors for you to real dresses for your wife." "Back the sales pitch up." Mulder said. "Wife?" Trader looked up at him, surprised. "The cute little red head you walked in with. She ain't your wife?" "No. She's not." "Well here's a piece of friendly advice- don't spread that. Women of her...*caliber*....don't last too long around here between the guards and the inmates. It'll make life a whole easier on her if you let people assume she's with you." "She is with me." Trader switched from surprised to slightly confused. "Not your wife. But she's with you. Girlfriend?" "No." Mulder started shoveling again, hoping that Trader would pick up the hint that he was more than slightly annoyed with this turn in the conversation. "What is she to you then?" He stopped shoveling and turned around to face Trader, keeping his favorite expression of non-expression on his face. "She's the reason I'll kill you and any other punk who treats her as anything less than the lady she is." "You'd do it too." Trader said, holding his hands up in a gesture of complacency. "Hey, man, I don't go for that kinda thing. Women are bad for business." Mulder felt himself relax, wondering why everyone and everything seemed to be a threat now. But this wasn't like the old days, when he knew the general direction his suspicions came from. Now he couldn't look at a person without wondering if they had some sort of ulterior motive in mind, or walk into a building without checking for traps. And all of it had failed. He was stuck in this oven and Scully with him. Maybe that was why he was a time bomb ready to explode on himself. A piece of Skinner's gruff advice drifted to the surface of his mind. . Skinner. Mulder wondered just how his ex-boss was doing. At the last report he had been heading up recon missions in the North. Was he still out there or had he ended up in a place just like this one? The sting of a horsefly on his cheek woke him from his reflections into the present. "Sorry, Trader." He said. "I, umm, well, the last few days have been tough." "How'd they capture you?" Trader asked, picking up his shovel. "I mean, it's obvious you're resistance or something." "We were ambushed." "You and the woman." "Her name is Scully." Mulder smiled. "It's best you call her that or anything else but "the woman" if you want to avoid a split lip." "She likes a good fight?" "More than she should." They were silent a few minutes, then Mulder spoke up again. "Trader, thanks for the advice. About the wife thing." "No problem." Trader shrugged. "If Eddy and his potheads weren't around I wouldn't have to give so much of it." "Eddy?" "Yeah." Trader straightened and pointed across the field. "You can't miss him. He's the scruffy looking one in the shade." Mulder followed Trader's gaze until it stopped on a man built like an upside-down triangle with greasy black hair and a leering scowl twisted on one side of his face. The skin of the other side was withered and puckered in a long scar that twisted like a snake from his temple to the base of his neck. "Where'd he get the scar?" "Knife fight. It's Eddy's speciality. Him and the rest of those muscle-bound idiots pretty much run the show around here. Rumor has it that Eddy does dirty work for the guards in exchange for a little money, a little power, and the white stuff he's always snorting or selling. He practically owns the barracks after the lights go out." Trader leaned back on his heels, his eyes distant with memory. "That scar came from a fight that nearly cost him his life. Eddy tried to push around this girl- she couldn't have been older than seventeen- when someone decided that it wasn't a nice thing to be doing. So there was a fight. Eddy almost got his throat cut but in the end he won. Stabbed the other man right in the skull. Just shows you what you get when you interefere." "You knew the man, didn't you?" Mulder asked, noting the familiar flickering of stale hatred in Trader's eyes he himself felt so many times. "You could say that." Trader said. "He was my brother." His shovel punched the earth after his words. "Too idealistic for his own good, always picking the impossible battles." He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs of memory away and looked up at Mulder. "So what exactly got you in here in the first place?" "Idealism." Mulder smiled wryly. "Among other impossible things." ************** Scully stared into the bowl of grey muck the cook called soup- which was an out and out lie- and swore she counted three eyes staring back at her. The bread- or was it a soft rock- wasn't much better, but she picked it up anyway. At least she was sure the bread was dead. Well, relatively sure. "This is *not* food. Nope. No way." "Sure it is." Mulder's voice floated over the dull roar as he kept his hand on her elbow, trying to make a path through the chaos of the mess hall. From where Scully was standing, or trying to stand, it seemed every prisoner was trying to get their food at the same time and as much of their neighbor's as possible. She'd counted eight fist fights so far, and another one in full swing. It almost reminded her of the cheerful insanity of one of the rebel mess halls. Scully shoved the memory away. Past was past and present was how to hold on to her bread. She swore if one more person tried to take it she would *personally* shove it up down their throats for them. "Mulder!" she shouted in exasperation as her toe was squashed for the third time by the same person to the left of her. "We need to find a seat *now*!" "I'm working on it, I'm working on it!" he shouted back. Obviously he could see something she didn't, which was most likely since all she saw where people's shoulders and arms and elbows, because he began to direct them through the crowd to a less violent corner of the room. Scully stood on her toes to see a thin kid of maybe nineteen waving his hand and smiling at them. "Who's that?" she asked Mulder. "Trader. He's a friend." "Uh-huh." She felt her eyebrows raise in critical appraisal of Mulder's new "friend" but made no protests when she discovered Tripper or whatever his name was had saved them two seats. "He's got seats, Mulder. I don't care if he's a Bounty Hunter, let's get going." "Greetings Mulder. " the young man said once they had manuevered through the crowd. His face brightened considerably when he saw Scully. "This must be Scully." She didn't want to smile but the grin splitting him from ear to ear was infectious and spread to one corner of her mouth before she could stop it. "Yes." Scully offered her hand to shake his. "Dana Scully." He bowed slightly but caught her off guard by planting a kiss on her fingertips instead of shaking her hands. "Mulder didn't tell me he was consorting with angels." he said. "Ok Trader." Mulder cut in. "Enough with the charm." "Was I convincing?" he leaned back, looking at Scully hopefully. "At all?" That did it. The smile escaped to the other corner of her mouth and burst out in a laugh. "You don't by chance know a Melvin Frohike do you?" "Frohike??" Trader shot a questioning look in Mulder's direction. "An old friend." Mulder explained. "Now that you two know each other, can we sit down? My soup is getting cold." Scully felt her eyebrows do the arch again and noticed Trader's face was mirroring hers. He spoke before she could. "You call that stuff food?" "What?" "Listen to the man Mulder." Scully sat down. "I knew I liked him." Mulder had no sooner moved onto the bench beside her than the sound of heavy footsteps rumbled toward them and a large shadow fell across the table. A gruff cough behind him froze his muscles in wary readiness for whatever loomed behind him. Moving with deceptive casualness, he turned to see Eddy. Up close he was even more repulsive, his face resembling a squashed fruit covered with dirt and other things Mulder didn't want to imagine. Somewhere in between the filth and the grime two tiny eyes gleamed a gray so pale they were almost clear, rimmed by the redness that indicated an alcoholic. Mulder's gaze gradually widened to include the three giants standing behind Eddy, looking about as solid as concrete and twice as dense. The power of reason would have very little effect in this situation. "Can I help you *gentleman*?" He couldn't resist the urge to sprinkle sarcasm over his comments, ignoring Scully's rather pointed glare telling him to be a nice boy and keep his face in one shape. "Yeah, ya can." Eddy took a swig of something black and disgusting that reeked like only homeade liquor did. "You can move yer keister outta my seat. And introduce me to your lady friend." "I don't think she's quite your type." "Buzz off or me and my friend's are gonna make you." Eddy moved closer to her, his huge hands balling into fists. Mulder didn't so much as blink. "Real slow and painful like." "Move along." he said. "There's nothing here to see." Yeah, he would give reason one last chance. "Yer wrong." Eddy's gaze fastened on Scully like a leech oozing slowly down her body. She kept her disgust to herself. Right now it was her reponsibility to keep Mulder from doing something incredibly rash, and if it meant she had to take a little leering, well she'd come through far worse in one piece. "She's quite any eyeful." "Not for your eyes, scum." The response was automatic, like the firing of his old handgun. Pull the trigger and bullets came out. Mess with Scully and his temper came out. "This 'scum' could break you in so many pieces so fast..." "That won't be necessary." Scully stepped between the two men, drawing herself up to her full height, which was dead level with Mulder's chest and Eddy's neck. It was getting absurd. Mulder would !not! get in a fight over her like she was some piece of !cattle! as long as she had a say in the matter. "Oh, baby, you decide you want a real man? Let me tell, you, I've got e-v-e-rything you could want." A rotten grin curled his lips inwared as his eyes swept her body again. "So whaddya say, little lady? Ditch the loser and come with me? His fingers brushed the side of her face, starting to move down her neck. She moved before she thought. Her left hand shot out and grabbed Mulder's soup bowl, flinging the contents in Eddy's face. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up in anger. For a moment Eddy stood in surprised disbelief, his face covered in a thin film of gray grease and liquid. Then he seemed to come to his senses, his arm swinging for Scully's face. She intercepted it mid-air, her fingers digging into the hollow of his joints where she didn't have to be strong to dislocate the bones. It was really nothing more than a reaction, the way her knee shot up to catch him in the groin with every ounce of power in her body to back the blow up. The effect was predictable- his face took on the pasty coloring of pain and he dropped to the floor, whimpering softly. But she wasn't finished. Bending over the man until her mouth was close to his ear, she hissed words around her anger. "Don't touch me again, and the next time I hear you call me little lady, I'll make it so people can call you that too." The other three seemed unable to decide whether they were supposed to attack her and Mulder or help their fallen comrade, but in the end the choice was all but made for them. A path cleared through the crowd as the black uniforms of a guard headed toward them. "Ok, you two start moving that way." Trader pushed them in the opposite direction. "As in split. I'll handle this situation." Scully opened her mouth to argue, but Mulder grabbed her arm and started pulling her behind him as he went. "Thanks." he called to Trader over his shoulder. Keeping a firm hold on her arm, he more or less dragged her after him, not stopping until they were outside the mess hall. "Mulder!" She jerked her arm away as soon as the door closing, sending him a look that clearly said "back off" in all capital letters. "You should have let me handle that." he told her, knowing she wouldn't like what he was saying but saying it nonetheless. "This isn't the Bureau where you can count on the forces of law and reason to back you up. Jerks like him kill people for far less than what you just took it upon yourself to do." Scully was floored. She had saved his butt from whatever punishment that idiot drunk was probably being hauled to and he was !angry! at her for it ? "Let *you* handle it, oh that would have done a lot of good! Let you two big, tough, macho men play cowboy over the little woman and *you'd* have ended up getting your face arranged." The world could have been on fire and she wouldn't have noticed. The focal point of her angry little universe was the man in front of her and nothing else registered at the moment. The words continued to spew, hot and angry like chunks of rock flung from a volcano. She knew she should stop herself. She didn't care. "He wasn't expecting resistance from me- it caught him with his guard down. As much as it may shock you to learn this, I am all grown up Mulder, and certainly capable of taking care of myself when I need to ! So why don't you just realize that and stop acting like...like my !brother!" The look on his face after she compared him to Bill resembled wasn't entirely different from Eddy's after she had kneed him. It froze her, reminded her of all the times she had needed him to be strong for her, had relied on him to face the things she couldn't. Even if she had wanted to tell him, the walls of her leftover anger were too high for her to admit she had been wrong. The sudden energy rush that had sustained her drained away within the space of a heartbeat, and left her with a dizzy emptiness that swirled and mixed the colors and sounds of the night around her. If she didn't get away she would faint and wouldn't that top things off nicely. She leaned against the wall, sliding to the ground and closing her eyes. "Are you ok?" It was amazing how concerned he sounded even when she had just finished chewing him out. "I'm fine Mulder." She didn't bother opening her eyes. "In the past forty-eight hours I've been through at least three of the nine levels of Dante's hell and to top it off you go Rambo on me when I try to save your butt from the detention cell. Sure Mulder, I'm fine and dandy." "You can't take risks like that. What if he'd had a knife?" This time she opened her eyes, not bothering to close of the windows to the bitterness inside her. "Then I'd be dead and I wouldn't have to put with this place, now would I?" He flinched as she spoke, almost as if her words had physically cut him. She wanted to care, she really did, but all that she could feel was hate and resentment, not towards him but to a world that had wrapped her future in a barbed wire box and thrown it away. He was just the handiest thing. "Scully, I'm sorry...." The words were choked, almost as if he was having trouble breathing. She sighed and made a conscious effort to soften her voice before she spoke. "You're always sorry Mulder. Why don't you find something else to be for once ? Too bad it's just a little too late for us but maybe you can still help yourself." "Hey guys!" Scully turned around to see Trader heading towards them, a big smile on his face. "Man, you two are famous! The whole camp's talking about it. Tough man Eddy, taken down by a *woman*! My merchandise is at your disposal, Scully, as am I. And please- dispose frequently. The smile drained like a limp noodle as he looked from her face to Mulder's. "Am I interrupting something?" Scully dug deep down inside her and found one remaining smile to plaster on her face. It felt phony and she was sure it looked the same but she didn't care. "No, Trader, nothing at all." She got up and stood beside him. "What's next in camp schedule?" "Curfew's in about ten minutes, but I was wondering if you two didn't want to go see if we could find some real beer and celebrat-" "No, that's ok." she interrupted him. "I'm tired and I'm sure Mulder is too. Will you walk me to the barracks ? I'm afraid I might get lost." "Sure!" he brightened instantly, taking her arm. "I know this camp inside and out...." His talking continued in a steady stream as they walked, but Scully couldn't keep from turning her head back for one last look at Mulder. He was standing in the light from one of the mess hall windows, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed slightly. Against her will, a lump began to form in the back of her throat, aided by the the urge to run back and say she was sorry. But they didn't call her the Ice Queen for nothing. She erased as much of the image as she could and walked away. Mulder took a deep breath and tried to think through the dull, heavy pain settling over him like a mantle. The tiny daggers of her words and accusations had cut easily through his defenses and into his heart. If she hadn't met him, she would have been happier. If he had fought a littler harder, colonization wouldn't have happened. If, if, if. He danced of his own free will the bed of nails her anger had laid for him. At this point it didn't matter if she hated him. He remembered why he had been angry at her for challenging Eddy in the first place. She hadn't heard Eddy's parting words. She hadn't heard his promise of revenge. *********** The darkness of the prison barracks was the thick, sweaty black of a room filled with crowded bodies in the middle of summer. Scully rolled over for the fourth time in five minutes, trying to relieve the unwanted pressure a knob in the concrete floor was putting in the center of her back. This time she ended up flat on her back, staring out through the tiny barred window at the slivers of moonlight that managed to sneak their way past the bars. From the position of the moon it was getting past midnight, and everyone else in the barracks sounded lost in the depths of sleep. They were the lucky ones. She couldn't sleep. Or wouldn't. Scully wasn't sure which. Her own words played back to her like a broken recorder, accusing her in all the eloquence silent thought could. How could she blame this on him, knowing how much every one of her words would crucify him ? She wasn't blind. She knew that her opinion of him was the only one he cared about, but enough to make up for everyone else whose advice he ignored. Images flooded her mind, images of the night they had been captured, of a thousand other times he had been there for her, taken things for her she knew she deserved. Mulder was not some charm she could dangle from her finger, and turn on whenever she needed it but then toss away the rest of the time. Her eyes fell on him as he slept in apparent peace the distance of a foot or two away from her. It wasn't the measurement of inches that made it seem so far. It was the tension filling the gap. It was beyond her how he slept at all, when he barely closed his eyes at all on the "outside". That was Mulder. A walking paradox. Maybe he wasn't so peaceful after all. Maybe he was just using sleep as an excuse to get away from the hell they were in and the heat of her words. Was it guilt when your conscience weighed so heavy you had trouble breathing? Was this how she made him feel? Now she wanted- no, needed- to sleep. To take advantage of the few hours of solitude it would give her. To get away from the world and more importantly, get away from herself. Scully closed her eyes, so intent on her escape that she failed to notice the squawk of hinges as the doors opened, the shuffle of many feet passing the room and one remaining pair of feet walking with purpose toward her. "Ain't so brave are ya now....when yer friend ain't here to play tough fer ya....let's see how well you fight this !" A heavy fist landed in the side of her face, strong hands pinning her shoulders against the ground. Her mind wouldn't work, wouldn't get past the horrible fear spreading through her veins like a poision. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't react and for a second she couldn't breathe. Scully marshaled the fleeting remains of sanity and pushed the air out of her lungs, screaming the name she didn't deserve to speak. "Mulder!!" He was off the ground before his eyes opened. Through a thread of moonlight Mulder could make out two forms struggling, one on top of the other. Scully was one of them, and his stomach turned inside out when he realized she wasn't the one on top. By that time he was already sailing through the air headlong into the side of her attacker. The man grunted as Mulder's body weight rammed into him full force, knocking him away from Scully and onto the floor. Mulder struggled to keep him pinned down, his nose filling with a familiar odor of sweat and dirt and cheap liquor. Eddy. A second later the bulk underneath him exploded up, and it was Mulder who found himself flying through the air, crashing into the unforgiving floor hard enough to send the air whoosing out of his lungs. Gasping for breath in the vacuum that remained, Mulder scarcely had time to steal another lungful of oxygen before a black hulk came flying through the air, on top of him. Eddy outweighed him by at least seventy pounds and he used every bit of it to his advantage. Two hands found their way around his neck, tightening like steel bands, and Mulder began to despair of ever breathing again. A wall of unconsciousness came rushing towards him. He waited for it to crash down upon him and end his fight. It never came. Instead a fierce shriek shattered the night to the left of him followed by an instant loosening of the vise grip around his throat. Forcing his protesting eyes to open, his vision cleared in time to see Scully all over Eddy, her fingernails digging into his face and eyes like some red-headed wild cat. In time to see Eddy grin and sling her away without a second thought. She soared over his head and into the same pavement that had broken his fall. She wasn't moving. Mulder scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath as his starved lungs burned from the lack. Eddy turned his attention back to Mulder, the two men circling like tigers about to do battle. The rest of the barracks was awake by now, clearing a circle around them. A silence like the silence of death's waiting room filled the air, silence that was almost expecting. Mulder wondered what the others were waiting for until he saw the moonlight slide along the blade of a knife. Then he knew. They were waiting for him to die. There was no more time for rational thought, only reactions. The silver streak of the knife was flashing toward him in a dead line for his throat. He reigned his muscles in until the last possible second, then released them to dodge to the side, his fingers closing around Eddy's wrist and twisting as hard as he could. The resulting sound of popping bones was pleasant to hear, and the knife slipped from Eddy's grasp, shining as it spun toward the floor. Mulder dived for it, fingers outstretched in anticipation for the prize when the bone of an elbow drove into the hollow of his back, driving him yet again into the floor. Something inside him cracked and Mulder could only hope it was his ribs and not his spinal column. A foot slammed solidly into his rib cage, and the fireworks of pain that erupted over his vision only confirmed that it was indeed his ribs. Through the tiny red dots he was able to make out Eddy's form bending over to retrieve the knife. Instinct propelled his body up only to catch Eddy's fist solidly in his shoulder and end his efforts right back where he started. On the floor with iron weights flattening his chest and lungs. His ribs screamed under the pressure and Mulder nearly screamed with them, sinking his teeth into his lips to lock the sound inside. Eddy's face loomed above him, spilt in a filthy smile of gloating his eyes reflected. The gleaming point of the knife bit into the skin of his throat like a overripe peach, drawing a thin line of blood. When Eddy spoke his voice was disorted, filtering down through the pain and the shock but there was no mistake the note of victory. "Any last words before you die, tough man? Before I take your woman over there as my rightful property?" Mulder didn't answer him, ignoring the pain as he rotated his head until he could see Scully. She was still lying flat on her back on the floor, but her eyes were open and they met his in a rush of deep blue. The crystal ice of tears rimmed her eyes and streaked her face, her lips moving in words he couldn't make out. An ache different from that of any of his injuries began to pound in and out with the beating of his heart, to hold her and comfort her and fix her world. All he could do was hold her with his eyes. Scully felt pieces of her soul crumble into dust as she watched ruby red blood well up around the knife blade. She felt moisture on her face and realized she was crying. She was silent outside but inside she was screaming his name over and over again. Maybe one time the scream would reach her voice. A prayer slipped on silent wings from her lips as all sound died away from her lungs. The word echoed through Mulder's mind in a soft whisper not unlike Scully's. It unlocked the door to a strength he didn't know he had, rushing life and energy throughout every fiber of his body. A roar tore out of his throat as he twisted to the side, grabbing Eddy's body and pushing him as the two rolled over and over in on the floor. The knife. He had almost forgotten about the knife. Eddy still clenched it in one hand, the hand Mulder had pinned by the wrist to the floor. He banged Eddy's hand against the concrete, waiting for his grip to loosen. Again and again and again. Finally Eddy's fingers uncurled just enough for Mulder to wrench the weapon out of his grasp. Now he owned it. Now he made the rules. Letting the blade kiss Eddy's throat ever so slightly, he hissed his words down to the man. "If you ever come near her again, I *will* kill you." Eddy's smile returned as he replied. "If you don't kill me, I will take her. Doesn't matter when. One of these days you won't be around and she will be mine. Nothing you can do to stop it-" He never finished his threat. The last syllable came out in a gurgle as his own knife sliced through his gut. His eyes bulged out, white with shock and disbelief more than pain as his hands fumbled over the gash spilling his blood and other vital organs onto the floor. Mulder's face was the only thing Eddy saw when he fell into eternity. As the man's eyes froze open, Mulder slowly rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on the body at his feet. In a court it would hold up as self-defense but in truth it was cold-blooded murder. Murder to protect the only thing that mattered anymore. Bit by bit the world around him began to come back into play to the sound of....clapping? Mulder looked up to see Trader standing in the front of the onlookers, a nod of approval on his face as he applauded. Like waves in a ripple the applause spread until the entire barracks was clapping in solemn thanks for what he had done. It was only then that Mulder wondered how many of them had wanted to do the same thing and never got up the courage. Or how many of them had friends who tried and ended up where Eddy was. He didn't want their applause. He didn't care for the hero's position. He only wanted to cross the room and touch his universe. Mulder walked across the room, kneeling beside her. He wiped the blood smearing his hands on his pants then took hold of her shoulders and gently helped her up. His fingers traced the side of her face, wiping away a stray tear sliding down her cheekbone. "Are you..." his voice failed on him and he had to try again. "Are you all right ?" His mind pleaded with her. She nodded, then wrapped her arms around him in a crushing embrace. He couldn't help wincing as his ribs protested. "Sorry." she whispered. "For making it your fault." "It's ok." he told her, sliding his arms around her in a protective circle. "Everything is ok." Her fingers smeared something warm and sticky, and she pulled back quickly, noticing the line of blackish-red liquid oozing in a thin line down from his neck. "You're bleeding." she said. "It's nothing." "Is he dead?" Scully knew the answer already but she had to ask, had to hear the truth from his lips. Did he...did he *kill* for her? Was there blood on his hands because of her? There was a long moment of silence. "Yes." "You killed him." No, she didn't want to believe it. She wasn't worth it. Not after what she had done. "It couldn't be avoided," Mulder whispered into her ear, smoothing her hair with one hand as he talked. "Scully, this is not your fault." Then it came, the overwhelming urge to pull away from him. This was her life, and she was supposed to be handling it, wasn't she? She could control herself. It kept her from leaning into his embrace but guilt kept her from pulling away totally. A flood of light, blinding in its sudden appearance, washed over the room. She looked up, feeling his arms tighten around her as the doors to the barracks swung open and a pack of black uniforms rushed into the room. They stopped short when they saw the body surrounded by an ever growing pond of crimson and intestines. "Who did this?" the leader, asked the crowd. No one answered and Scully prayed Mulder wouldn't, but he stood to his feet, meeting the guard in the eye as he spoke. "I did." The lieutenant waved his hand and two guards rushed forward, tensed for a fight but he gave them none, making no struggle as they secured his hands behind his back. Scully winced as the handcuffs slammed shut, seeing how they dug into his skin. Without speaking they began to walk away, and Mulder followed them. "Mulder..." she reached for him, her voice conveying the pain in her eyes. He tried to send his reassurance into her, tried to find some to give. For a split second he turned his glance to Trader. "Watch over her." He waited only long enough to receive a nod in return then sent Scully his goodbye. Mulder didn't want to look away, but a cough from the lieutenant reminded him he had to go. He wished she could hear him. Scully breathed the word inside her mind and let him go. Mulder didn't look back as he walked with the guards out the door, tall and proud like a warrior who had won a great battle. She stared after him for a very, very long time until the gore was cleaned up, the lights went out and Trader came to move her from the middle of the floor. ************* Mastof was no less impressive in person than from a distance. His steely gray eyes regarded Mulder cooly across his desk, and there was no doubt in Mulder's mind that if he had done anything wrong, the Commander would find out. "I read your file." Mastof said, leaning back in his chair. "Used to be FBI, even then you had an uncanny knack for sticking your nose in places it didn't belong." "What can I say?" he shrugged. "It's a gift." "Since you are- or at least you were- one of us, I'm not going to waste any time in baby talk." Mastof was FBI? Talk about your low blows. Mulder forced the thoughts aside while he concentrated with new interest on what the man said. "You've been here less than twenty-four hours, so I can see why you'd be a little new to the way we do things around here but murder is murder and that, Mr. Mulder, is not something I am going to have in my camp, do you understand? You and all the rest of the scum here don't have much of a life but what you have is worth enough to keep. If you take a life in cold-blood, you pay for it with yours. Do you understand?" "Yes...sir." The sir was a hastily added afterthought, an idea that might soften whatever wrath was about to fall. Would they let him say goodbye to Scully... "But I don't think this was murder, or that it was your idea." Mastof said. "I knew Eddy. He liked women and he liked to fight. Based on that I can guess what happened. You tell me if I'm off somewhere. I had Eddy in my office last night for an altercation in the mess hall. She was with you wasn't she? The little red-head who managed to dislocate his wrist and minimize his manhood?" Despite himself, Mulder couldn't help smiling at the way Mastof put it as he answered. "She was my partner." For a moment he thought about adding that she was his wife too, as Trader had advised, but somehow he didn't think Mastof would fall for it. "We stick together." "Ok, so I see things this way- he attacked her tonight after he was returned and you defended her. When it turned out he had a knife, you defended yourself too. You walked away from it, Eddy ended up painting the floor with his guts. " "I had no choice but to kill him. He would have killed me and maybe Scully too." Now that there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon, Mulder could talk more freely in his defense. "That was how I thought things went." Mastof sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I know you Mulder. I used to *be* you, a tough young agent running around thinking if I found the truth that the rest of the world would give it a second thought." He shook his head, frowning at the taint of bitter memories. "I wised up enough to take the offer of a lifetime years before you ever came on the scene. Now look where I am and look where you are. Times have changed Mulder. You're in here because you haven't changed with them. "I'm not going to tolerate any trouble from you but I'm not going to punish you either. Killing Eddy probably did the rest of us a favor. So I'm going to do you one. I usually enlist the aid of one the prisoners to keep an eye on the rest. Since you killed him, I'd like you to take his place." "You mean be your stool pigeon." "I mean do yourself a big favor. You don't exactly have a history of cooperating with authority. Headquarters flew in some shrink special order just to interrogate you and your partner. Specially trained for the task of breaking stubborn minds like yours, so I've heard. If you cooperate with me, I will be more than willing to sign the order that will make him go away. Of course you'd have to give me some other tiny details about the Resistance, but take it from me Mulder, it's not worth the pain." "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not interested. Is that all ?" He managed to keep any questions off his face but his mind was busying digesting the information he had received about the new interrogator. "Yes. You can go. Find someone to bandage that neck wound. But think about the offer. If not for you, for her. I've seen his resume and she doesn't deserve him. No one does." Mulder couldn't agree more and the thought sparked an chain of ideas ending up in a request. "If you still want to do me a favor I can think of something." "What would that be?" "I know what all an interrogation means around places like this. All I'm asking for is your word that you'll wait at least a week before you start on her. Give her time to build her strength up before you break it." There was no denying the cynicism in his last sentence. "What about you?" "I don't care what happens to me. But I need your word you'll wait. For her." Mastof stared at the younger man for a moment, noting the intensity that darkened his eyes whenever he spoke of his partner. Yes, he was staring at would may have once been himself if life had worked out a little differently. And the truth was, he envied Mulder even if he did not envy him the long painful weeks ahead. He said yes to Mulder but it wasn't as a favor to him. It was a favor to himself. Mulder nodded his thanks and then left the room without further words. "Brilliant strategy." A voice hissed like a contented snake from the shadows beside his desk and a man stepped into the light. Mastof corrected himself- it looked like a man. It was something else entirely, a being whose presence made the tiny chip of metal in his neck itch like a bug bite. "Earn his trust now. The bit about the week was perfect." This alien's human form was young, about thirty-five, with jet black her and jet black eyes, a trait all the alien's shared. "I was telling the *truth*." Mastof regarded the being coldly. Just because they owned him didn't mean he had to like it. "Of course you were. Of course." He walked toward the door. "We'll take him and the woman tomorrow." "No." Mastof stepped in front of him, using his heighth to his advantage. "You can interrogate Mulder tomorrow. You won't get your claws into the woman for another week." "I think, perhaps, that you forget your place. We made you what you are." His tone dropped a few degrees and the hiss turned threatening. "We can destroy you." Mastof refused to be bullied. "I know what you are. But this is Earth and more importantly this is my prison and in both places my word is my bond. You will wait a week." "A week then." The alien was clearly angry, stalking out of the room as fast as his short legs allowed. Pausing at the door, he threw one last threat in Mastof's direction. "This may be Earth but it is our Earth now. And as for the prison....look around. It's ours too." After the door shut, Mastof allowed the shiver lurking under his skin to come out. The room was colder, almost icy in the wake of that creature. He never pitied his charges. In his eyes they had done wrong and deserved their punishments, no matter how unpleasant they were. But he could still hear the voice, the almost joyful sound when the alien had earlier described to him his methods of choice. And with all the heart he could find, he pitied Mulder. It didn't matter, really. The alien's words were true- his life and position hung in the balance. Nothing was worth the risk of intervention. Not even two human lives. to be continued.... - - - - - - - - - - - - - From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 18:03:54 -0500 Subject: becoming judas (5/12) by darkstar Source: direct Reply To: clone347@aol.com from: darkstar (clone347@aol.com) rating: strong pg-13. this part contains violence which some people may find disturbing classification: see part one disclaimer: see part one summary: see part one - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 5/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The glaring white of the lamp swinging over his head was the only light in the room, allowing whoever was asking the questions *this* time to see him as well as blinding him to their faces. Monsters liked the dark. They had this allergy to things like light and truth and exposure. That was why they wished to destroy those those things. This particular group of monsters seemed to have gotten the idea that they could use him to do it. Mulder wished they hadn't taped his eyes open this time. The light burned like someone was dripping acid in his eyes drop by excruciating drop. All in all he was surprised the shadow men hadn't thought of that yet. It didn't help matters that he was hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat on a hook, and his arms were about to drop off from his body's dead weight. The alien mind had a genius toward new and different ways of producing screams. Lots of them. He hadn't screamed today. Yet. It would be a long eternity where minutes and seconds no longer existed, where time was measured only by the pounding of his heart inside his skull before they threw him back into the barracks to lick his wounds before the next field trip through hell. Today it would be extremely hard to concentrate, to keep his mind on the strenuous task of holding his mind together. Today marked the end of a week of baited breath and fumbled prayers that Mastof had indeed kept his word, the day his luck ran out. She had still been asleep, her hair spilling across his arms like an ocean of fire, when the guards had come to get her. He slept close to her now, ever wary of another Eddy wannabe. And too it was just an excuse to be near her. Little rays of light like that were the only things that reminded him why he would walk into this room and hold his silence when everything else screamed for him to talk. Scully hadn't asked questions; the realization in her eyes said it all. But she didn't flinch, merely followed the guards down the hall, head held high as if she were a queen surrounded by her court rather than a prisoner escorted by guards. The three biggest guards in the camp- and Mulder was willing to say the meanest too- arrived to take him next. They were his usual escort. All the way across the courtyard and through the scream-haunted corridors his mind had been on her. He had tried insisting she knew nothing, nothing at all. He had tried phony confessions. The profiler side of his brain told him that they probably expected Scully to break easily because she was a woman. He was afraid for her because he knew she wouldn't. ************* For one moment she honestly believed she would faint for the first time in her life. The whole situation was unreal, like someone else was in her body being strapped to a black metal platform. The real Scully, the Scully that was her, watched from above as the attendants reached under her shirt to attach electrodes to the major nerve centers of her chest to match the others on her temples and pressure points. That Scully had already detached herself as the glistening spikes of hypodermic needles pumped the other Scully's body full of endorphin-dampening drugs designed to suppress the body's natural pain relief. Adrenaline too, it's function being to make her senses wide and receptive to the torture, pushing her as far away from the shelter of unconsciousness as possible. She was calm and she was terrified. Mulder had been taken no less than five times already, including today's session, and she had expected her turn to follow soon. But the fact that she was ready for it did not make the prospect any easier. The anticipation had settled in her stomach like a lead weight, making her wonder if she would throw up. Not that she could. They never fed prisoners on the day of their interrogations. Scully supposed it made the clean up process easier. As if on cue the attendants vanished to their stations, the various monitors and machines that were meant to let the doctors push her body to the breaking point and beyond if they so wished. She hated the helplessness more than anything, the way she was pinned to the platform like a butterfly on a vivisection table. The hum of machinery above her drew her attention, as a silver band of metal attached to a robot arm fit tightly around her head. "Do you know what this is, Ms. Scully?" The band wouldn't allow her to move her head, but the voice came from her left. A high, nasal voice probably belonging to a doctor or a scientist, her old enemies. She chose silence as the best answer. "It's called an electrolysis machine. Quite a brilliant device actually, engineered by the brightest of the aliens. I quite wish we had thought of it first." This man was human. One of her own kind and flesh and blood....human? She pushed the shock aside so she could hear the man's description of the machine. Knowing was dreadful but not knowing was twice as bad. "It feeds of the body's own nervous system. Uses the electrical pulses of the body and the brain against itself. I read your file. You used to be a doctor. You know, then, how much raw power is contained within the fragile vessels of our nerves. Of course, we made a few minor improvements- juiced it up a bit for when it's necessary. But that's what I'm hoping to avoid." He paused for a moment. "We need information from you, Ms. Scully, information that your partner hasn't been very open with. Names, places...." ************** "...people, faces, numbers. Strengths and weakness. Everything you can tell us about the rebellion." The voice of the entity- Mulder was pretty sure it was alien but not completely- who headed the interrogations from nightmare to nightmare came floating out of the darkness, low and rasping like the hiss of a cobra. He was pretty sure this was the shrink Mastof had warned him about, the one flown in just for him and Scully. He whole-heartedly wished they hadn't gone to so much trouble on their account. The light was beginning to slice past his eyes and deep into his brain, sending tiny ripples of pain wherever it touched to meet the larger waves traveling up and down his arms and upper back. He didn't need to think before he gave his answer, however. "I can't help you with that." he said. Snake Man sighed heavily. "To be blunt I grow tired of the pointlessness of these meetings-" "Then let me be the first to advise you to relax." Mulder interrupted him. "Take the day off. We can have a nice friendly chat over coffee. No tape on the eyeballs....no beatings....no cattle prods. Sounds good to me." "I will be more than happy to if you will just answer a few questions first." His voice fell into the "bargaining" cadence that Mulder knew preceded the order to begin the heavy stuff. "You know, we might even be able to do away with these sessions all together. Not only for you, but for your partner as well. The doctors who are treating her are not as patient as I am. The longer you persist, the longer you force us to interrogate her as well, the more damage will be done. And you know how hard the first time can be." Mulder closed his eyes and tried not to listen. Hard wasn't the word for a person's first encounter with the limits of human endurance and willpower. He remembered the night after his first meeting with the Snake Man, how he couldn't move without after screaming from the pain it caused. Scully had stayed beside him, her voice and hands like an angel of light in the midst of demons. The hiss continued, forcing him to hear the words. " *Permanent* damage. Oh I'll admit, she's a brave girl, but you and I both know that her body can only take so much before it breaks." "You don't know her." Mulder could barely speak the words around the guilt clogging his throat. "You don't know her strength." "Well the point is useless now. All I want to know is this-are you willing to answer the questions or not? Think about it Mulder. For yourself. For her." "I can't help you." His standard answer saved him when he wanted to agree, to sell out and buy her safety again. Another sigh and this time the voice was not directed to Mulder but to the invisible men around him. "You may..." ************* "...Begin." The doctor waved at the attendants as they stepped back, finished with their preparations. A silence so heavy that single heartbeats rang out like drums settled over the room like a storm cloud, smothering everything in it's path. Scully's hands instinctively balled into fists but she forced her body to relax, reminding herself that tense muscles would only worsen the pain. She drew in a deep breath, sending her mind other places than the fear hovering around her. Remembering Melissa and home and the innocence of childhood. She had been free then, and happy. All of a sudden, the words of a nursery rhyme they used to sing sprung out of the closet of her memory. A scalding hot wave of pain ripped through her, momentarily halting the beating of her heart and her breathing, then throwing her body into an arching convulsion. As if on cue, every nerve in her body cried out in pain and the scream battered against her lips, but Scully refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing it. Finally the shockwave passed, leaving her shaking on the table. Just in time for another. And another and... ************ Another man entered the room, sending a crack of light into the monster's shadows, but the darkness soon engulfed it as the door closed again. Snake Man's voice returned once again out of the darkness. "Meet Dr. Soki." he said. "Since you refuse to talk of your own free will he will stimulate your mind into cooperation." Through the agonizing light and the blurry world he saw through the tape, Mulder could see the silhouette of a man advance towards him out of the shadows. More importantly, he could see the glistening needle of a syringe in his hand. Then it hit him. Truth drugs. His mind was so occupied trying to piece together a strategy to get around this new tactic that Mulder scarcely felt the tiny prick of the needle as a rush of something both scalding hot and icy cold flooded his veins. He had expected the drugs to take effect rapidly- maybe within five minutes- but the instant transformation caught him completely off guard. His blood carried the poison swiftly to his brain, where it exploded in a shower of white sparks that floated down across the panel of his vision like snowflakes in the winter. The world around him began to darken in an ever-widening vortex that sucked him down into it's grasp, and the name his mind screamed was.... "Scully," the doctor spoke slowly, as if talking to a small child. "We can stop it any time you like. Say the word," his fingers danced around the control button. "And it's all over." She heard his words, but cursed herself for wanting to listen to them. All over...no more pain...no more fire. Until now she never knew you could be burning and soaking wet at the same time. Her skin dripped sweat, her hair clinging to her face in damp tendrils she wished she could push away, but her body ached. Muscles, tendons, nerves, joined forces to beg her for relief. Or at least unconsciousness. The doctors would not even allow her that. Scully would never have dreamed she would face something as terrible as her abduction had been, as frightening as the shadow memories of lights and doctors and needles that seemed to vanish whenever she wanted to look at them head on. Memories no one knew but her, because she couldn't tell them to a living soul, not even Mulder. To talk about them meant they were real and she needed something left to deny. At least one demon she *didn't* had to face at this moment. "You make this so hard when it can be simple. All we want is information, Scully, cold impersonal facts. You don't actually believe this is worth dying for, do you? That your pitiful attempts at resistance will come to rescue you?" The doctor laughed, and the sound cracked like ice. "No one will come. No one can help you but me. Tell me what we need to know. " Her vocal cords were sore and barely worked enough so she could get her words out in a whisper as dry as two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. "And you...call....yourself....a...human..." "Who is the leader of the rebellion?" She spit at him. "Increase the charge!" the man roared, hurriedly wiping the spittle from his cheek. "I want to hear her scream." She gasped as the white hot heat returned,cooking her body from the inside out. Her teeth attacked the inside of her cheek, drawing blood in a desperate bid for silence. The shock was longer this time, repeated more quickly. When she opened her eyes, jagged flashes of red and white-blue danced around the outline of her vision. "Lower the charge." The voice of an attendant sounded miles away instead of right beside her. "You'll kill her! She's had enough!" "Not nearly." the doctor growled. "Higher." Pure, unadulterated hell jolted through Scully's body, twisting it around like a pretzel on a stick. Instead of lasting a moment of two, the shock prolonged into a lifetime, until blue sparks begin flying out of her body. She couldn't think of the next words, they were pushed out of her mind by a numbing wall of fire. The acrid scent of something burning bit into her nose, and in horror she realized it was *her*. The longer she waited for the pain to decrease, the longer she prayed for a slight relief, the hotter the agony grew. From the very pit of her soul a cry began to build, exploding out of her mouth when she had no strength left to stop it. "Mulder!!!!" Her eyes, blinded by tears, pried themselves open, crying out to his soul. The sound of his name caused him to open his eyes. Mulder shook his head, regretting the action immediately as the contents of his brain sloshed from one side to the other like nauseating soup. They must have moved him. This room was empty. No lights. No men. No tape. He looked down and found himself standing on the floor instead of dangling above it. A soft, muted light filled the room but not from any lamp he could see. Was the interrogation over? Or was this some new trick? "Fox." The girl's voice repeated his name, a voice that sounded so familiar he didn't believe it was true. Turning around he saw Samantha standing in front of him, wearing the same nightgown she had "that night". "Hi Fox." "Hello." he said, looking around hesitantly for some indication of a deception. "Samantha?" "Who else would it be?" she giggled, and tugged on his sleeve. "Sit down." He obeyed, still staring at her in shock. A distant corner of his mind breathed. But it couldn't be. She looked real, she sounded real. When he touched her it was flesh and bone, not vapor. "Why are you still young?" "Because I am young! The aliens put me in cryo-something after they were finished with the tests. When they woke me up again they said it was to keep me from aging." "Why wouldn't they want you to grow up?" Samantha shrugged. "I don't know." She shook her finger at him, her face suddenly stern. "They say you're being very, very bad, Fox. All they want are some old names and other junk. Then we can be together again." She edged closer to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I missed you." "Sam, I can't tell them." She pulled back, her face falling down in a pout. "But Fox, don't you want to be with me?" "Of course I do," Mulder put his arms around her and held her close to him. "But if I give them the information, innocent people will die." "The aliens said the only people who die are bad people. You shouldn't hang around bad people Fox. Mommy wouldn't like it very much." Mulder couldn't speak. A tiny voice inside him chanted over and over, but his mind seemed far away, locked outside the room. "I can't tell them." he repeated his answer when he could talk, not for Samantha's benefit but for himself. "Oh Fox, don't say that." she covered his mouth with her hand. "They told me that if you don't tell me, they'll have to do bad things to you. To me too." Her eyes were wide and frightened when she looked up at him again. "You won't let them hurt me, will you?" Before he could answer, tongues of yellow orange flame rose up from the floor across the room from them. The fumes already began to sting the eyes and the back of his throat. Mulder craned his neck around the room in search of an exit, but the room remained sealed. Samantha shook her head sadly. "You see? You've made them angry. We're both in trouble now." Another patch of fire started to the left of them, rapidly eating it's way toward them. Other parts of the floor began to catch fire on their own, and the fumes became choking, as did the rush of fear within him. Smanatha's face reflected his emotions as she pleaded with him. "Tell them the answers, Fox. Tell them or else we'll both die!" Through the thickening smoke he opened his eyes to look at her. "I....can't...." One of the tongues of flame licked at the edge of Samantha's nightgown, and she began to scream as the fire spread over the rest of her. "Fox, they're hurting me. Make it stop....Fox it hurts....tell them...." Mulder groaned in pain as the fire began to surround him, reaching out for her only to be slung back by an invisible hand. "Samantha...." The room began to fade as her screams grew louder and the fire began to eat away at his own body. Her voice continued on, begging him. "Tell them, Fox. You have to..." The thought ended an eternity of crystallized seconds, and Scully's body fell back to the platform, limp and motionless. Her eyes flickered like a dying flame as her mind tried to cling to the thin precipice of consciousness, but they eased shut as it sheared away above her, casting her down into nothingness. As she fell the rhyme danced like children's voices in her head. ************* "Hey, look who's alive after all." The voice was muffled and distant, like it was coming from above the surface of consciousness into the gray film where he drifted. He didn't want to answer. He wanted to sleep....Mulder tried to roll over but a hand stopped him. "No you don't. C'mon Mulder. Wake up time." Slowly but surely the voice drew him closer and closer to the surface until all at once the film fell away and he discovered he was standing in the blackness behind his eyelids as they opened and shut to test their strength. A pair of bright green eyes, filled with concern mingled with relief, came into focus first, followed by the rest of Trader's face. "Welcome back to planet Earth." The voice was still distorted by the buzzing in his ears, but the cup that held cold water to his parched lips was welcomed. "For a while I'd thought you'd left us for good." "How long have I been back?" he croaked. "I'd say about an hour. You've been in and out of consciousness. When they first brought you back you were calling for someone named Samantha." Trader didn't ask a question about it but Mulder knew he wanted to so he answered anyway "My sister. She...uh...disappeared when I was a kid. Kidnapped." "Man, that's harsh." Trader said. "I was wondering what your trip into la la land was like. Mine was a Bermuda beach and three gorgeous blondes asking me to confess to robbery for my own good." "You mean the hallucinations are a side effect of the truth drugs?" "They are the drugs, man. The whole purpose is to surround you with something you like, and then maybe you'll be more receptive to it." "I feel like I've been chewed up, spit out, and stepped in." "That's one of the real side effects. You'll be sick for a couple hours but then you'll even out. Hey look on the bright side....as long as you're doped up you can't feel those bruises." Trader grimaced. "Looks like someone took a broomstick to the better part of your body." At least he had survived yet another of their mind games, relatively intact....Scully. The thought burst back onto the surface of his mind. The room shook from dizziness caused by the speed at which he moved his head to search for her. Nothing. "Where is she?" he said, groaning at the nausea the dizzy spell left behind. "Scully...is she back yet?" Trader's face grew solemn in a way Mulder had never seen him look before. "The guards dropped her here about ten minutes before you showed up. Or what was left of her." "Where is she?" Mulder was halfway to his feet before the room started spinning again and he started to sway with it. Trader grabbed his shoulders. "Take it easy. I bargained with one of the others for their bed, so I put her in that. She wasn't exactly in a condition that would be benefited by stone floors." "I want to see her. I want to see her now." "Relax, she's right over here." Mulder followed Trader over to a corner of the room as far away from the business of the outside hallway as possible. He could see the outline of her body over Trader's shoulders but when he stepped in for a closer look, Trader stopped him. "Are you sure you want to see this now?" "Trader," Mulder said, "Do you want to try and stop me?" There was a moment of silence and then he moved out of the way. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Mulder stepped to the bed side, feeling the drug-induced sickness drain out of his body in place of another kind of illness. She lay on the bed, her face a white so pale the skin was almost transparent. It played a stark contrast against the sweat-matted tangle of her hair and the blood red of her lips. On closer look, Mulder realized that it *was* blood, pooling around her lips from the inside of her mouth. He had to stare long and hard at her chest before he could detect the faint up-and-down motion that meant she was alive. His fingers covered her wrist, searching for a pulse. For a moment he was terrified, and then he felt the beating of her heart, weak like a newborn butterfly. It was amazing how clear his head was all of a sudden. "Trader," he said, his voice quiet, a deception of it's true intensity. "What did they do to her?" Trader's voice was sad in itself as he talked. "I can't be sure, but the best bets say shock treatment." "I didn't hear you right. You didn't say shock as in electric, did you?" "Shock treatment's just the slang for it. Who knows what the real name is. See this?" Trader pointed to a webbing of fine burns across her arms. "It comes from nerves burnt from the inside out." "Burnt?!? What are you talking about?" "I don't know, I told you. I've only heard the rumors." "Well start spreading them." "It's one of the least friendly methods of interrogation in this whole freak show. The doctors hook you up to this machine that turns your nerves and brain into this giant network of live wires and then they zap you if you don't play ball." "They did that to her?" Mulder swallowed hard to keep the instant fury to a dull roar for the moment. He had to focus, keep his attention on her right now. Not on revenge. That would come later. If he just kept telling himself that maybe he could resist the urge to hunt down the Snake Man and wrap his self-assured vocal cords around his neck. His hand slipped over Scully's. Why did it always end up this way? He was the one knocked around but she was the one who ended up lying on Death's doorstep like an abandoned child. He was the one who pulled her back. The cycle couldn't end now. "She needs real medical treatment." he said. "This hell hole has to have an infirmary." "Oh they do. Top of the line, so I've heard." "Then why are we standing here?" Mulder moved to scoop Scully into his arms. "We have to get her there *now* before she gets any worse." "No, Mulder, you don't understand." Trader's hand rested on his shoulder. "It's not for prisoners. We have to tend our own sick. The weak die off. The strong live for the next round." "What?" Mulder couldn't wrap his mind around the idea. He could do nothing for her? Nothing? Ask him to do something easy, like stop breathing. "All we can do for people in her...condition....is keep them fed and cared for until they wake up." "How long does it take them to wake up?" His eyes bled the pain leaking from his soul as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "I don't know." Trader said. "Sometimes...well, sometimes they don't." ************* Time itself seemed to mourn, the hours losing definition until it was night again and he found himself the sole person awake in a room full of sleep. His own eyelids felt lead-heavy, and Mulder would have gladly surrendered to the velvet soft seductions of sleep. He would have, if it were not for the tiny hand so limp in his own and the perhaps irrational- perhaps not- fear that if he slept Death would catch him off guard and steal her away. He had been caught sleeping once. Never again. "Scully, we have to stop this kind of conversation." Talking to her helped keep him awake, and Mulder didn't care what standard medicine said, he knew she could hear him. "It's bad for your health." Her left eyelid twitched. Mulder took it as a sign she agreed. He traced patterns on her skin, the feathery red burns looking so out of place in the milky white. "God, Scully, I'm so sorry. I need you to wake up and talk me out of something "incredibly rash". Because if you don't I'm going to go kill someone and that wasn't a joke either." No movement this time. "If this was the outside world, I'd be running around with my gun terrorizing nurses and hunting old men who smelled like smoke. But there's nothing we can do Scully. They don't treat prisoners here. It's just up to us...." At this point his eyes lighted on her face, studying it for the thousandth time, but it felt like the first. There was no emotion on her features, and he could almost fool himself into believing she was asleep if it hadn't been for the tiny crinkles of pain around her eyes and the blood on her lips. As he watched, a thin line of it spilled down the side of face, staining the skin in scarlet. He reached out and wiped it away with his finger, noticing how it shone in the moonlight. Something inside him gave. Sliding his arms under Scully, he lifted her body off the bed, holding her as gently as he could. There was one man in this whole god-forsaken camp who could help him. And Mulder was going to get to that man. He began to move toward the door, when Trader's voice caught him. "Don't do it, man. If they catch you outside barracks after curfew, you'll get end up in solitary. We're talking a three foot wide, five foot high metal box where they feed you so little a mouse would starve." "Is that supposed to stop me?" "Yes." Trader rolled to his feet. "Hey, look, I'm sorry about Scully. But you can't help her if you're not with her. And I've seen plenty of good men go nuts in those lockers." "I don't have a choice." Mulder said, turning back so Trader could see her. " You can sit and watch if you'd like, but I'm going to get her into that infirmary, if it kills me." "You really are insane, do you know that?" "So they've said." He turned to go. "Wait." Trader grabbed his shoulder. "You don't know jack about this camp. You'll probably end up wandering into the guard's quarters." He shrugged and gave a half-hearted laugh. "I must be catching the insanity because I'm going with you." Mulder shook his head emphatically. "No. I'm not going to ask you to do that. If the penalty's as tough as you say I don't want to be responsible for bringing another person in on it." "Mulder, are you going to try and stop me? " A wry grin spread across Mulder's face. "Point taken." He shifted Scully against him in a better grip. "But for the record I protested." "Yeah whatever." Trader stepped in front of Mulder, a shadow among shadows. "Actually breaking and entering was the reason I landed my butt in here in the first place. This ought to be fun." "Fun would not be the word that comes to mind." "Shhh." he held a finger to his lips. "We're at the door. They don't post guards at the door but they have patrols. And b-e-lieve me, you don't want to meet one." The click of the doorknob turning seemed unnaturally loud, and Mulder found himself holding his breath as they stepped from the darkness into the dimly lit hallway, waiting for shouts and the sound of whips. Only the walls and the floor greeted them in stony disapproval of their actions. "So far so good." Trader whispered. "Where are we headed ?" "The Commander's office." " *What?*" He spun around in his tracks, his jaw hanging open. "Did those drugs put you *permanently* out of your *mind*? Man, that's just asking for solitary." "You wanted to come." Mulder reminded him. "If you want out, step back into the barracks and I'll find my own way." Trader shut his mouth, a determined set to his jaw. "No, I'll take you. My brother always said I should get involved." He raised his eyebrows. "Think of it as my contribution to humanity for the year." Mulder rolled his eyes. "Lead on, boy scout." "Hey- I was one once, don't knock it." Their conversation stopped when they started moving again, the silence filled with private thoughts and buried apprehension. Each step was a thousand miles to Mulder, his muscles bunched together in expectation of a fight. Mastof wasn't exactly his definition of an ally, but he was the closest thing to help he had left. To be honest, Mulder didn't know what he'd do. He had no room to make threats or promises of retaliation if the man refused to help. He didn't beg. But begging might be the only option he had. The threat of a patrol was a welcomed excuse to take his mind away from the subject. When they had passed three corridors undetected, he knew they were lucky. "Lucky" didn't apply to him very often. At the corner where the third hallway ran into the fourth, whatever charm had been protecting them thus far, stopped. No sooner had they turned the corner when they all but ran into a patrol. A very large, very mean looking patrol. Surprise froze both sides for a moment, staring at each other in something close to shock. The guards regained life first. "You two! Stop!" The words were enough to jolt Mulder and Trader back into reality, and the mayhem started. He hugged Scully to him as tight as he could, breathing a silent prayer that she would forgive him if he was hurting her, and ran. Trader ran in front of them, the feet of the guards thundered behind, and Mulder was caught in the middle trying to run as fast as possible without dropping her. The muscles in his back were taut the point of snapping in two, and he could almost feel the lash of the whip. He recalled the biting pain from the courtyard, and decided he never wanted to feel that again. But he would welcome it head on, if it would just make her open her eyes again. He could see Mastof's door at the end of the hall, drawing closer by the minute but not as fast as the guards were closing in. The pounding behind him grew louder, and a ribbon of slicing pain caught around his ankle, jerking him to his knees. His momentum carried him forward, crushing Scully's body between him and the floor. For a moment, concern that he had hurt her took precedence in his mind, and then the guards surrounded him, the black snakes of their whips tearing at his flesh like living things. Mulder rolled over on top of Scully, crouching over her to try and keep her out of harm's way, leaving his back open and unprotected before the beating. He could hear the angry taunting of the guards, their voices as sharp as the lash of the whips they carried. "You think you're a big boy, huh ? That you don't need to sleep like the rest of the prisoners ?" Another crack and another strip of his skin split in two. "See how you like *this*...." Mulder zoned in on the epicenter of his pain, detaching himself from himself until he had numbed his feelings into mechanical actions. It helped, he had learned, to lessen the pain if one identified with machines, because metal and gears couldn't hurt. In many ways he felt like a robot, the only command registering in his brain was to . Between the red hot pain and the icy blue defeat he couldn't see where Trader had gone until he heard a familiar voice call out in front of him. "Hey, slobs, catch me if you can!" Three of the guards started after him, and the others were distracted for all the space of a heartbeat. That was all Mulder needed. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain that radiated from his back throughout the rest of his body as he ran with speed he didn't know he had. Think machine. Think unfeeling. Think Scully. The door edged closer and closer, and the shouts of the guards seemed to fade away as Mulder focused all his concentration on forcing the jelly-like muscles of his legs one stride further. And another. And another. They caught up with him about the time his fingers closed around the doorknob, speed pushing all of them through the door and into Mastof's office. The guards surrounding Mulder shoved him to the floor, and a boot to his side made sure he stayed there. One of them dared to reach for Scully. Mulder fought until he had beaten the soldier, back, clutching her to his chest for dear life. They wouldn't take her. They wouldn't hurt her anymore. Chaos ruled a moment longer and then Mastof's voice demanded insant order. " *What* is this?" The guard trying to pull Scully away stepped back, and Mulder found his breath suddenly cut off as a whip curled around his neck, forcing his head back. "We found this scum breaking curfew in the halls. Permission requested to take him and the woman to solitary." "Permission denied." Mastof growled. "Let him up." A fresh dagger of pain sliced upward through his heart and lungs and the guard hauled him to his feet. Mulder pulled away from their hands, standing up as straight as he could. "I need to talk to you." he said, his voice dry to his own ears, cracking as some of the pain broke through his machinery. "Please...I need your help." Mastof's eyes traveled from him down to Scully's limp body. A long second dragged by before he nodded. "All of you, leave us alone." Muttering an obscenity in Mulder's direction, the lead guard walked out of the room, followed by the others. Mulder didn't give them a second glance, blood rushing to his head as he turned back to Mastof and tried to think of the right words to say but wisely waited for the other man to speak first. Mastof remained silent one moment more, taking in the thin lines of crimson marking Mulder's arms and the torn cloth of his shirt. The pain in the his eyes couldn't lessen the note of pride in Mulder's gaze, in the way he stood straight and tall even though he was swaying. "If you went through all that to get to me, it had better be important." "She needs medical treatment." Mulder said, going directly to the point before Mastof could change his mind and call the guards back. "The infirmary is off limits to us, but not to you." Mastof shook his head instantly. "I can't help you there Mulder. The medical facilities aren't for prisoner use." Anger pushed Mulder's words out of his mouth. He moved forward until he was standing directly in front of Mastof's desk. "So that's it? So you're just going to sit back and pretend that you're still human when !she is dying!?" He laid Scully's body across the desk. "Look at her. This is what your bosses did to her, hooked her up and cooked her from the inside out !" "I warned you about his interrogation methods but you refused to listen. You brought that on her yourself. She didn't cooperate. She knew what would happen." Mulder toned his voice down from shouting, and leaned across the desk, grabbing hold of Mastof's arm. He never begged but he was going to now. "Please... that may be true, but she's a human too, your own flesh and blood, and she is not going to wake up from this unless you get her into that infirmary very soon. I'll take a beating, I'll take solitary, but don't let her die." Very slowly Mastof disengaged himself from Mulder's grip and looked down at Scully. Mulder had no idea what he was asking him to do- commit a serious breach protocol *while* there was a high ranking alien official in the camp, and in the process risk his job and even his own freedom for two prisoners. But there was no denying the fact that she was going to die if he did nothing. The tell-tale burns of electrolysis told him what they had done. The method was not his favorite, but it was standard interrogation procedure and it usually got results. This time, however, he could see that the snake-voiced alien and his friends had gone a long way past simple stimulation to produce an answer. Business was business, but Mastof had no stomach for torturing prisoners out of simple pleasure. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I'll take her to the infirmary." Mulder began to thank him but he held up his hand. "Don't. You're to leave this office and report to solitary for three week's confinement due to breach of curfew and direct disobedience of orders. If you still want to thank me at the end of three weeks, you can, but don't now. " Mulder nodded, not caring if it was three months. Scully would be safe, Scully would be cared for. "You won't let anything happen to her, will you?" he asked gravely. "You won't let them do any tests, or experiments. She can't go through that again...just don't let them near her. Ok?" Mastof was intrigued. Again... Scully had been abducted? Memories his own encounters with testing tables and lost time sent a barely suppressed shudder up and down his spine. "No." he promised. "She'll be under my personal protection. No one will hurt her." Satisfied, Mulder bent over Scully and brushed a feather light kiss on her forehead, near her hair, wondering if it would be the last thing she would feel this side of paradise. The thought hit him smack in the forehead that he was leaving her alone and defenseless in the arms of the enemy. He had to nearly run out of Mastof's office for fear he wouldn't be able to leave. to be continued... - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 6/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In another life, another time he never would have dreamed that his life could be reduced to endless obsession consuming his days and nights with a burning desire for man's most basic needs. Water. Food. Companionship. The sun rode high in the sky, turning his metal quarters into an oven. Even the bugs were too hot to attack him full force, but Mulder was weakened beyond caring. It had been two weeks, five days. That much he knew as fact. At times he wondered if they were going to come get him at all, or if they were going to leave him in here until his rotting carcass fed the hordes of insects infesting the box. But today was a landmark. Today was the day the fragile cord binding his dignity to his body had snapped in two. Today he had started screaming for water. Any moisture today's pitifully small rations would have provided him had long been sucked from his body by the every-thirsty sun. It was like every other one of the nineteen days he had spent in the Oven, as he now dubbed it, but it was different. He could no longer take the swelling of his tongue, the tantilizing visions of Scully and of oceans of clear, cold *water*. He had threatened, he had begged, he had cursed but the guards who controlled the water rations must be deaf. They were going to let him die in here, completely dried up by the heat. It was amazing that he he could track his slow slide into defeat with such astonishing clarity. Days one through seven. He had survived beyond well, accepting the meager piece of stale bread and cup of water that were his meals, and even dealing with the heat. Scully was all right. He could do this for her. Day eight was the first day the problems began. He had not been able to keep himself from drinking all his rationed water at once, instantly regretting it when the sun hit noon-day and full strength. But it was still okay, at least he could eat and at least he could dream of Scully after the sun went down. Day ten the guards cut back his meals to once a day. He had come close to snapping then, as hunger gnawed at his belly while thirst rubbed against his mouth. But he had held on, if only by reminding himself what the end of his time would bring him. Day twelve. Desperation set in, and he passed the time by catching some of the larger bugs and eating them. He had to have something- anything- to ease the pain in his stomach, and the black ones tasted pretty good if they didn't squirm too much going down. The bad news was, his back was beginning to burn like it was infected. Days thirteen through sixteen slid by in a montone of heat, thirst, and bug hunting. It was becoming his new favorite hobby. The night of day sixteen tragedy struck when he found he could not sleep. The bugs were back in full force and he couldn't eat enough to compensate for the ones that dug into *his* flesh with relish. Even if he ignored them, he couldn't ignore the stagnant heat nor the stench, nor the way his mouth felt filled with sand. No sleep meant no Scully and no Scully meant no hope. Day seventeen. Why had he done this again? Was she even alive, or would he step out from the box to find a fresh grave with her name on it? The answers were slipping away from him as was rational thought. Day eighteen. Happiness returned in the form of delirium. Instead of only dreaming at night, the hours were knit together by wonderful visions of swimming in the ocean with Scully, or sliding down a waterfall with Samantha. They were so nice he didn't need to eat or drink or hunt for bugs.... Today. Even the dreams were failing him, and a thirst so great he never knew it could exist possessed him and he began to beg the guards for a cup of water. It was all there, in technicolor detail. All that there remained for him to do was to give in to the demons and just let the sun have him. It would be so easy too... A shadow fell across the ventilation slats, and Mulder looked up, barely lifting his head from off the wall. "Who's there?" he called out, his voice so far gone he might have well remained silent. "Shhh." Trader- it was Trader!- cautioned him. "Come closer to this wall." Mulder obeyed, peeling himself off the floor and shooing the bugs away from his new position. "Ok, I'm here. Now what?" This was quite a nice illusion, different from the others. He could hear shock in Trader's voice. "Man, what did they do to you?" As he talked there was the sound of a cap unscrewing from a bottle. It was interesting, Mulder noted to himself, how real the tiny details were in dreams. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier, but I was trying to avoid time in here myself. Fortunately the guards couldn't identify me and I made it back to the barracks in time. They've had this place pretty heavily guarded until today." Mulder had trouble paying attention to him. It was more fun playing with the words in his head. Then something cool and !wet! hit his forehead. The words vanished the instant he felt it. No dream had ever been this real, this wet before. He lifted his head up toward the source of the water, to find more of it cascading through the vents and onto his face. Mulder opened his mouth, gulping down each liquid diamond greedily, to the point of pressing his face against the slats for more. Stray drops trickled down his chest and neck to be polluted by his sweat, but it felt so delicously alive Mulder didn't mind the waste. It was water, real, cold water and it was all his. Just before he could begin to actually believe his good fortune, the waterfall jerked back along with a curse from Trader. "Guards, man! Sorry, I gotta go." "No...." Mulder rasped, calling after his friend but it was too late. He sank against the damp metal of the wall, thoroughly confused. His dreams never ended like that. Maybe it was a dream....maybe it wasn't. Dream or reality, he spent the rest of the day licking moisture from the walls until the sun stole that too and left him in a desert again. ************* Ever since she had been released from the infirmary, Scully had been secretly dreading this moment. The guards had come for her early in the morning, announcing that they were her escort to Interrogation Room B. Now, as her footsteps echoed like a funeral dirge down the hallway, she wondered what she would find. More invisible fire? A beating? The truth drugs Trader said they used on Mulder? Mulder. It had taken a while before she could convince Trader to tell her what had happened. How he had blatantly broken curfew to bargain a place in the infirmary for her. How he was now suffering the consequences for his actions in solitary confinement. She supposed Trader had his reasons for not wanting to tell her. She knew she had wanted to charge into the solitary yard guards or not, but that was out of the question. She could do nothing to help Mulder if she was in a little box too. And she had waited, like a good girl, but the guards were especially vigilant and Scully was beginning to approach desperation. She had to see him, to let him know she had not forgotten him. In fact, she had gone one step past remembering. The knowledge was with her every second of every day he was gone. It was with her now, and the thought of what he might be going through gave her added strength to stand tall as the door marked Interrogation Room B swung open. The room was almost completely bathed in dark shadows except for a circle of white light raining down from a hanging lamp in the middle of the room. A metal chair dominated the circle, and her attention was irrestibly drawn to the handcuffs built into the arms. With eerie silence the guards marched her to the chair, strapped her in and then left. The sound of the door slamming behind them was sucked into the blackness, leaving her alone. Her very breathing seemed like the rushing of a tornado. What kind of new game was this? She couldn't help but feel there was something alive in those shadows, watching her and waiting for a time to strike. Footsteps to the left caused her heartbeat to jump to light speed, and she whipped her head around to see a man walking toward her out of the shadows. His coal black hair was combed neatly back from his face, and the gray pinstriped suit he wore was in perfect condition. Her instant relief froze when his face became visible. The rest of the body might be human, but the eyes gave his true identity away. They were a solid inky black, and the evil they radiated was almost tangible. "Dana Scully." he said, pacing in front of her as he read from a manila file that she presumed to be hers. "Accused of murder and high treason against the state." The creature shook his head. "My we have been a bad girl, haven't we?" She found herself able to flash him a smile. "Give me a stiletto and five minutes alone with you and I'll show you bad." "Temper too. Not as bad as your partner, I must say, but yours is much more deadly in its own way. " The thing cocked its head to one side, as if he were studying her. "His anger is passionate but yours...yours is controlled and focused in it's intensity. That's what makes you what you are, doesn't it Dana? Control. It is such a vital part of your life." Scully used a little of that control to keep her face expressionless, although her instincts told her that this man- she used the term only as a point of reference- was dangerous. It wasn't just his eyes, but his voice too, the way it sounded exactly like a snake. "You can go ahead and act surprised. I know you are. You're wondering how I know so much about you. How I can read your mind." The man stepped into the light, a sinister smile on his face. "Well, the truth is that I can. You are a very special individual, Dana, even though you are a threat to us. You were Chosen." "Chosen." "Yes. You are superior to the other cattle here in that you carry part of us in you. A part planted in the experiments and the tests performed on you during you abduction, and activated by the tiny lump of metal you wear in your neck." The skin in the back of her neck over her implant began to prickle in a sensation she knew all too well. The thought that he could indeed lock in on her innermost thoughts, was more than a little discomforting but Scully was careful not to show it. Today's battle would not be a test of physical endurance, but a duel of wills. She had to use everything in her arsenal to her advantage. The man shut the folder, tossing it into the shadows, and walked until he was behind her. His hands rested on her shoulders around her neck, his thumb running over the surface of skin above the chip. His voice seemed to have a life of it's own, coiling around her from the shadows. "The human mind is such a thing of beauty. Primitive, yes, but beautiful. Your people have so many secrets, so hidden complexities that no one sees. " His hands glided up her neck until his fingers were at her temples. Scully's stomach turned and she swallowed hard to keep from retching at the coldness in his touch. As it was she sat ramrod straight, unmoving as she stared into the darkness and began to plot her defensive strategy. "It is often difficult to access the brain, to read the minds of you humans due to these very complexities. But you, my very dear Scully, are different. The chip in your neck hands me the keys that will unlock any door of thought that I wish. "Your mind belongs to me. It will make it so much simpler on both of us if you allow me to take the information I need and be done with it. But if you resist me, you risk harming only yourself. Because then I will be forced to take you apart memory by memory until there is nothing left." His voice was suddenly closer to her ear. "Nothing." "Is that so." She knew she was stalling for time, hastily fortifying her battle stations with the fortress of her mind. The location of the rebels, as well as the rest of the important information, was hurried away to the very back of her mind, guarded by several of her strongest emotional barriers. Yes, he could attack her mind, but that did not mean she could not fight him every step of the way. "You will make me prove myself." He sighed, and it sounded more contented than displeased. "It is just as well." The silence like the quiet before a battle settled over the room. Scully used the opportunity to seal the entrance to the knowledge with a hasty prayer. Then his fingers tightened on her temples and she knew the greatest fight of her life had begun. The assault on her mind started slowly, marked by a not quite physical stabbing sensation. Her eyes eased shut, and it felt as if someone was punching holes in the outer layers of her subconscious. Rather than wasting time and precious energy fighting the entry, Scully simply took a deep breath, stepped back, and waited for the intruder to show himself. The snake's voice hissed throught the dark corridors of her mind, thoroughly arrogant and self-assured. She threw the challenge out to him, knowing he heard it without her having to speak. Another sensation overtook her without warning, like thousands of tiny fingers and eyes were wandering through her mind, examining each path of thought then turning away if it was not what he wanted. Finally they latched onto the path that led to an outer door, then bonded together into the voice again. She gathered her thoughts together and began to concentrate on a silent recital of page #113, Section One, Sub-paragraph five, of the FBI Manual. To give the monster credit, he got the door open but she felt his subtle surprise when the monotone of facts and rules and technicalities struck him dead in the face. Each time he would try to push his way past it, she would recite another rule. While she had nothing to rival Mulder's photographic memory, her own power of recollection served her quite well when she wanted them too. Like now. Time didn't exist in the silent world of her subconscious. Years could have passed without her notice. The battle ceased to be an assault and turned into more of a chess match. The alien would make a move, try to access a memory that would lead to another and then to another and then to the "rebellion memories" as she called them. Scully in turn would block him with meaningless tidbits of information of no use to anyone. Each laid traps for the other. Sometimes he fell into hers. Sometimes it was the other way around. The mental exercise was taking it's toll on her body. Her muscles were tight and aching from the tensed concentration, and she was drowning in sweat. The stabbing sensation she had first felt returned again and again, each time becoming more real, more physical, until she couldn't tell that it wasn't real anymore. All her energy was focused on blocking the mind scan and there was just not enough to block the pain. It was perhaps the alien's greatest ally, the thing that vied the most for her concentration. The price of ignoring it was slight compared to the thrill that coursed through Scully everytime she kept a memory away from him. This was her mind. She did, indeed control it. And that was when she slipped. It wasn't intentional, and it wasn't even one of his traps. The mistake occured when she was reciting the section of the Bureau dealing with maternity leave. Scully wasn't quite able to keep a singe of regret out of her mind that she would never be a mother. The alien honed on the emotion almost immediately, wedging his foot in the door of her memory before she could slam it shut completely. Then he was gone, out of her mind and she was alone in the darkness there. When he spoke audibly it surprised her, jolting her to open her eyes. "You are quite a challenge, Miss Scully." His voice sounded tired, worn out. Good. "But not quite good enough. I have found a path into your memory. I will exploit it." "You will *try*." She sounded a lot more confident than she felt. The after-effects of the mind probe spun the world around her like a cotton candy machine, increasing the shooting pains stabbing in and out of her head. There was the click of locks and her handcuffs sprang away. The creature smoothed his hair back from where it had fallen out of place, and offered his hand. "You look a little tired, Dana. May I help you out of the building?" The false chivalry in his tone was compounded by the mocking bite to his words. Scully considered spitting in his hand, but merely rose to her feet unassisted and met him dead in the eye. "No," She said, letting her face and voice harden into granite. " *Thank you*. I'll make it on my own." "Suit yourself." He watched her keenly as she walked toward the door, and she could feel him just waiting for her to stumble. Her body wasn't cooperating, and it took an absurd amount of concentration to even walk in a straight line. Finally her fingers closed around the doorknob, pushing it open and away from the monster. Resisting the urge to run away as fast as she could and forget everything, she stood and turned to face him, meeting his eyes with all the skill her detachment could offer. "You see. I am perfectly capable of handling myself." The alien matched her smile with one of his own. "We shall see. My name is Pavlov. That is the name you will give the warden when you wish to reconsider." "Don't be too sure of that." Scully said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she walked out of the room. As soon as she heard the door slam shut behind her, she began to walk faster and faster until her feet were pounding to match her heart as she ran down the corridor. Air. She needed fresh air. Her stomach was churning when she finally came to the entrance and pushed it open, staggering outside into the sunlight. Trader, who had been sitting near the door, scrambled up when he saw her. "So how did it go..." The rest of his words slurred behind her as Scully ran past him to stop behind the nearest building. The bitter taste of bile filled her mouth seconds before she began to throw up everything in her stomach. She needed to purge herself, to get as much of the aliens presence out of her mind and body as possible. She had to feel clean again, and if this was the only way to do it, so be it. She just had to feel clean.... Finally it was over, and she looked behind her to see Trader pulling to a stop, shock plastered on his face. "What did they do to you?" Scully tried to get up but her legs weren't so keen on the idea, shaking so badly she had to remain seated. "I need to see Mulder." she told him, when she finally could talk. "I don't care who you have to bribe or what you have to do, just get me to see him." It took him a minute to regain his composure enough to nod. "All right.....man, are you sure you're ok ?" "Yeah." She wiped her face with the side of her sleeve. "I'll be fine. Just, don't tell Mulder about this, okay? It's just a little nausea. He has a lot on his mind." "I won't tell him." He agreed, although his face asked her why she wouldn't want him to know. Scully couldn't explain to him that Mulder wouldn't accept any explanations except for the truth. And in this situation, he couldn't handle it. She wondered if she could. ************ The solitary yard was filled with so many shadows that no one noticed two of them were alive, slipping through the night like silent ghosts. It was near impossible to tell that they were really a man and a woman. If someone were to look at her face, they would see a mix of hope and desperation, but then the shadows hid that too. Or at least Scully hoped they did. Trader had made good on his promise, and although he wouldn't tell her exactly what he had given the guards, she had seen the packets of white powderd cocaine he slipped in his pocket and decided she didn't want to know. The ends justified the means- they hadn't been accosted by a single guard their whole trip. Once they reached the edge of the yard, Trader motioned for her to stay back. "Wait for my signal. When I walk away from the guards you'll have ten minutes with him before the shift changes. I'll be waiting back here." He paused. "Are you sure you want to do this ? If the replacement guards catch you..." "I want to do it." Scully interrupted him. "I have to see him." He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Good luck." With that he slipped away. She could see his shape moving through the darkness and into the moonlight where the two guards were positioned. They talked for a moment, then Trader handed each of them a bag. The guard doing most of the talking snorted some of it, and seemed to be pleased. Trader shook his hand and then started walking away. That was her cue. She crouched low to the ground, just in case, and moved through the shadows in the direction of Mulder's box. Scully only hoped he would be alive when she got there. He had given up negotiations with sleep. It kept its distance as if it was too good to walk into his filthy little cell and give him the relief he hungered. Two days left. Forty-eight hours. 22880 minutes. 172800 seconds. But it only took one second and it would be all over, and he would have lost. And it would be defeat because Mulder was actually looking forward to what now seemed the inevitable. Optimism was dying fast- he couldn't avoid the truth that Scully was probably dead, that he had lost his gamble and left her to die alone in one of the hospitals she hated so much. That was, he knew, one of the reasons he reached out to welcome Death rather than fight him off. He could find Scully somewhere beyond the pale of eternity and then apologize for his mistakes. He could tell her all the things he hadn't in life. "Mulder..." A whispered delusion broke him away from his morbid cage of thought, and even though he knew it wasn't real, Mulder couldn't help but turn his head to the sound of Her voice. Then it hit him. The very best delusions didn't leave shadows, and the moonlight was being blocked from the ventilation slats by one very small shadow. Strength he had no idea he had left coursed through him, and he sat up quickly, pressing his hand against the vent. "Scully?!?" "Mulder." Relief was evident in her voice, and the tips of her fingers worked through the slats to meet his. The feel of her skin was electric, reminded him of what it felt like to be alive. She made him alive. "Am I dreaming?" He was afraid to ask, worried that she was nothing more than a ghost or he was already dead and heaven was the brush of her fingertips. "No." The metal creaked as she leaned against it, and Mulder tried to move until he sat exactly where she did. He could only imagine what it would be like to sit beside her again.... Her voice continued and he drank in every word like a healing medicine. "I woke up in the infirmary after three days. They released me two days after that." "They didn't run any tests did they-" Scully must have caught his apprehension, for her voice was warm and reassuring. "No Mulder. No tests." She heard his soft sigh of relief and was glad herself that it had been the truth. "Why'd you do it?" "Scully, you have to ask?" No, she didn't have to ask whether or not he would save her. She had to ask why. "It wasn't worth it. I'm not. This..." she glanced around the barren landscape. "is not worth it." "You're alive. That makes it worth it." The simple intensity of his words shocked her into silence. She didn't have an answer for that one. Moving closer to the wall, she pressed her face and hands against it, feeling the heat seep through her skin. Closer to him but not close enough. It was a long moment before she remembered one of the main reasons of her visit. Mulder always did have a way of doing that- making her forget tiny details like life and reality. Moving back slightly from the wall, Scully reached under her shirt and withdrew the bottle of liquid treasure she had horded so carefully over the past two weeks. The plastic ration bottle was nearly full. It was no exaggeration. "I brought you some water." She said, unscrewing the cap. "I'm going to pour it through the slats, ok?" "Ok." his voice was muffled by his movements as he drew closer to the wall. She stood on her toes, and she could just see his eyes through the slats. They shone in the moonlight as conflicting layers of pain and something she didn't dare name dueled back and forth. Mulder didn't stare at her- his gaze *consumed* her like he was memorizing every detail of her face. She would forget again if she didn't look away. Scully turned her focus to the water bottle and tilted it against the wall, letting the liquid pour through the slats. Part of it spilled down the outside wall, and she caught a drop on her finger. She rubbed the moisture around her lips, smiling at the simple pleasure. The water was good but even the soaking waves of wetness cascading down his mouth and face paled beside the memory of her eyes. Oh yes, and he did remember. He had stored the picture deep the in files of his photographic memory, an image that would stay with him as long as he lived. Mulder snapped out of his thoughts when he realized how much water he was drinking. "That's enough." He said. "Where did you get that much water?" He had a sneaking suspicion but he hope she wouldn't be that foolish. "I don't get thirsty much." "Terrible liar, remember? You *need* to drink." He flipped through his best ways to circumvent her stubborness and chose one that might be hitting a bit low, but would work, which was the important thing. "I didn't get you into that infirmary so you could die of heat sickness after you got out." Mulder was smart enough to keep his tone playful, but he knew she would get the message. Scully lowered the bottle, knowing he was right, and screwed the cap back on. She would save it for later, and maybe trade it for medical supplies. He'd need them after getting out of that torture box. "So how are you doing?" she asked. "Aw, not too bad." Mulder chose a bald-faced lie over the ugly truth. Deep inside he knew it wasn't to save her feelings as much it was to save her feelings for him. She couldn't know how close he came to surrender. "It's not all that worse than some of the joints we stayed in." The walls couldn't block the sound of her laugh and he found himself smiling as well, though the expression was rusty from disuse. "Not that I'll be in a hurry to make reservations here again." He was lying. Scully wished her gaze could pierce through the walls so she would see just how bad the truth really was. His voice gave him away- his words may be light but underneath was a note of pain she had only learned to pick up on by years of practice. "You'll be out in two days." She said, as much to remind him as herself. "Forty-eight hours." "Twenty-two thousand, eight hundred-" "Eight minutes." He finished off. "You count them too ?" "Every morning." Now it was his turn for the questions. Leaning back against the wall at an angle where, if he craned his head just right, he could see her face, he began to speak. "How has it been, out there?" "The usual. Trader's kept me out of any more brawls." She smiled but it was slightly bitter. "The usual...huh. One would think I'm adjusting." "That's the rule around here, so it seems. Assimilate in peace or in pieces. How do you do it ?" "In pieces." No use in lying about this. Scully wanted some small grain of truth to remain between her and Mulder, if only to make up for the larger lies she knew they both hid from each other. "And the interrogations?" "Fine." she said, wondering how much information to give him. "I went back today for the first time since, well, my first time." "How was it?" To Mulder the question sounded like a warped version of normal conversation. He was becoming jaded. Or to be correct, more jaded. "Different from the first." she said. "All they did was ask questions." Not entirely a lie. "No machines or things like that. I had a new interrogator." "Who?" "Said his name was Pavlov." The irony was not lost on her. "He was an alien." Mulder's blood turned to icicles in his blood despite the heat around him. "An alien?" "Well, he looked human, by the eyes gave it away." "And his voice was odd. Distorted somehow." He didn't like the images that thoughts of that monster alone with Scully brought to mind. Now he wanted out of the tin lunch box even more. She shouldn't have to go through that at all. Much less alone. "I know him." Scully was spared the minefield their conversation was about to cross through when a door cracked open near the back of the buildings, and two guards walked out. Time was up. "Shift change." she said, crouching down even further. "I have to go." "Two days." he said, placing his fingers through the vents as much as he could. "Two days." Her fingers brushed his once more, like the ghost of a kiss. "Stay strong." Then like any other angel she simply vanished back into the moonlight. Mulder strained his eyes to see through the darkness, waiting for any shouts that would mean she had been discovered. He remained that way for some time, frozen in silence, until the silence assured him of her safety, and he could relax. With some surprise he found he was tired, that he could scarcely keep his eyes open. The sooner he fell asleep, the sooner he could wake up. Then he could go to sleep again and wake up and see Scully. When he fell asleep, the skin on his fingertips was still burning from hers. ************* Two days later: Scully's knuckles were turning white from her death grip on the handrailing of the steps as she slowly walked from the Interrogation Building. She and Pavlov had played "chess" again today, and he had taken a rook. He had discovered Emily. Not in one sense of the word, because she was sure he already knew of her existence, but the alien had ripped the hinges from the door that protected the memories of her time with her daughter. It was one of the guards to the rebellion information. She had been able to beat him back, to minimize her damages, but it was too late. He already knew where to attack. Now she was tired both in body and mind, and dirty. The mind probes always left her feeling filthy, exposed. Scully supposed that was just the point. If anything had a point anymore. And if not why should *she* maintain her control when the rest of the universe was running amok ? She was running short of reasons to go on when she lifted her head and found one. Mulder was coming toward her. He was walking very slowly, like an old man, and stiffly like his back was hurting, but he was coming. In the fierce battle to keep her mind, Scully had nearly forgotten today was the day. She remembered now, and before she fully realized what she was doing, she was already flying across the courtyard toward him. Right as she reached him, she halted in a dead stop, ashamed to have let her impluses take over. Scully glanced at him then down at the ground, feeling her cheeks flush and hoping he wouldn't notice. "Hi." She whispered. He didn't speak. He moved. Pulling her into his arms, he held her so tightly she wasn't sure if she could breathe. She wasn't sure if she needed to anymore. His voice was as light as a whisper in her hair. "Hi." Scully relaxed into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his back. Mulder stiffened at the conact, wincing. "Sorry." He said. "A little sore." "What happened-" "It can wait." "No, it can't." She pulled away from him and Mulder instantly regretted opening his big mouth. "How bad did they beat you?" "Not that bad." He said. "I just think it got a little infected..." The word "infected" seemed to set off some kind of switch inside her, because she exploded into action the minute he spoke it. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him toward the barracks. "Why didn't you tell me? Has there been any swelling ? Pus or any other kind of runny fluids? Fever? Nausea?" "Scully." He smiled when he spoke. "Breathe." She glanced up at him and favored him with a guilty half-smile. "Oh. Right." ************* "Ok, Mulder, off with it." "Oh Scully, you can be so sexy when you're direct-" "Don't even try. C'mon, lose it." "If I pay her will she play doctor with me too ?" The first two voices spoke in unison. "Shut up Trader." "Sorry." Scully couldn't quite bite back a smirk as she unrolled the cloth hiding the medical supplies someone had stolen and she and Trader had bought. All things considered, the prisoners had worked out a pretty effective black market. She had bandages, antiseptic, and even some aspirin, which had cost a lot since it was in great demand. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him. At least not as much as the antiseptic. Mulder worked his way out of his shirt, gritting his teeth where cloth and flesh weren't too eager to part company. After it finally lay on the bed beside him, he braced himself for the gasp that escaped her mouth as soon as she saw his back. When she said nothing else, it began to worry him. "Is it that bad ?" Scully wasn't sure how to answer him. Over a dozen angry red welts criss-crossed his skin like lattice, some swollen and still seeping blood around the edges. She had known her recovery came at a price, but not this.... "Do you want the good news or the bad news ?" "The bad news first, please." "You've got some infection starting in places. I have antiseptic and bandages, but we'll run out of asprin before you run out of pain." "And the good news ?" "You'll probably pass out if it gets too bad." "Pass the aspirin." He rolled over on his stomach and glanced up at Trader. "If that doesn't work you have my permission to cold cock me." "Very funny Mulder." "Who said I was joking ?" Scully tore a strip away from the cloth bandages with her teeth, then soaked it until it was stained with the yellowish brown of the antiseptic. "Here we go." She said. "Count to three and then close your eyes." "One...two....OW !!" Mulder felt an explosion of pain ripple from his back over the rest of his body. "You could have given me a stick to bite on." he muttered. "Or at least warned me." "I warned you." Talking was good- she hoped it would keep his mind off the unpleasantries. As it turned out, the asprin lasted five minutes, and the cleaning process dragged out past an hour. Mercifully, he lost consciousness somewhere in the middle. After she tied off the last bandage, she noticed there was blood staining her hands. "I need to wash my hands." she said to Trader. "Put him in bed, will you. Face down, although that's obvious." "Right on Doc." He flashed her a rogue's smile. "Can I have a check up when you get back ?" "Only if you spend the time in between in solitary." Scully said, sending him a smile of her own before leaving to the washing pumps. As it turned out there was only a tiny bit of brown water left in the bottom, but it quickly became tainted scarlet as she washed her hands. It almost reminded her of her cancer, how she had always tried to wash her blood off her hands and never fully succeeded. When she stood to her feet again, an almost inaudible humming filled her ears like the buzz of a distant radio, radiating from the back of her neck. A subconscious pull turned her head toward the Interrogation Building. A face stared down at her from a window. Pavlov's face. The humming died as the sentence finished echoing throughout her mind, followed by ringing laughter. The laughter grew louder and louder until she could hear nothing else. Scully covered her ears with her hands, trying to shut the sound out, but it was impossible to escape. She had thought that the conflict would be only in certain places at certain times. She was wrong. The battle for her mind would follow her ever minute of the day, everywhere she went. to be continued..... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 7/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 'Round here she's always on my mind 'Round here, we've got lots of time..... 'Round here we talk just like lions But we sacrifice like lambs 'Round here, she's slipping through my hands. - 'Round Here Counting Crows ************* She was crying again. Scully never cried. At least never before, when they were running but running free. When they found the bodies of her families, she broke down enough to let him hold her for a few minutes, but that was all. She was crying now. He could hear her in the darkness, less than five feet away from him. It wasn't hard to make the connections- she had been returned from an interrogation earlier that afternoon. In some ways he had expected tears, but not any of the...other... behavior. Over the past two months she had gone from worse to unbelievable. Now she rarely talked, or slept, and it was no small accomplishment to get her to eat. Trader had racked his merchandise for fruit and other tempting items, but Scully refused. Politely, almost regretfully, but firmly. Sometimes Mulder would win out, and she would eat. Sometimes she wouldn't give in at all. But that wasn't the worst of it. She was avoiding him, trying to find excuses to be alone. Even when they were together she wasn't really there- her face was always blank and her eyes vacant, like she was somewhere very far away. When he tried to talk, she would tell him she was fine. When he tried to hold her hand, she would pull away. Sometimes she would scream. There were bad days and there were horrible days. The latter usually fell right before and after an interrogation. Scully would sit against the wall, rocking back and forth with her hands covering her ears, whispering to someone it seemed only she could see in a voice thick with hatred. Something was choking her from the inside out and try as he might, Mulder had no idea what. On second thought, that was only partially true. Pavlov certainly had something, more than likely everything, to do with it. And while Mulder had turned the camp upside down for an answer, not even Mastof seemed to know. Whatever the alien was doing to Scully, it was intensely private. The implications terrified him. He chose not to dwell on them. It was hard enough to lay in the dark and know she was hurting alone. The first time he had heard her crying, Mulder had tried to comfort her. Big mistake. She had seemed angry, almost furious with him for disturbing her. His presence, she had told him in no uncertain terms, did more harm than good so would he kindly leave before he hurt her anymore. He was hurting her ? No, that couldn't be true. Scully was angry, but not entirely with him. Perhaps with herself, perhaps with the person who was doing this to her. Whatever the reason, it had to stop. They had to leave her alone or they would drive her out of her mind. Mulder knew what he had to do. If Pavlov was causing this, then Pavlov would have to be taken out. A little voice inside his head challenged him. He sighed. It was the truth. Pavlov was untouchable, at least for now. If only he knew *what* he was doing to her. If only he knew how to get her to speak to him. If only...... ************* Night paled to morning before Scully could notice the difference. The time of day made little difference. She didn't sleep anymore. If she slept, she let her guard down and he could read her dreams... The assault was constant now, battering against the walls of her sanity with a dreadful and frightening intensity. If she stepped outside of the dark prison of her mind for one moment, Scully knew she would appear on the brink of destruction. But she could not step away from the battle, not even to pull herself away from the edge. Was that Pavlov's intent ? To push her over and then pick his information out from the pieces that remained after she hit rock bottom ? Scully didn't know. It had long ago sunk in that she was fighting an enemy she had no chance at defeating. Now all that remained was survival, and the desperate will not to lose what was left of herself to the monster. She was almost willing to end her life herself if it would get his voice out of her head, keep him from pawing over her most treasured thoughts like they were cheapened baubles. The idea had merit. End a pointless life with an honorable death. Attempt an escape. Fight very bravely and die very quickly. Then Pavlov could never touch her again. Mentally or otherwise. Scully was not that selfish. She held the fireband of life deep against her bosom, embracing the pain for one thing and one thing only. She was not blind. If she died, Mulder would die with her. He had poured so much of himself into keeping her alive, it was a small wonder he had any energy left at all. Which was why she could not let him help her now. It was her battle, her mind, and she would not be turned into some parasite, sucking the life out of him until he became as drained as she was. Pavlov was that kind of parasite. He feed off her fears and crushed her hopes. She knew this was hurting Mulder. She had seen the sadness in his eyes every time she told him she was fine, which she wasn't, or pulled away from his touch, which was almost a reaction by now. Her allergy to human contact must be another by-product of the torture. And it was torture, more painful than anything her body had gone through. Scully could stand a lot in her body as long as her mind was intact. But take away her spirit, and she was lost. She supposed it was a small victory that it had taken Pavlov two months to whittle her defenses down, but the thrill was overshadowed by the agony of inevitable defeat. Mulder didn't know. His mind was safe, his beautiful, intelligent soul, and she was going to keep it that way even if she destroyed herself in the process. Scully knew she was going down but she wasn't taking him with her. Not this time. His voice was back, the starting gun for the battle of the day. He laughed again. Pavlov emphasized the last few words and she could feel the evil of his smile. Scully closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears. It didn't help, but she could pretend it did and illusions were all she had left anyway. *************** "Trader, we need to talk." Mulder sat down beside him. "About Scully." "You know as much as I do." Trader concentrated on the watch he fixing more out of an excuse not to pay attention to Mulder than anything else. Lying didn't sit well with him, but he had promised Scully. "She's losing it, man. I've seen it happen a hundred times before. They can't handle it so they just put the world on pause." "That's not her." he said. "She's not that kind of person." "Nobody is, Mulder. Not until it happens." Mulder watched Trader's face carefully, particularly his eyes. Something was being left out, something he wasn't supposed to know. "Tell me again what happened during my three weeks solitary." "I told you. We went about our business, she got taken to an interrogation, we went to see you, bartered for supplies..." "Back up to the interrogation. Did she tell you anything, *anything* at all that might can explain why this started?" Trader shook his head and opened his mouth to continue the lie when Scully walked into the courtyard. He couldn't help but notice the way her ribs poked through the cloth, or the dark circles ringing her haunted eyes. "Actually there was something." He put down the watch and looked at Mulder. "She didn't want me to tell you, but she was really sick after the first interrogation." "Sick?" The word "cancer" came to mind with a vengeance and Mulder prayed that wasn't the case. "Nosebleeds ?" "No, I mean *sick* sick. She must have thrown up everything she had eaten the past week. She was really messed up. Wouldn't tell me what happened, but said she had to see you. It was about two days before you got out." "Before did you notice her acting any way like she does now?" "Now that you mention it, no. Not at all. It's like she's a whole different person." Mulder couldn't help but feel relieved that it was probably *not* cancer but joint with that came the knowledge that it was something directly related to Pavlov and his interrogations. Now that he knew for sure, he could take the offensive and find out why. Before it was too late. "I need to see the warden." he said. "Not again, man." Trader shook his head. " *You* may have forgotten the last time we burst into his office, but *I* spent most of the night hiding in a storage cellar with very large, very unfriendly rats. Not a good thing." "No," Mulder smiled ruefully. "I mean how do I make an appointment?" "Simple, you go find his secretary and tell her that you need to see the warden as soon as possible. Give her this-" Trader slipped him a bar of chocolate. "And say it's an emergency, that you'd like in today. It's all nice, clean, and no one gets hurt." "Where is the secretary's office?" "Right next door to the warden's. Although I would avoid the guards if possible. They might still remember the last time you charged in like the wrath of God." "I'll be sure to." Mulder knocked on the plain, unmarked door next to Mastof's office, hoping that he had the right place. After a moment, a pleasant enough female voice called him to come in. He opened the door, shutting it carefully behind him, then looked up to see who he had to bribe. And was promptly shocked speechless. The woman sitting behind the desk, her long brown hair done up in a neat bun and her face formed into a question at his expression was a Samantha. Not the Samantha. He knew he would never be *that* lucky. But it looked like her and it was enough to knock him off his feet until she spoke again. "May I help you...sir??" "Oh yeah...." Mulder cleared his throat and approached the desk. "I need to see the warden." "State your prison number and reason for admittance please." Mulder glanced down at his wrist. "Prisoner number 8312075 in regards to a private situation." He placed the bar of chocolate in front of her. "A very urgent private situation." The Samantha looked down at the gift then back up at Mulder. "Is this a bribe?" "No. It's a gift." She smiled in an expression that reminded him of the real Samantha when she was about to scold him. "I'm sorry. I don't take that kind of gifts." She watched him for a moment more. "But I can get you in at noon regardless." "Thank you." Mulder returned her smile with one of his own, even genuine. As he turned to go, her voice called after him. "Do I know you?" she asked him, a somewhat puzzled look on her face. "You look familar..." This time his smile was a little sad. "No, I don't think you do. Good day." He walked out the door and down the hall, already planning what he would say to Mastof. In fact he was so deep in thought he didn't notice the way her face fell when he answered her, like someone who expected bad news but hated to hear it all the same. ************* "Come in, come in." Pavlov's voice beckoned her through the shadows, and she could see him standing under the lamp, his hands on the back of the chair. "Please, sit." Scully stood at the door just long enough to contradict him, then walked into the light and sat down. The handcuffs clamped in their familiar places, and the final chess match was now in session. "You know, I really must tell you how much I've enjoyed our time together. It is so hard these days to find a worthy adversary, one left with enough spirit to provide a true challenge." "If you and your kind didn't suck the life out of the world, you'd find more." "Dana, Dana, Dana, you still don't understand, do you ? This world is ours. The people have settled into our rule. Among them *you* are the disease, the cancer. Only when those like yourself learn to accept the lives we so generously leave you with will society began to move on." Scully had neither the time nor the energry for a debate, so she tuned him out, withdrawing to her last stronghold of thought to prepare it for the assault. It took Pavlov only moments to recognize that he no longer had her interest, and his footsteps echoed in the emptiness of the room as he moved to his customary place behind her. His hands closed around her temples and it all began again. ************* "What are you letting him do to Scully ?" No sooner had Mulder's foot landed inside the door to Mastof's office than the question jumped out of his mouth as it had a mind of its own. "I need to know." "Ah. Mulder." Mastof looked up from his paperwork, ignoring the subject. "At least you made an appointment this time." "He's *killing* her! And I want to know how." Mastof leaned back in his chair. "I don't know." he said. "He's above me, I can't help you." "Certainly you know something. Anything. You're the warden." "Yes, Mulder, I am the warden and he is a specially sent Interrogator with authority so far above mine I am nothing more than an errand boy as long as he is here." "I refuse to believe that." "Well believe it." He stood to his feet, walking until he stood in front of Mulder. "I've helped you twice already, but now you can help me. Give him the information. Do you think I actually *like* watching her or you or anyone else be turned into a zombie ? You knew the risks when you signed onto the battle and it was just your hard luck to pick the wrong side." "Does that mean you won't help me?" "No, Mulder." Mastof said. "It means I can't. Not until you wise up and start cooperating. And until you're ready to do that, I suggest you spend your time somewhere else besides my office. Am I clear?" "Like a bell." Mulder said. "I suppose the mistake was mine, *sir*, in expecting you to behave like a human just because you used to be one." The words hit home with a vengeance as Mastof watched Mulder exit the room without so much as another glance. Was it really true? He stood in front of the window in his office, a large sheet of plate glass taking up most of the western wall, and watched his reflection stare back at him. After a few moments his gaze wandered down to the courtyard below, to the prisoners going about their task. Mastof had often watched them, using it as a reminder of how fortunate he was to be spared their fate. Now he wondered if he had really come out on top. ************* Scully gritted her teeth as another stab of phantom pain skewed the back of her mind. It was all she could do to keep from screaming as the tension within her head built like a mutated version of a headache. One by one she had watched Pavlov knock her barriers aside like they were paper instead of stone. The chinks and gaps in her defenses were too many to patch up. Five minuted ago he had attacked her queen, the memories of Emily's death. She stood inside the door, pushing with all the dead weight of the junk memories she had left to keep him out. His voice showed the strain as he tried to break into the thought. There was a silence and a moment's lessening of the battle's intensity that she should have taken as a warning. An instant later, a very real, very tangible hand stuck her savagely across the face, and she felt the warm sticky flow of blood begin to gush out of her nose. The pain rushed around her like some howling demon, snapping her concentration only at the moment of impact. That was all he needed. With a triumphant shout he returned to her mind, knocking the door and her junk memories aside. She was frozen, helpless, while he threw the images in her face as he followed the path closer and closer toward the prize. Then came the coffin, pictures of a cross lost in a sea of sand. The question unfroze Scully, and she blinked to shatter the past, then raced ahead of Pavlov to the last of her strongholds. He had captured Emily. Her queen was dead and now one solitary knight remained alone on the battlefield, standing in brave protection of the king. Memories of Mulder surrounded the precious information, and she stood among them as his forces swept down in their final attack. It came with the raw power of a thunder storm, battering at her from all directions. He would race down one path, slam into the barrier, then race down another and do the same. And though the memories stood strong, each fresh blow drove old weakness to new heights. Scully felt her resolve weaken and knew Pavlov did too. Scully threw her head back in open defiance. She would not let him win. She would not let him have Mulder. The battle came to a dead stop, like the eerie peace of the eye of a hurricane, as she felt him gather his attack and focus it for one final run. As she marshalled her strength to play the only card she had left. With a sound like the roar of a train run amok, Pavlov rushed her walls. She paused, waiting with her head high and eyes glowing as he drew ever closer until she could taste his triumph. And she pulled her walls down, sealing herself and the answers about the rebellion deep within the rubble of her mind. Above she could hear his scream of abject frustration, feel him dig useless through the debris. A tiny smile graced her lips as she fell of her own free will into oblivion. As she threw the battle, sacrificing herself, to save the war. Another vicious slap drew her right back out. Scully opened her eyes to see Pavlov's face, turned inside out with hatred, inches from her own. "This is *not* over." he hissed, undoing her handcuffs. "You have destroyed the only thing that makes you who you are. I will use that to destroy you." His hands closed around her shoulders, pulling her up and out of the chair. With a roar that sounded more alien than anything else, he hurled her through the air. Her body cried out in silent protest as it slammed into the door. She crumpled to the floor, the sudden emptiness of her mind crashing in around her as she tried to disassociate the pain. "Get out." he hissed. "Go salvage your sanity." Scully pushed herself to her feet, reeling back again the door as she did so. The nausea was back, worse than even the first time. She opened the door and didn't even bother to shut it because this time she was going to walk away. There was nothing more to be afraid of. Pavlov had thrown his best at her and she had beaten him back. Only now, as she racked her brain for memories of Mulder or life before or anything but found only nothing, she doubted that she was truly the winner. The inside of her stomach began to lurch toward her mouth very quickly and she had to run behind a building in order to make it before the vomiting started. The convulsions of her stomach left her on her knees as she threw up what little food she had. Unlike the first time, her body couldn't be convinced to stop when it was empty, and she continued to retch until she was coughing up blood. It mixed with the blood from her nose until all she could taste was it's metallic saltiness, which made her even sicker. She rolled to her side, not caring if she landed in the stuff. A pair of strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. She looked up to see who it was, and through the red tint of the world she could make out Mulder, holding her up despite the blood that was running down his arms and staining his shirt. Mulder supported her as gently as he could, holding her hair back when she turned her face away from him just as another mouthful of blood hit the dirt. The sour smell of bile hit his senses, making him gag on reflex. He shifted his arms around to get a better grip around her. She could be angry at him all she wanted to later, but he wasn't going to leave her alone this time. "Make it stop..." her voice was weak, a whisper around the gagging in her throat. "Make him stop...." The note of pleading in her tone was something he had never heard before, and it scared him more than the blood. He wished he could find an answer to give her. Visions of Pavlov melting into a tiny puddle of green goo and then him and Scully stepping in it danced through his head as he held her until she finished spitting up blood. After a few added moments of dry heaves, she lay motionless in his arms, too weak to do much more. Her eyes were vacant once again as she stared up into the sky, but her hand rested in his. Mulder wiped the area of her nose and mouth clean with his sleeve, feeling sick himself but ignoring the sensation. He couldn't shake the simple desperation in her voice as he lifted her off the ground to carry her back into the barracks. He wished he knew how. *********** Pavlov watched Mulder walk across the courtyard, carrying Scully as he went. Behind him on his desks lay transcripts of Mulder's last five sessions, each one more punishing than the last. But still the human held on. It had been something of a puzzle to his mind until now. Dana was the key. He suspected it all along, but the battle he had fought and lost had drawn his attentions away from the obvious. Now that she had been shattered, Mulder would be looking for a way to put the pieces back together. All he had to do was offer one. ************* Mulder was having an increasingly hard time keeping the fury boiling inside him from exploding out. He had spent all of last night holding what was left of Scully in his arms, as if he was the only thing that kept her together. Maybe he was, he didn't know. He was certain, however, that the man who wanted to see him was responsible for it. Pavlov had called for him to meet him in his office.. Until now Mulder had thought he knew what hatred was. He thought he had hated. But nothing he had ever felt before compared to the way his hot anger cooled to hard steel when the door opened and he found himself face to face with the alien. "Come in and have a seat, Mulder." his voice was syrupy was false cheer that Mulder hoped he would choke on. "I prefer to stand." "As you wish," Pavlov said. He stayed in his seat for a moment longer and then rose to his feet. "We won't be here long, anyway." "I take it this isn't an interrogation." "You are correct in assuming that. I've been reading the transcripts of your last few interrogations, and I must applaud you. Your resistance to our methods has been exemplary." "Is that so." "Yes. My attentions as of late have been..." He couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. "Elsewhere, but I'm sure you know that. Today I thought you might like a change of pace. Come with me." "And if I don't want to?" "Oh let's not be unpleasant, shall we?" He opened a door in the back of his office and motioned for Mulder to walk through. "You should consider this a privilege. No mere prisoner has seen what you are about to. It is normally reserved for those with power, influence. Think of it as an honor." Mulder didn't answer as they walked down a dimly lit corridor into a part of the building he didn't even know existed. His mind was occupied with the twin tasks of trying to figure out what Pavlov was up to and resisting the temptation to attack the man while he had a chance. Before he could reach a conclusion on either matter, they arrived at a plain wooden door guarded by one sentry with the biggest AK-47 Mulder had ever seen. The guard stiffened to attention when he saw Palov. Mulder noted with mild interest that it was a Kurt Crawford clone. "This is KC-371." Pavlov said. "He will be your escort once we are inside." He nodded to the clone, who stepped forward and snapped pair of handcuffs around his wrist then attached the other side to Mulder's. "Oh so this is kind of a look but don't touch thing?" he asked Pavlov. "Or are you just afraid I'll bolt." "Let's just say that you might find some of this a little unsettling. We can't have you causing trouble." He walked through the door and the Crawford clone pulled Mulder after him. The outer door led through a short, dark foyer to another door bursting at the seams with light. Mulder could heard a muffled thud that sounded almost like a gavel on wood. He was going to see a trial? They walked through the second door and that idea vanished quickly. He found himself standing near the back of a room filled with a number of high-ranking Enforcer and military officials, not to mention several faces of his old Consortium enemies. One face in particular drew his interest, surrounded by a cloud of smoke as he gazed with interest at the center of the room. In fact, they all were staring at the center of the room. Mulder became aware of the banter of an auctioneer and suddenly decided he didn't want to see anything more. By this time he had no choice- Pavlov and the clone had already pulled him to the very front of the crowd. His stomach curled into a mixture of hate and anger and disgust. A girl not a day over fourteen stood in the center of the room, her head bowed as the men cast their bids on her. A black metal collar was connected by chain to shackles on her wrists and ankles. Now that he was closer, he could hear what the auctioneer was saying. "Oh come now gentlemen, only thirty-two hundred? Certainly she's worth more than that. A fine young specimen, not even here a week. She has a clean bill of health and she's fresh off the press gentleman. Who wants to be the first to own this lovely young woman?" Hands were raised, bids called out, until the gavel beat the closing of the deal at thirty-five hundred. The girl's new owner, a man wearing a military uniform with a sagging paunch and beady black eyes, stepped forward, grabbing the girl's chin and pulling her face up. Unabashed fear glowed from her eyes as he stroked the skin of her face with his finger. When she tried to pull away, the man knocked her to the floor with one sweep of his fist. Mulder moved forward to teach him a thing or two about the bad ethics of hitting girls but the handcuffs yanked him back. He could only watch in helpless frustration as the girl lay on the floor, sobbing softly to herself as two more Crawford clones removed her from the room. "Where is she going?" he asked Pavlov, even though it meant talking to him. "Oh, no sales are final until authorized by the warden. It's just a technicality really, to make sure that it's all legal." he held up his hand to silence Mulder's retort. "You'll want to pay attention. I think the next piece of merchandise will be of interest to you." The realization of his truth was like a guillotine- first painful and then numb as the shock fully set in. A door to the left of the room was opening.... He had dared. The room was silent in expecation. Or was it just his own senses magnifying the clank of chains and thud of footsteps as the next "merchandise" into the room? The last word stopped cold as she walked into the room. Mulder almost succeeded in convincing himself that there was someone else in the camp with her build, her carriage. Then she lifted her head to meet the room and his heart stopped. It was Scully. There was no denying her face, the quiet pride that shone for her eyes as she stood as tall as the chains would allow her. A ripple of whispers spread across the room, and Mulder wanted to scream long and loud and drown them out. Yes, she was beautiful in the way that drove men insane when matched with her strength. But she was not any man's *possession* She was not a thing to be gawked at and whispered about and bid upon. She was something to die for and he had never felt it so keenly as the moment her eyes hit his. Scully sent her wish into from the silence of her mind into the racket of his, almost believing he could hear her. She had determined she would be strong before she ever set foot in the room, that she would walk as a human and not as a slave, but this only reinforced it. She didn't know why he was here, until her eyes made it to down to the silver bracelet, followed it to the guard and noticed Pavlov standing over the whole thing like head demon. Until now she hadn't been sure if she was strong anymore, if she could be. But she had the motivations of hate and love and sheer defiance that she recognized as integral parts of herself thought long lost in Pavlov's chair. They kept her standing up straight as the auctioneer began again. "Up next we have something for those of you man enough to want a challenge." Somewhere in the room someone laughed and Mulder wanted to strangle him. "She's ex-resistance, but just look at her. A little of the belt and she'll add fire to anyone's life. Who'll start the bidding at twenty-five hundred ?" "Twenty-five hundred." A young, cocky looking officer who couldn't keep his eyes off her body raised his hand. "Twenty-seven." The same officer who had bought the girl made the next bid. Things heated up after that, and the bids flew thick and fast until Mulder could no longer tell who was naming what price. Scully didn't seem to notice them, her eyes filled with the fierce storm of emotion he had come to recognize from other times when she had stood up to impossible things. "Twenty." A voice boomed from the back corner of the room and silence reigned supreme. Mulder recognized the voice and obviously the rest of the room respected it enough not to comment on the absurdity of offering a bid lower than the last. "I'm sorry...sir..." The auctioneer himself seemed a little nervous as the man walked towards the center of the room. "but the bidding started at twenty five." "Twenty *thousand.*." The Cigarette-Smoking Man breathed a cloud of smoke into the air as a frenzy of not quite soft enough whispers of amazement filled the room at his back. The auctioneer gathered his compsure enough to pick up his gavel. "The bidding stands at twenty.... thousand.....dollars. Any other bids ?" He didn't even have to wait for replies that wouldn't come. "Sold." The thud of the gavel on the wood told Mulder that it was written in stone. Scully's eyes were once more locked inside his, a minute speck of horror she would only let him see skirting the edges of her vision. Then the Smoking Man stepped in front of her and that speck disappeared. He stared at her for a moment, taking a long draw of the cancer stick in his mouth, as if to appraise her true value. His fingers started at her hairline and ran down the side of her face and neck to her shoulders. Scully stiffened, ignoring him, choosing instead to stare over his shoulder at Mulder. From this short distance she could easily see his body quivering with a rage kept in check only by the handcuffs. The Smoking Man realized she wasn't looking at him and followed her gaze until he too saw Mulder. "Has your lover come to wish you farewell?" he asked. "You know he can be of no help to you now that you belong to me." "I belong to no one. Least of all you." Mulder's gaze was nothing less than murder as he stared at the old man. His vow of revenge was silent to all except the halls of his own mind. The Cigarette- Smoking Man smiled around his cigarette, a very slow mocking smile. Turning back to Scully, he crushed the butt of his cigarette on the side of her neck. Mulder noticed her flinch, and he shot forward, ready to take the cigarette and shove it down the man's throat. He made it two steps before the clone jerked him back again. The Smoking Man smiled again, and then waved to the other clones. "Take her away." Scully met his gaze one last time, but only for a moment before she turned and followed the clones out of the room. Mulder stared after her until the Crawford began to pull him in the direction of the door. Right before they left the room, he recognized another familiar enemy. Krycek leaned against the wall in a corner, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. When Mulder saw his eyes he could have sworn he saw pity, even sympathy. It didn't make sense and the notion was easy to dismiss in favor of the fresh supply of hate within him as they walked back to Pavlov's office. "Well, how did you like it ?" "What do you want from me ?" Mulder rubbed his wrist where the handcuff had left a red circle. "Ah, the question I'd never thought you'd ask." Pavlov sat down behind his desk and motioned to the chair in front of it. "Will you take a seat ?" Mulder considered refusing, but ended up sitting. "I know of your record, Mulder. You can be a tremendous asset to whatever group you align yourself with. Don't think that because we are enemies I haven't noticed it." "Cut the crap and just tell me what you want me to do." "Very well. I am prepared to offer you a position with us. You will have your freedom, money, and anything else that might cross your mind. Including her freedom." "Isn't it a tad late for that?" "Not at all." Pavlov leaned forward in his desk. "Remember, the sale has to be approved to be legal. One word from me and that little scene you watched never happened. Think about it Mulder. Think where she's going and then decide if you want to be the one that sent her there." "You want me to turn traitor." Mulder believed what they were asking him more than he believed the fact that he was actually considering it. "I've put a delay order on Scully's paperwork. Take some time and think about it. But not too much time. Her owner has put considerable pressure on us to get the legal stuff over with quickly." "I'll be he has..." Mulder muttered under his breath. "Is that all?" "Yes." Pavlov said. "You may go." He had seen the look in Mulder's eyes at the thought of Scully's freedom. The bait and been set, the trap had been sprung. And something told him Mulder would be back in his office very, very soon. to be continued... - - - - - - - - - - - - From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 18:07:13 -0500 Subject: becoming judas (8/12) by darkstar Source: direct Reply To: clone347@aol.com from: darkstar (clone347@aol.com) rating: strong pg-13. classification: see part one disclaimer: see part seven summary: see part one warning: character death - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 8/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sunset was a prettily colored lie painted in reds and purples and golds like a mask to hide the decay surrounding them. Everyone else in the camp was in the mess hall, eating and fighting over spilled soup and other "important" matters that suddenly had lost their significance. Well, almost everyone. She sat alone in front of the barbed wire fence, her fingers curled around the wire as she gazed on the outside world with unabashed longing. So he wasn't the only one without an appetite. Trader had said she came here to think, to be alone. "Hey," he said, wondering if that was what she wanted now, if he was intruding. "Am I interrupting something ?" "Only my thoughts," Scully said, turning towards him with something that used to be a smile but now he couldn't tell what it was. "Sit down." He did, settling on the ground beside her. Her face was bland as she watched the sun die, but Mulder could read sadness in the tiny lines and wrinkles of her forehead. In her eyes. Something told him it was not his conversation to start, so he merely sat and shared in her silence until she turned to him again. "How long have we been here?" "A little over two months." "Two months." She shook her head. "Who could have thought that we'd lose lifetimes that quickly? Everything feels old now, worn out." Scully looked at him. "It's what dying feels like." "You're not going to die Scully." Her laugh was flavored bitter like arsenic. "Do you want to know what he did to me ?" Scully was tired of holding back, and it was so easy to tell him now that she knew she would descend one level lower into hell and he would not ever see her again after she did. She didn't want to leave in a lie. "If you want to tell me," Now that he was confronted with the knowledge he had sought, Mulder wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it. If he could hear it. "He wanted my mind," she said. "The implant that I depend on for life also works against me. It lets Them into my thoughts." He didn't have to ask who "They" were. The same people who offered him freedom. "I didn't let him have it. Pavlov tried to take the information by force, tried to pull it away from my mind. He said if I fought back it would destroy me." She blinked to hold back the tears that pricked at her eyelids. "I had to fight. I couldn't just let him inside me..." the thought made her stomach quiver with nausea even now. "So I stopped him. I kept him from getting to the answers he wanted, but he was right." Her voice died away, and she took a deep breath before telling him the empty truth. "I can't remember, Mulder. I can't remember anything past the night we were captured. I see images of us, of what we were before, but they vanish when I try to touch them, when I try to bring them back. Now, when I need them most of all, they aren't there." "Did he take them?" Mulder spoke in calm measured tones that hid the struggle within him. Align with such a monster of his own free will? Betray thousands to their deaths? Save her life? "No." Scully held her chin a little higher at the fresh memory. "I destroyed them to keep him away." "No you didn't. You hid them, and they're still in hiding, but I refuse to believe that they're gone. If you wanted to, you could find them." "I can't Mulder!" Her eyes were a little wild as they looked from him to the sunset to him again. "I've tried and there's nothing left but this black hole that sucks everything about me inside." "Scully, you can do anything if you want it badly enough. Close your eyes." "I don't want to do this," She couldn't go back, couldn't visit the places defiled by Pavlov's presence. He didn't what he was asking. "I can't-" Her protest stopped as his hands closed around hers, his touch as warm as his voice. "You won't be alone." Taking a deep breath, Scully let her eyelids droop shut, finding herself standing in the dark wasteland of her thoughts. Her memories lay around her, some in twisted fragments, some in broken pictures. She didn't know where to begin. "There's too many of them." she told Mulder. "I'll never put them back together." "Don't concentrate on all of them. Focus on the important memories and all the others will come together on our own. What did I say to you when we first met ?" She tried to grasp the thought and pull it free of the rubble, but it wouldn't budge. "I don't know." "Think, Scully. Concentrate." Scully tried again, biting her lip as she trailed deeper and deeper into thought. This time the thought moved, almost coming free but slipping away at the end. "I'm trying..." She made one desperate grab for it, and the images came together into the collage of memory. <"Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation." Now that's a credential, rewriting Einstein.> A smile began at the far corner of her mouth and worked it's way to the other side as other memories began to appear out of the rubble. < If I can save you, then let me.> The last image faded away into a darkness no longer empty nor frightening and Scully opened her eyes to peer straight into Mulder's worried gaze. "You remember, don't you ?" he said, the tension around his eyes relaxing to see her relief. "I remember." Her smile faded as the present came back into her mind. "For all the good it does." "How can you say that ?" Now that she was herself again, her walls were going back up rapidly. "In a few days, I'll be gone and we'll never see each other again. What good can the past do now ?" "Scully, you just said-" She pulled away from him, anger coloring her voice red as she thought of what the future held in store. "I know what I said! The past is gone, and it should have stayed buried. This is my future Mulder!" She brushed her hair aside and tilted her head so the burn on her neck was visible. "Let me face it on my own terms." "No!" It was his turn for frustration now, unable to understand why she wouldn't let herself feel at all, why she had to be such a machine. Around others yes, he could see why, but not now. Not around him. "When are you going to cut this granite statue crap and let yourself be human for once ?" The impact of his words hit home with a vengeance. She faltered around excuses and reasons she could give him, but instead honesty took over and tumbled out of her mouth in a voice husky with barely contained tears. "I can't be human. I'm a slave." "Don't even say that." He reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. "He doesn't own you yet. He never will." Her hands reached around the back of her neck, unclasping the gold chain to her necklace. She let it dangle from her fingers, the cross shining in the light, and then took his hand. "Keep this for me." she said, placing it in his palm and then closing her fingers around it. "Wear it and know my thoughts will stay here even when my body doesn't." "I can't accept this." "Please," Her hand tightened around his. Mulder sighed. There was no way he could refuse her now. He placed the cross in his pocket and smiled at her. "Ok. I'll keep it but only until we see each other again." "What makes you think we will?" "What makes you think we won't?" She didn't answer, and he could see her looking at the last dying embers of sunset, the colors reflected in her eyes. "I've forgotten what the sunset really looks like. The barbed wire makes it all so ugly." He wrapped his arms around her mainly to relieve the ache in his own chest as well as the pain in her voice. Either decision would be fatal to him- for he knew that once he joined the enemy he would never see her again. Never touch her, never hold her. "I want to give you the sun," he said. Scully turned, surprised again by his simple intensity, to see his eyes fastened on her the same way he had looked at her that night in solitary. Like she was an ocean and he was drowning in her. Another freshly discovered memory of another time standing in a hallway when the impossible had almost happened. Like it was happening now. His hands hovered around her arms, gentle in a way that was paralyzing. Before she could move or think or breathe he was bending toward her, his eyes telling her his one intent. Closer....and closer... she couldn't move away even though she should.... but why should she? She wanted it to happen so badly, her forces of logic waited to kick in until the second before their lips met. "No." She pushed him back, rising to her feet at the same time. She couldn't focus on his face, couldn't bear the questions that his expression of confusion was asking her. "We can't. Not when I'll never see you again." With that she turned and nearly ran into the blue darkness of evening, reminding herself again why she couldn't let him kiss her. As far as she could tell, it was the same reason she couldn't let herself cry. It would require her to feel. Mulder tried to ignore the hurt that had returned to his chest with the thought of what almost happened. The two words seemed to define their relationship. Almost happened but never quite. The familiar electricity that came from being close to her had intensified to a point near pain. When would the "almost" no longer be necessary? Not for a very long time, he was afraid, because she was right. She would never see him again. But not because out of any reason she had given. He had come to a decision on Pavlov's offer. The only decision there was to make. He would turn Judas. It was the only way to save her. ************* "Are you sure of your answer?" Pavlov sounded thoroughly contented and Mulder felt thoroughly nauseaous. He stood in the warden's office, trying not to listen to the accusations of his conscience. The voices could hiss and rail on him all they wanted too. The breath of one memory was enough to shaken his waning resolve. He didn't care how much blood stained his hands as long as it wasn't hers. "Yes," He said, meeting each of the three men in front of him in the eye. "I am." Pavlov was smiling broadly in contrast to the mild disappointment mixed with pleasure on the Cigarette- Smoking Man's face. Mastof was different. He seemed almost saddened by the betrayal. he thought. "You do understand that you will never see her again. She will be told that you are dead, and from the moment of your release you are to do nothing to convince her otherwise." "I can accept that. Just let her go." "Not so fast." Pavlov seemed to be the spokesman, and he handed Mulder a piece of paper covered with writing and a pen. "This is your statement of allegiance to the New Order. Once you sign it, you have publicly stated your devotion to us and your sworn hatred for the resistance." Mulder glanced down at the paper, knowing full well what it was. he mused. He couldn't do it. There were too many others, too many innocents that would die if he pulled a Benedict Arnold now. The Cigarette-Smoking Man caught his eye, and Mulder could read the smug satisfaction easily. Either way the man won- he would own Mulder or he would own Scully. The thought moved Mulder's hand across the paper, signing his name to the statement in bold letters. By far he preferred losing himself. The ink came out black but it was almost a surprise that they didn't make him sign it in blood. "Very good." Pavlov picked up the paper, examining it, and then placed it in a folder. "I will personally take it to Headquarters when I return tomorrow. I estimate it will take me a week, prehaps, to obtain the pardons and bring them back here." "If you are lying to me," Mulder said. "if I find that any harm has come to her, I will kill you. And don't think I don't know how." "I am fully aware of your capabilites," Pavlov said. "That's why I hired you." Mulder felt his spine stiffen but let the hate build inside. It would be better to hate, because it was the only thing hot enough to burn up guilt. The Smoking Man was staring at him again, and Mulder turned the fire to ice long enough to meet his gaze. "What are you staring at, old man?" "I was just thinking what a waste it will be to turn a lovely body like Scully's out into the world without even once-" He never finished. Mulder was on him before the next words left his mouth, shoving him up against the wall. "You'll never touch her." he growled, wishing he could choke the smile off the man's face. "Never." "Now Mulder," Pavlov's hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him away. "You should treat your superiors better. This is no way to get ahead." The Cigarette Man stepped out of Mulder's now slack hold, his hands shaking slightly as he lit a fresh cigarette. "Don't over estimate the strength of your position," he told Mulder. "She can be found, you know. She can still be killed." Leaving the last words to hang as a threat, he turned and followed Pavlov out of the room, a trail of white smoke in his wake. "Do you know what you're doing?" Mastof said, walking across the room. "When I said cooperate, I meant with the interrogations. I never said to join up with the freaks." "I did what I had to." Mulder said. "Now I need one last favor." "Anything short of a hole in the fence." "I need you to get a letter delivered for me. Before Pavlov gets back." "Ok. To anyone in particular?" Mulder nodded. "His name is Walter Skinner." ************* The week was the shortest of his life. Oh, there were long moments, like the times he would wonder if his letter had reached Skinner, if the man was still alive to reach. He could still sleep, if only to escape from the guilt that hounded him during the day. When he was around her, Mulder could almost forget the fact that he had betrayed everything he used to hold so dear. The idealistic young crusader who thought he could save the world by lunch was dead. Or maybe he had died a long time ago and this was just his funeral. He tried every way he knew to tell Scully goodbye without actually telling her. Mostly he didn't tell her. When she wondered why she hadn't been transferred, he painted a scenario that made Mastof the hero who had refused to approve her paperwork. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for lying. Wouldn't Pavlov be pleased. Thursday night brought slightly better news. Mastof called him into his office and handed him Skinner's reply to his letter. The former AD was suspicious of a trap, but said he trusted Mulder's judgment and would be there by Friday. Then Friday came and rumors of Pavlov's return preceded the two guards who came to get him in late afternoon. Scully didn't ask where he was going. Mulder guessed she thought it was another routine interrogation. He knew she never dreamed this would be the last time she saw him. At the same time he wondered how she would act if she did. Or if she knew that Skinner was waiting outside the gate with the rest of the visitors. "How long will you be gone ?" she said, not even looking up from what was left of her lunch. "I don't know." The ache in his chest was back, and it took Mulder a minute to get it down where he could still breathe. Over his shoulder he could see the guards waiting expectantly. "Scully I...." She looked up at him just as he remembered what he couldn't tell her. "Goodbye." He brushed a chaste kiss on her forehead, and even before her surprise could fully set in he was halfway across the yard, walking so fast even the guards had trouble keeping up. ************ "Mulder, how very nice to see you again." Pavlov reached out his hand to shake Mulder's but lowered it when it was coldly ignored. "Do you have the pardons?" "Right here." Pavlov handed Mulder a manilla folder containing multiple copies of the same two documents, one bearing his name and one with Scully's. "But before we got down to that I wanted to show you one of the many benefits of choosing the right side. I believe you've been looking for your sister for quite some time now." "Are you gonna pull her out of a hat or something?" Mulder asked, not bothering to mask any degree of his open saracasm. "No." He opened the door that led to the hallway outside the warden's office and knocked on the secretary's door. "Samantha, come here for a moment. I need you to meet someone." Mulder had to scramble in order to pick his jaw off the floor before Pavlov turned around again, followed into the room by the young woman Mulder had been so positive was a clone. From the look on her face, she was just as surprised as he was. Ever the showman, Pavlov closed the door behind them and then gesture towards Mulder with a flourish. "Samantha Mulder, meet your older brother Fox." The surprise turned to out and out shock like someone had dropped a bomb in her lap with one second left on the timer. The response was so genuine, in fact, that Mulder found himself believing it really was her before he remembered the other clone who had pretended with such skill. "You're a clone." he said. "Just like all the others." "Fox?" his words didn't seem to register with her. "You were him....he was you....you're alive?" Mulder forced himself to ignore her again, turning instead to Pavlov. "What kind of trick are you trying to pull? I'm right where you want me- enough of the mind games!" "This is no game, Mulder. She's the real thing. I told you we could give you what you want." Pavlov looked from Samantha's back to him and then walked to the door, motioning for Mastof to follow him. "We'll let you two make up for lost time then finish our deal later." The door shut a minute later and Mulder found himself alone in the room with whoever she was, clone or sister, still the object of her amazement. "Are you really my brother?" she asked, breathless as if she wasn't convinced either. "That all depends," Mulder crossed the room until he stood beside her. "On whether or not you're my sister." "How could you even ask a thing like that?" Mulder shook his head and tried to think. So far he responses had seemed real, but then again so had the others- the first who had been traded for Scully and the second who had met him in a diner with a story of a normal life. "I've been fooled twice before. I don't have the stomach for that again." "Clones?" she asked, her eyes widening. "That's what they cloned me for?" "Among other things." He stared at her keenly for a second, trying to find some crack in her story. "If you're really Samantha, you'll have a scar on your left shoulder-" "From where I fell off a rope swing when I was six." She nodded, the dawnings of a smile brightening her face. "Dad blamed you for it because you were pushing me." Her words came out faster as the excitment in her tone rose. She pulled aside the collar of her shirt. "Look." He wasn't one hundred percent in touch with reality by the time he saw the white mass of scar tissue running in a thin line over the bone. He ran his fingers over the scar, almost expecting it to come off in his hands. It was impossible to believe that after all these years he was here, and she was here, and this wasn't a dream or a hallucination or anything else but reality. Reality wasn't supposed to be this wonderful. "Sam?" he whispered, a staggering wave of mingled emotions keeping him from talking any louder. A second later they were in each others arms. She was crying, and Mulder felt the tell-tale wetness of tears on his cheeks as well. "What happened to you ?" he asked after they had embraced, eager to find the answer to the question he had spent his life asking. She sat down in a chair beside the warden's desk, and Mulder did the same, unable to take his eyes off her. "They told me you died, that night." Through the film of tears covering her eyes and her voice, Samantha smiled at him. "I never believed it. Not even during the tests." Her words faltered a little at the memory. "After they were...finished....I was sent to some kind of laboratory. I think I was about eleven then. I kept asking when I could go home, but by then I knew they would never let me out." "How long did you stay there?" "My whole life. The scientists there became my family. They taught me and cared for me. Even though I knew what they were, and who they stood for, they were good people. I have nothing against them." "So they let you go ?" "No, not exactly. When colonization started, we were attacked." "Attacked?" "Yes. From what I could learn, they were supposed to be working with the colonists. But they weren't. They were trying to finish the last stages of a vaccine or something meant to prevent all this. I was injected with it. All of us there were. When the colonists found out, the laboratory was destroyed, as well as everyone in it." "But you survived." He had a hard time feeling sympathy for the people who held her captive for so long. "I escaped during the confusion to find that the world had fallen apart. I expected to find you, Dad and Mom waiting for me just like nothing had happened. Instead I found a smoking heap of debris where the house used to be, and a shallow grave with Mom's name on it." She looked up at him. "Do you know where Dad is?" "He's dead too." Mulder broke the news as gently as possible. "We can talk about it later." "I did the only thing I could do. I fought back. I joined a cell of the resistance and killed as many of them as I could before I was captured." Samantha held up her wrist, showing him the charcoal numbers seared into her skin. "Since they knew about my training, they let me work as secretary in exchange for better food and a room of my own. I was to have no contact with other prisoners, due to the things that I knew from my time in the laboratory." She reached out and wrapped her fingers through his. "When you walked in that door, I was so postive it was you, but then you said you didn't know me and I wasn't sure anymore. I was young when they took me, Fox. I barely remembered what you looked like." "The important thing is that you're here. Now." He managed to give her a full fledged smile. "We can start making up for lost time." Samantha smiled at him in a way that he knew without a shadow of doubt was truly hers and not a replica. "So tell me. How have you spent your life?" For the next two hours, he told her in as much detail as possible, about the X-files. About his search for her. About Scully. He ended the story with their capture. No need to tell her he had become one of the people she hated so much. "To think." she said when he was finished, "We were so close all along." She shook her head then met his eyes in a question. "Why didn't you give up? Why did you keep looking when Mom and even Dad didn't?" "I believed you were alive. I didn't have proof, or logic, or reason to back me up. I just knew." "You kept me going, you know." Her grip tightened on his hand and her voice was soft like cotton when she spoke. "All those nights I was alone and wondering if anyone remembered me. If anyone cared. I would think about you, and know that you would never give up on me." Mulder put his arms around her again, feeling her body solid and real against his, not the vapor he feared would vanish at his touch. "I never gave up, Sam. Not even when I wanted to." He let the burden of speech drop to his side and simply indulged in the luxury of holding his sister, something he never thought he would do in this life. Minuted passed, slowly and sweetly like candy drops on the tongue, and then the door opened. "Now isn't this sweet." Mulder looked up to see Pavlov walk through the door. He stepped in front of Samantha without fully realizing he did so until he looked down at his feet and saw he had moved. Instinct told him to protect her from Pavlov's evil even though the creature had been the one to reunite them. "As much as I to break up the family reunion," he said to Samantha. "I need to speak to dear old Fox for a moment." A small sigh left her body as her fingers released him. Their hands had been joined so long, Mulder was surprised the flesh hadn't grown together. Already he missed her. After so long apart, her presence was addictive like the sweetest drug. "I"ll be right back," he said, squeezing her hand one last time. She smiled at him. "I won't be going anywhere. Not this time." "I know." He returned her smile before settling into the mask of stone that he wore in front of Pavlov as he walked into the hall. He shut the door behind him, but saw no sign of the alien. "Pavlov? You called me out here for a game of hide and seek?" "Not at all." He appeared at the doorway of Samantha's office. "I just thought you might appreciate the view out the window." Mulder walked into the room and over to the large window in the far wall. It looked down on the courtyard, a smaller version of the one he had seen in Mastof's office. As his eyes scanned the yard, he noticed something out of place. Four guards were standing at attention around one prisoner, a short woman with brown hair turning reddish in places. Scully. Mulder's gaze flew to the fence to see Skinner's tall form waiting expectantly. Even from this distance he could see the tenseness in his boss's shoulders. The stage was set, but the play hadn't started yet. No one was moving. "You're releasing her." "Not quite yet." In confusion Mulder turned to see the man pointing a silenced 9 mm in dead center line with his heart. "We have one more item of business to attend to." "Wait a minute....you're going to shoot me *after* I've done what you want?" Pavlov laughed the same way he had during the slave auction. "No, Mulder. The gun is for you. Go ahead, take it. It's your weapon of choice from now on. You will treat it like your best friend....your lover even." Suspicion beginning to cloud over the back of his mind, Mulder took the weapon from his hand, his fingers automatically closing around the familiar steel. It had been a while since he had held a weapon of this type but shooting a gun was like riding a bike. Once you learned, it was with you forever. "Why the silencer?" "Because you're going to use it." "Tell me I get to shoot you." Pavlov laughed again. "Come now, Mulder, we both know how pitifully ineffectual bullet are against us. You'll only end up hurting yourself." "So what do I have to do?" "To truly validate your pardons, and your statement of allegiance, you have to pass a test to prove your loyalty. It's a ritual each Enforcer must go through before truly becoming one of us." He paused and eyed Mulder. "Each must give up something he holds close to his heart." Mulder's mind came to a screeching halt as he came to the horrifying conclusion the minute before Pavlov could tell him. "You want me to shoot my sister." ************* The sentence was near blasphemy to his ears. Is that what they were asking him to do? Destroy the thing, the person, that had driven him into who he was? The very core of his belief systems? "Yes." Pavlov's voice was deadly serious, the hiss becoming more prominent. "She is to be executed for crimes against the state. Her work and the work of her colleagues on a vaccine can not be tolerated." "Why me?" he asked. "Why not any of the other stooges around here?" "Because this is your test. Shoot her and I will know that your loyalty is with us. The moment her body hits the floor, I will give the order to release Scully." "And what if I refuse?" "If you refuse," he held up another document. "I have the signed authorization orders for her to become the immediate possesion of the man who purchased her. You hadn't forgotten about that, had you ?" "No." Mulder snapped his own thought with his voice. "I haven't." His tone sounded dead even to his own ears. "You might want to look outside the window again. Then decide where your priorities really are." His eyes tumbled through the glass to land on Scully. Her face was confused, alert, but a tiny bit hopeful. If Samantha was his soul, she was his heart. And now he was asked to tear out one so that the other might survive. Which one would it be? He clicked the safety off the gun, detaching his mind from the thing he used to call his humanity as he walked towards the door. Pavlov walked after him. "Where do you think you're coming ?" "With you, naturally." Pavlov told him. "There has to be a witness." As his words sunk in, the last hope Mulder had for deceiving them and saving a life crumbled into dust and slipped through his fingers. His heart beat slowly, as if it were wearing down as his feet carried him back to the door of Mastof's office. He paused a moment, staring at the doorknob, then back at Pavlov. "You will pay for this," he said, his voice low with promise. "No time for cliches now." Pavlov said cooly. "Time is running out. I suggest you make your decision." Memories of Samantha and Scully collided in painful conflict inside his head. Scully's whisper died away with the last of his thoughts as Pavlov's voice demanded action. Opening his eyes and slamming the door on his rational mind, Mulder turned the doorknob and walked into the death chamber "You're back," she rose to her feet when she saw him, a glowing smile on her face and in her eyes. "What'd he want?" Speech was impossible. His throat was too tight, and even breath was a labored chore. All he could do was stare at her while his soul bent under the weight of pain like nothing he had felt before. She was alive, the beautiful young woman Mulder knew he would find. He never imagined he would kill her. Even now, as his hand brought the gun up to bore an invisible line through her forehead, he wasn't sure if he could. Her smile vanished and her face was blanched white as waves of disbelief doused the glow in her eyes. "Fox.....what is this?" The beginnings of tears tugged at the back of her voice. Mulder wished he could cry. That he felt enough to be able to. His finger began to tighten on the trigger, when a possible way of escape dawned in his mind. His arm turned inward until the nozzle of the gun was a cold kiss on his temple. Death was better than the choice he had to make. And far less agonizing. "Shoot yourself and they both die." Pavolv's voice methodically slashed his hope into dying pieces. "Time's up Mulder. Pull the trigger or put the gun down." "Fox....please...." Samantha held her hands out to him, her voice pleading with him. "Don't do this...." A surpreme effort freed his vocal cords enough to edge two words around the pain. "I"m sorry....." He may be stone on the outside but he was screaming in his mind, begging her to forgive him. Mulder turned the gun toward her in a slow arch, lining the barrel up with the center of her heart. Death would be quick and she would feel no pain. His fingers struggled against the command to pull the trigger, but finally they began to tighten. The crack of the gunshot couldn't quite drown her scream as the bullet shattered her rib cage then cut her dying breath short as it landed in her heart. Her eyes were frozen open, wide with utter disbelief and betrayal, carved a path into his, forever searing the image into his mind as she reached her hand out toward him then crumpled lifeless on the floor. Death was a quick and skilled gardener, and the red rose of blood was already beginning to blossom over her chest. The ghost of his soul passed more quietly, slipping from his body to hover around her fallen form like he wished he could. The tears he couldn't shed before blinded his vision as he turned toward Pavlov, his voice shaking with rage. His hand was deadly still. "I will !kill! you for this !" he shouted, his fingers eager this time to pull the trigger. "Shoot me later." Pavlov said, motioning toward the window. "But before you pass out from the toxins in my blood after you do, I was thinking you would at least want to watch her leave." His words were bitterly true, and the gun fell limply to Mulder's side as he staggered like he had been the one shot over to the window. Halfway there, something squished under his foot. He looked down to see a puddle of blood under his shoe trailing from the body. Samantha's blood. Mulder had to tear his eyes away by force as he leaned against the window, wiping the blur of tears away from his eyes so he could see. Yes, the guards were walking. Scully kept looking back toward the buildings, and he wondered if she had heard the gunshot. ************* Not for the first time, she tried to guess where they were taking her. Toward the fence? A cold chill snaked around the base of her spine. Was she to be executed? Mulder was nowhere to be found. The gunshot had frightened her- it came from the building the guards had taken him in to. The very thought that he could be dead sent the chill through the rest of her body as well. When she looked up she saw two things at the same time that made her jaw drop. One, they were heading toward the gate, and it was opening. Two, there was a certain bald man waiting outside that she thought she would never see again. "What's going on?" she demanded of the guards, the need to know surpassing all caution. "Where are you taking me?" The leader turned around, his eyes hard and his voice curt. "You've been pardoned." Her legs stopped working and she stood in the middle of the courtyard, staring at the man in disbelief. "Pardoned...." she echoed, the meaning of the words making her knees uncharacteristically weak. No more wire, no more beatings, no more pain. No more Mulder "What about Mulder?" she asked. "Has he been pardoned too?" "You will not ask questions. You will come with us." The guard reached for her arm, but she pulled away. "Not until I know what happened to him!" "I'm sorry m'am, but my orders are to take you outside the gate and that's what I'm going to do." Two of the other guards grabbed her arms just above the elbows, practically lifting her off the ground and dragging her toward the gate. "Let me go!" she shouted, struggling and kicking against them. "I want to stay here! I'm not sorry for what I did- if you let me go I'll just do it again and *kill more of you*!" They were stronger than she was, and they forced her kicking and screaming every step of the way towards freedom. Outside the gate, they abruptly let go of her, shoving her into the dirt. Scully scrambled to get up, attempting to charge back into the prison before the gate could close, but someone grabbed her arm, keeping her away from the thing she hated most and loved more.... "Agent Scully." A familiar gruff voice caught her ear and she turned to see Walter Skinner standing behind her, his hand holding her back. "Don't." "I can't leave! Mulder's still in there!" she tried to pull away. "You don't understand-" "I'm afraid I do." The serious tone of his voice made her stop and listen. "Agent Mulder is dead. He exchanged his life for your freedom." "Oh dear God....no..." Horror mingled with disbelief to freeze her will to fight. "The gunshot....." The truth crashed down on her with such a force that the world tumbled down around her, burying her in the ruins of oblivion. Mulder watched her crumple to the ground, and his muscles ached to run and pick her up, but instead it was Skinner's arms that gathered her from the dirt. He knew Skinner would go along with the story he had asked him to tell Scully. That he would take her somewhere safe. Somewhere not even Mulder himself knew about. As Skinner walked, carrying Scully away from the camp there was no doubt in his mind that he had done the right thing. But as he turned around to watch two guards drag Samantha's body from the room, a smear of blood trailing after her, the question remained how he was going to live with himself. Or if he even could. ************* Night came but sleep, kept a wary distance as if it was too ashamed to associate with him. He couldn't even stand to be around himself. If there was any way short of suicide he could leave his body, he would be the first one to run. Pavlov had warned him that if Mulder killed himself, Scully would follow him on his journey into the last great adventure. Now he was the recluse, using Scully's release as an excuse to get away from Trader, from questions he couldn't answer and pity he didn't want. Once, the darkness of evening was a refuge for him. Now it was a prison, filled with voices and images and accusations. The past was never easy to let go. His steps took him far and away from the buildings that made up the nucleus of the camp, into the section partitioned off as a final resting ground for the many who couldn't stand up to the rigors of life. And for one murdered woman. The one line he had never crossed, not even where it would have been deserved. An almost forgotten night when he walked that line sprang into his mind, pictures of his gun and Scully in a coma and the ever smug Smoking Man. Yeah well now the man had him right in the palm of his sooty little hand, where he wanted him all along. If he had pulled the trigger and crossed the line then would this have been spared? Mulder wondered how he acquired a perversion of the Midas touch- turning everything around him and everyone not to gold, but into death and despair. Scully had survived it but only by leaving him. His eyes swept the night sky, knowing that somewhere under the blanket of stars she was out there, heading towards the better life she had always wanted. Skinner would take good care of her, but contact by proxy wasn't the same as watching over her himself. Yet he was taking care of her, the only way he knew how. The cascade of thoughts came to a stop as his gaze fell back to earth, particularly to the mound of dirt smoothed in a fresh grave at the end of the rows and rows of white crosses. It was a bleak, desolate place, not at all where he would have wanted her to spend her eternal slumber. Mulder knew he had no right to be here, that the killer could not seek comfort from the slain, but it was impossible to stay away. "After you were taken, I had a hard time believing anything good or pure or noble could exists in this world." He didn't know if she could hear him as he talked, but she had to know. "Now I find more and more that I want the believe in the existence of a life after this one, if only for the slim chance that there you could find it possible to forgive me." he mused silently. "But then I harbor the most serious of doubts that would would even meet in the hereafter, for you would be a part of the bright and beautiful place Scully believes in so much. And as for me...well I will spend eternity in a dark empty place that cannot be any lonelier than this shell of life, or any more painful than this private hell I am burning in." The night refused to answer him, watching his grief in silent condemnation. Mulder looked up again at the wasteland outside the wire, then his gaze hung up on the wire itself. Black, wicked looking lengths of spikes and razor wire, choking life and strangling hope. It was a symbol, he realized, of the men who specialized in just those things. The true murderers of Samantha. His mind barely struggled as the forces of overwhelming rage killed off logic and better judgment. He attacked the wire. Mulder threw himself at the fence, feeling the teeth of the barbs and spikes tear greedily at the tender flesh of his arms and face. He slammed his body up against the fence again and again. He wholeheartedly threw himself into the pain, screaming his anger to the stars and the ghosts as he charged again and again into the tangle of wire, almost as if he could batter it down himself and be free. He was battered down first, collapsing at long last in a heap of torn flesh on the loose dirt of her grave. Finally the sobs ripped loose in great gasps that wracked his body. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry." The words became his mantra, repeated over and over in a bid for absolution that wasn't there. When his eyes finally opened, a glint of gold caught his glance, and he realized it was Scully's cross, that somehow it had fallen out of his pocket in the confusion. Mulder picked it up, staring at it a long moment before clenching it in his fists like he was holding his life in his hands. In many ways he was. He stayed that way for a long time, until sheer exhaustion closed his eyes and opened his hand. The cross lay gittering under the heavens, a fallen star of gold smeared by a mix of dirt and blood and tears. ************* I can't see nothing, nothing, round here. You catch me if I'm falling, You catch me if I'm falling. Will you catch me cause I'm falling down on you ? I said I'm under the gun, around here. And I can't see nothing, nothing, around here. ************* to be continued... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 9/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I stare in this mirror So tired of this life..... Once I swore I would die for you But I never meant it like this Oh, I never meant like this..... -Shame Stabbing Westward Present time: The gray charcoal of morning was beginning to smear in places, patches of blue sky showing through the gaps in what promised to be the epitome of a perfect May morning. The streets of what once was uptown New Orleans were now divided from the open sore that was the rest of the city by a black wrought iron fence. On one side, people fought over scraps of moldy bread and children died every day from starvation or any other of the diseases that ran unchecked in the streets. On the other, the rich and powerful lived in immaculate white houses "requisitioned" from their old owners. But the blood stains had long since been cleaned up and the bullets removed to preserve the "aesthetic beauty" of the buildings, and now most of the occupants found it quite easy to pretend that they had always lived there. He had never been one of those people. Nor was he one of the starving masses who eyed him with a mix of envy and fear as he walked toward one of the smaller gates in the fence. No, he fell somewhere in between. He didn't wear a uniform, military, Enforcer, or otherwise. He didn't have to. Mulder was a member of the small but effective hit squads whose main purpose was to take out key members of the resistance without detection. The fact that his apartment was on the right side of the fence, not far away from the mansions, testified to the fact that he was good at what he did. It was a compliment he wished he hadn't earned. A child playing in the street in front of him froze in the middle of her mud pie, staring at him in the frank way children often did. He attempted a smile, but it had the opposite effect he had hoped. Hastily scrambling to her feet, the girl ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her over to the skeletal woman that must be her mother. The woman picked up her little girl, eyeing Mulder with both suspicion and hostility. So much for playing nice. He supposed at one point in his life it would have disturbed him that his mere smile caused such fear in others. Was it really as long ago as it felt? No, he decided. It was longer. The sentry stiffened into a salute when he recognized him. "Welcome back sir." He swung the gate open in front of Mulder. "How did the mission go?" "Successful." Two targets, both who had the bad luck to have infiltrated a cell of the government laboratories. They had been drawn there by rumors of a vaccine, a cure for the virus that still ravaged the planet. Both disposed of in classic execution style, their bodies dumped in the yard of their headquarters as a warning to any other curious individuals. The rebels mirrored his old human self. They never took the warnings so more of them would have to die. "Glad to hear it sir. Will Commander Krycek be coming in soon?" Krycek was the other half of the hit squad he was a part of. The commanding half, once upon a time, until Mulder had pulled off the public assassination of the owner of one of the few remaining television stations. Not content with his position, the man had decided to use his company to broadcast pro-rebellion sentiments. His brains had been blown out on live camera from eight hundred yards with a hollow point bullet that ensured the effectiveness his gray matter would provide to the public at large. The lesson had gone over rather well; no one else in the news business had uttered so much as an unofficial peep since. The higher-ups had liked that one, and promptly decided to make Mulder a commander as well, and cancel any additions to the squad. As much distaste as he had for Krycek, the two of them worked well together and were usually sent on the more difficult missions that a larger, less experienced team would botch. "He's in debrief." Mulder said. "Give him an hour or two, then he'll show up." In reality, he was probably in a bar drowning in the vodka the loved so well with his woman of choice at the moment. Krycek didn't drink much in the time between missions, but right before and right after he could be found in any of the bars or taverns around town, making up for lost time. He seemed to like the company, while Mulder preferred seclusion. People reminded him so vividly of what he used to be. "Yes sir." The soldier saluted sharply. "Will that be all, sir?" "Make sure he gets the right apartment when he comes back." The soldier nearly smile at that one, but contained himself. Mulder nodded to him. "Carry on." He took a sidewalk that wound through the mansions and the lawns to the far side of the district, and to a set of apartment buildings built in Victorian style that, apart from the inevitable signs of aging, had made it through colonization in admirable condition. The third building on the left was his destination, an apartment in the corner his home sweet home, shared by Krycek. Swiping his access card at the door, Mulder dropped by the mail station to pick up two letters before continuing up three flights of stairs- due to the sometimes unpredictable electric system he didn't trust the elevators- to Apartment 703. The door was locked. Despite the already strict security of the building Krycek had a paranoia streak in him to rival Mulder's own. Once he opened the door, he hung his overcoat on a peg by the door as well as the empty holster of his gun. The gun itself remained in his hand until it landed on the table along with the key and his mail. It was the same weapon that Pavlov had given him. Headquarters had been reluctant to give him a new one despite his many requests for one. The piece had too many demons clustered around it, and Mulder wondered if that was the reason he had managed *not* to lose it this time. The apartment was not quite the same as his old one, but it made a nice pretension. It was small- made up only of a combined kitchen and dining room, a living room, then a bedroom with a tiny bathroom in the corner- although Mulder didn't mind the size since he was hardly ever home and didn't take up much space anyway. A black leather couch was his prized possession, often doubling as his bed since old habits died hard. Krycek preferred a bed anyway, and Mulder suspected it had something to do with the steady stream of women that his roommate brought home. That was supposed to be one of the job benefits- you could have any woman, any time. It wasn't that he hadn't had his share of offers either, some of them looking like animated cut outs from his old magazines. The interest just wasn't there, and he never spared them a second glance. Walking dead men didn't make love very well. And the bleached blonde silicon dolls he used to picture as his perfect type fell short beside blue-eyed redheads who fought aliens in their spare time. There he went thinking about her again. It was a blessing and a curse. She was there with him, if only confined to the space of his memory, a constant remindeer why he got out of bed and what made him live another day against his will. The drawback was that it hurt like only loss could every time he remembered that a dim shadow of a dream was the closest he would ever get to her again. Although he didn't dream anymore. Horror ruled the night, or at least the nights he slept, which were few and far between. He shed his dress shirt and pants, not mandatory wear but a hangover from the Bureau days, in favor of a more comfortable t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Both had been bought on the black market, so the jeans were a little big and the shirt a little small, but it beat the crap out of the uniforms most everyone else had to wear. The only reason he and Krycek got out of it was their work was so sensitive and possibly explosive if word got out to the public, that the Enforcer Headquarters wanted all stages of plausible deniability intact. They still wore them occasionally, when they were on "official" business, such as arrests or man hunts, but assassin work occupied most of their time as of late, and any excuse would do to get out of the stuffy wool outfits. A bottle of amber tequila stood waiting for him in it's accustomed place above the counter, almost full. Drinking was another habit that came with the job. If you couldn't sleep to get away from the guilt, you drank yourself out of it. But you had to get away. It was a survival rule that he and every other hired gun lived by. Mulder had found there were very few true loyalists among his colleagues. Most were simply in it for money, or the power, and all were in it to survive. It was "kill or be killed" in its purest form. Picking up the bottle and the shot glass sitting beside it, Mulder sat down at the table for his daily dose of never never land. He picked up the two letters, turning each over in his hand. One, a thin manila envelope, bore the blood red insignia of Enforcer Headquarters. That would be the evaluation of the mission reports he had to file and probably their next orders. He tossed it on the floor at his feet. That could wait until he was a little more out of touch with himself. When he touched the second envelope, a thrill sent a shiver down his spine when he noticed that he didn't recognize the address. His fingers tore at the paper until the name at the top of the letter was visible. Dear Nephew, It was from Skinner. In his original letter, Mulder had set up this very bridge of communication. His dear old "Uncle Frank" would take care of his cousin "Kitty" and keep him posted now and then in letters. They came once every couple of months, rays of light in a world of darkness. The address would be bogus, whatever place Skinner felt like putting down that was far away from their real location. Mulder could not write back, but the letters gave him one more reason to "stay strong" as Scully used to put it. He pulled the cap off the bottle of tequila with his teeth, watching the thick liquid fill the glass to the brim. Mulder tossed it down his throat in one gulp, shuddering as the drink burned like acid down his throat. After he had finished a second glass, he was ready to read the letter. Dear Nephew, I hope my letter finds you well. We are doing fine, and the second crop of corn is about ready to be harvested, weather permitting. The first paragraph was always like that, filled with some benign chatter in case someone decided to be inquisitive. A few sentences later, the real tone of the letter began to show through, and Mulder could nearly see hear his boss talking as he read the words. Your cousin is healthy, as much as can be expected. She has regained most of her bodily strength, but that's not what I'm worried about. Something's changed about her. She's not the agent I used to depend on, nor is she the woman I called my friend. Don't get me wrong- she's still dependable and she's still my friend, but there's something different. She doesn't talk about the time in the camps, and I don't ask her. Sometimes I think she should talk, that it would do something to take the pain out of her eyes. She has her own ways of coping. We all do. Hers is the medicine and science she loves so dearly. There's a fishing village about two miles down the coast from where we are, some place where the natives still have bones in their noses and none of them have even heard of the television, much less a race of aliens. Fate seems to have forgotten this little pocket of the world, left it back in time before, and that's fine with me. Scully is their doctor. They call her a medicine woman, and it's funny when she tries to talk them out of their superstitions. Her face gets that determined patience I saw so often whenever you voiced a theory about moth men or liver eating mutants. It's almost like old times. But the old times are gone, aren't they? Just like the people who lived them. When she's not busy gathering herbs or mixing medicines, she's draining her blood. A syringe full is sacrificed to the petrie dish god every night. I was able to scrounge around and find her a microscope and some other instruments. I thought it might be a way to take her mind off her problems. I was wrong. And I thought *you* had your obsessions. She's glued to the thing from the moment she walks in the door, almost until sunrise. She compares her blood with that she takes from me and from some of the natives, trying to isolate what makes the vaccine. I'll have to give her credit, she's pretty close to making real headway. If she doesn't kill herself first. She still mourns you, Mulder...... Skinner looked up from the letter at the woman walking the line where the ocean met the sand like it was some kind of tightrope. A white dress billowed out behind her like she was some kind of ghost, and in the soft light of morning it wasn't hard to imagine that's what she was. Even from the porch of the house he could see the sadness in her face, the intense private grief she bore like her personal cross everywhere she went. He stopped staring, picking up his pen to continue his letter.... I think she blames herself for what we called your death. She doesn't cry. She doesn't weep. She doesn't do anything to even let on that she misses you and that's what's starting to scare me. And though she is stronger, I can count every one of her ribs through her clothing. Did I tell you her hair is red again? The brown was coming out from day one and it vanished completely not long ago. She's cut it. Used one of my razors to do it. It's short now, and though the ends are kind of jagged, but it suits her. I used some money from the accounts you set up to buy her some new dresses a couple days ago, the last time I went into town. Isn't that a guaranteed smile for any red-blooded woman? At least it always worked on my wife. New clothes were right up there with roses and candlelit dinners. Of course, when I bought *her* clothes, they weren't exactly the same kind.... but that's not important. The only colors they had were ebony black and wine red. I didn't know what she'd like, so I took them both. I was hoping she'd wear the red. It was a vibrant color, alive on it's own. There's so little about her that's alive now days. Everything about her is black and white and gray like the dresses she wears. And true enough, the black dress is a hot item but the red hangs in the closet collecting dust and dust mites. I have never asked what you did to arrange her freedom, and I am sure I don't want to know. But whatever it is, wherever you are, it's time to think about coming home. Forget all the other reasons I could give you, she needs you. She'll never admit it, it's not her way, but this kind of guilt is killing her slowly, in pieces and in whispers. Get here soon, Mulder. Or when you do, you might find that there is nothing left. Sincerely yours, Uncle Frank. The impact the last sentence of the letter had on him was doused by the latest glass of liquid fire. Mulder wiped his mouth, staring at the black handwriting and white paper. He buried his face in the letter, inhaling the starched smell of the paper mixed with a faint wisp of salt like from the ocean. A tiny smile flickered around his eyes. So she was near an ocean. It was fitting. She had always loved the sea. If only it was that easy. If only he could just pick up and walk away. At this point he might just be crazy enough to do it too, except that her location remained buried under layer after layer of secrecy and well laid deceptions. Mulder had asked Skinner to protect Scully from *all* dangers. If he had become one of those dangers, Skinner would protect her from him too. And after reading the letters, there wasn't much doubt in Mulder's mind that his former boss would kill him to do it. Carefully folding up the letter, Mulder crossed the room and pulled up the left cushion of his couch. A pile of older letters, folded and creased from handling greeted him, and he laid the letter on top of them. He would read it more times than he would be able to count the next few weeks. He was nowhere near as eager to open the second letter. Mulder took his time- and another drink- before picking up the manila envelope. He took his time opening it, shaking out the papers inside. First was a neatly typed up memo congratulating him and Krycek for a job well done and dropping subtle hints of vacation time in the near future. Mulder made a half-hearted attempt at reading it, until the hypocrisy became to much for him, and he crushed it into a paper basketball, tossing it into the wastebasket. Swish. Three points. If Krycek wanted to read the lies, he could dig them out himself. The only other slip of paper was small, unobtrusive by itself. Mulder unfolded it, reading the neatly typed orders near the top. Wanted for high crimes and treason against the state. Terminate with extreme prejudice. Another piece of him died when he read the names listed in cold impersonal ink. John Fitzgerald Byers. Melvin Frohike Ringo Langly. Mulder folded the paper back up and left it on the table. He reached for the glass, but changed his mind and headed straight for the bottle. He welcomed the numbing effects of the liquor. Tonight's mission would be one he didn't want to remember or feel at all. Scully was alive and well, so three more good men had to die at his hand. ************* She adjusted the control knob of the microscope, watching as the jewel-like kaleidoscope of blood cells came into clearer view. Tiny deposits of amber colored liquid within the cells distinguished her blood from the other samples carefully arranged within easy reach. It was the mark of the vaccine, a silent testimony of the time Mulder had pulled her quite literally from the jaws of an icy death. But she didn't want to think about that now, did she? It was hard enough to comprehend that he ended his life to buy something as trivial as her freedom. It was also hard to understand what had made it so important before. If she had known that he would make such a foolish bargain once he found out how much she loathed the idea of slavery, Scully would have kept her thoughts to herself and said goodbye to him. She didn't even get that small privilege. Had he known, that day so very long ago, when he kissed her goodbye that it would be forever? Maybe that's why he had kissed her at all. While the memory was treasured, it wasn't exactly the kind of kiss she would have given him if she had known it was indeed the end. Scully supposed she should do something to pull herself out of the melancholy way she viewed the world. After all, she had everything she had said she wanted. A normal life. No midnight escapes, no fear of capture at any moment. She even had a booming "medical practice", which was something she had longed for even back in the old times. It just wasn't the same without him. Nothing was good anymore, and even the food she ate was tainted with an indescribable taste of blood. With a sigh she turned back to her microscopes. She had arrived home from the village one day to find them sitting on the table, and to see Skinner trying to hide a smile at her reaction. Although times had changed, there was very little that was different about her old boss. He was a little gruff at times, unsure of quite how to act around her. It made her smile to see the uncomfortable look he got whenever he handed her new clothes, or a book or some other item he had picked up in town for her amusement. He seemed to like it when she smiled. Maybe she should try it more often. If only she remembered how. She had finally isolated the vaccination, but the problem remained how to isolate it and cull it from the normal blood cells. All truth be told, the limited tools she had just weren't up to that task. Scully had on several occasions brought up the idea of moving into the "real world" as she called it, only long enough to get the information in the hands of the resistance scientists, but Skinner refused and made it clear that there would be no room for argument. He said Mulder had asked him to make her disappear from the face of the earth, and disappear meant no turning back. As tranquil as their home was, a modest clapboard house on the beach, and as happy as she could be, Scully didn't know if she could live here forever knowing that the rest of the world was being destroyed in the same way she had almost been. The time of the running and the camps blurred together now, in jumbles of emotions and tangles of memories. She chose to let the past be the past. It was simpler that way. "Find anything?" Scully turned around to see Skinner standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "No, nothing new. I'm just re-checking my work." "It's getting late." "I know." "So are you going to hit the sack or do I have to pull rank on you?" She almost argued, but an unexpected yawn changed her mind. "Well, I do have a busy day tomorrow." She said, more to convince herself than him. "I have to deliver the chieftain's wife's baby and from the size of her belly, it'll be twins." "Sounds like you'd better go to bed." Powering down the microscope, Scully carefully covered the remaining slides and then wrapped them in strips of cotton. She yawned again as she passed him. "G'night, sir." She couldn't quite keep from omitting the title unless she thought about it. "Good night." Her bedroom was dark, but Scully chose the mellow light of candles over the louder lights of the ceiling. The room was suited her well. A baby blue rug that her bare feet had grown to love covered the wooden floors to match curtains on the windows. The bed was underneath one of those windows, since she liked to feel the moon as she slept. Secretly she knew it was because she could pretend that Mulder could see her through the moonbeams, like he was still with her in some tangible way. A small closet occupied the far corner, and there was a full length oval mirror beside that. She slipped out of her dress and into an oversized flannel shirt. It was something Skinner had taken her into town with him to buy- she could tell he had been embarrassed to even bring the subject up, but she had to sleep in *something*. And the shirt was soft, warm against the chill of night. Like Mulder's arms used to be. Scully refused to dwell on the thought, instead turning her attention to the reflection the mirror threw back at her. This time she recognized herself much more easily. Her head was back to it's original flame red, hanging just to the middle of her neck. Sure, a razor might not be the New York salon way to do things, but her long hair had been a permanent reminder of things she needed to forget. She had saved a lock of it, though, still in the strange brown color. It sat in a drawer, wrapped in cloth. At times she would take it out, and look at it, fingering it almost lovingly. At others she would come close to throwing it away. The longer she looked in the mirror, the more she realized that this woman looked like her, but was very different too. The changes were less noticeable, for they were not of the physical kind. Haunted eyes. A hollowed soul. The ever present sigh of unshed tears. Scully didn't know if she would ever look like herself again, if she would ever *be* herself or if the rest of her life would be spent as a stranger in a borrowed body. A yawn reminded her what the bed was for, and she took the candle with her across the room, setting it on the dresser beside her bed. The kiss of the flame cast a soft glow around the small bronze crucifix hanging beside her bed. Scully touched her lips to her fingers and her fingers to the cross. She moved to get into bed, but as an afterthought slid to the floor beside it. "Hail Mary, full of grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among woman and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death" Now that her life had slowed down, she could afford the time to pay attention to her faith. "Holy father, I come before you tonight in thanks and praise for the gifts and the life you have so freely bestowed on me...." Her voice trailed off. It wasn't good policy to lie to God. "Actually I'm not grateful. I know I should be, that it is wrong not to take joy from what I am given, but how can I when all of it is coated with his blood ? I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't even pray properly because he is in my mind constantly like his phantom haunts me still. Sometimes at night a strange feeling that he is still alive comes over me, like he out there somewhere thinking of me at the exact same moment. I knew this is but an illusion, and I pray you to give his soul the peace and rest he could never find here." Scully let her pray die away and climbed into the bed, sliding under the blankets. Her eyes wandered through the window, up into the full moon and the sea of stars. Maybe it was just because she mentioned it, but the feeling was creeping up from some hidden place in her soul again, warm but melancholy like his eyes used to be. She whispered in her mind what she could not speak aloud. ************* Mulder noticed the full moon, but his thoughts were far away from the beauty of it. A full moon and clear skies meant a harder mission. He wore black, although not his uniform, simply to make it easier to blend in with the shadows the moonlight made. His gun was outfitted with a silencer, and tucked in a pocket under his shirt. The first priority of the mission, the part he would go solo on, would be to actually get into the building. Outwitting the infamous Lone Gunmen security systems was close to impossible. He planned to walk right on in. They still called him friend. Paranoid as they might be, they wouldn't expect a betrayal. Not from him. Krycek played backup this time, coming in during the confusion after the first shots had been fired. If Mulder did his job right, the mission would be over by the time he arrived, bringing the plastic explosives that would forever bury the secrets his friends had uncovered. "Showtime." Krycek pulled the car to a stop in a rotting section of some generic city east of New Orleans. "Intel gives their location as a warehouse two blocks down the street. We'll leave the car here, and then you take it on foot. I'll give you eight minutes to get in and ten to get the job done. It's longer than usual, but you might need the time to talk your way in." Mulder nodded, his throat suddenly dry and wishing for the other half of the tequila. He had been truly *drunk* for a few wonderful hours earlier that afternoon, but over the months he had developed a high tolerance for alcohol and now only a little of it remained in his system. Just enough to help him forget how many times he owed his life to the men he was going to kill. Not enough to effect his aim.. "Eighteen minutes. Got it." He got out of the car, but before he shut the door behind him, Krycek leaned over the seat, looking him in the eye. "Take it from me- don't make it personal." he said. "Once you get in, you don't know them from Adam. Aim accordingly." "Coming from the expert on close betrayal, I'll take it as good advice." Mulder slammed the door shut on the last of his sarcasm and followed his demons down the street. The red glare of the video camera caught him as soon as he rounded the last corner before the warehouse, even though he was still a vacant parking lot away. There was no turning back now. They saw him, and if he didn't act convincing, Mulder was sure he would find his way into any one of their nasty brand of surprises. He crossed the pavement toward the camera, until he was close enough for them to recognize his face. "Guys, it's me." Mulder couldn't believe he was actually doing this. "Cut off the booby traps." Byers' voice come out over a hidden speaker. "Step over to the warehouse door." A slightly nasal voice in the background muttered something that sounded like "land mines". "Oh and Langly says watch out for the mines. He isn't sure if Frohike got them all turned off this time." Land mines. Great. Mulder was very, very careful where he stepped as he walked towards the warehouse, expecting a flash of light at any moment to part the company of him and half of his body. He stopped at the door, which, to no surprise, had at least twenty locks on it. Another video camera watched him. They had obviously forgotten to turn off the speaker beside it, because he could hear their conversation clear as a bell. "Looks like him." That was Byers, his voice steady and even. "Well it did the last time too. Remember what nearly happened?" Langly's voice was a little more cautious. "I remember." Frohike piped up. "You and the narc almost got wasted. Let me see." There was slight scuffle and then silence. Mulder looked directly into the camera and tried to appear sincere. "How do we know it's you?" Frohike said, a healthy dose of his usual suspicion heading his words. "I'm the only one crazy enough to cross a mine field just for an audience with the Three Stooges." "The last one didn't know our nickname." Langly commented, his voice quieter now that it was in the background. "Yeah well they might have learned." Frohike must be in front of the speaker, because his voice was the loudest. "If you're really Mulder, where's Scully?" "She's somewhere safe. I sent her there after we got out of the camps." "Where?" "I don't know the location." There was another pause as the three thought his answer over. They had stepped away from the speaker again, because he could barely hear their voices. "An imposter wouldn't have known that." It was Langly again. "I dunno. It'd be safer to blow him up and see if he bleeds green." "That's Mulder we're talking about, you little troll!" "Shut up, punk! If I hadn't caught onto the hybrid last time your ugly blonde head would be sitting in a trophy room somewhere." "Both of you!" Byers spoke with the patience of one who was accustomed to mediating. "We'll let him in. Langly's right- no one but Mulder and Skinner know about Scully. If he was a fake, he would have tried to make something up." "I still think we should blow him up." Frohike grumbled, even as the locks on the door clicked out of position, and the door itself swung open. Mulder looked up to see an empty warehouse. "Guys?" A rat skittered across the floor as the door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in the pitch black. Turning around, he noticed tiny red and green lights on the locks which meant they were robotic. Mulder shrugged off his nervousness. "Come out, come out, wherever you are...." A plank in the floor slid open, light spilling from inside to illuminate a man with thick black horn-rimmed glasses and stringy blonde hair. "C'mon in Mulder. We've been expecting you." Langly smiled and then disappeared underground again, leaving Mulder to follow. The new "office" wasn't much different from their old headquarters, at least as far as the organization went. Old coffee cups with as yet unidentified types of fungus growing out of them sat side by side with computer equipment sensitive enough to rival the government's. The security seemed even more frenzied than the first time he had visited. And while they were very good at what they did, the simple reality was that they just weren't good enough. "So what brings you to our humble abode?" Langly asked, perching atop a ragged chair. "We'd almost given you up as dead." "I had some business to take care of." The three exchanged glances. "And it's finished now ?" He glanced at his watch. Krycek would be coming in two minutes. His friends had to die, but better at his hands than at the hands of a stranger. "It will be." He said. Before the words were fully out of his mouth, his hand had darted in and out of his jacket. The deception was over, the gun now trained on the three of them. "What the-" Frohike never had time to attach his curse word of choice. The silenced ping of two gunshots cut him off, followed by a muffled thud as Langly and Byers hit the floor, blood oozing from the holes in their foreheads. To his credit, Frohike lunged for a gun of his own, and got off a wild shot in Mulder's direction before a bullet caught him in the stomach. The little man crumpled to the floor, his hands trying to ebb the flow of blood coating the floor. Dropping his guard and his gun, Mulder rushed to the side of his friend, rolling him over. Shock and disbelief registered in Frohike's eyes underneath a glassy coat of pain. "Tell me...it's not you." He begged. "Mulder couldn't do...this." "I had no choice. It's my job now." It was a pathetic attempt at apology, but the best he could do. Understanding dawned in Frohike's eyes. "So that's why...they...let her go." He coughed, the sound garbled as if there was fluid in his lungs. "You sold out." "I had to stop what they were doing to her..." He nodded, his face a contortion of pain as his free hand reached into a hidden pocket of his coat. Mulder almost wished he would pull out a gun, and give him peace by a violent death, but instead Frohike held out a tiny slip of white paper. "What is it ?" "Skinner left this in case...you came back." A smile crossed his face, twisted by a fresh wave of agony. "This wasn't exactly what he had in mind, I'm afraid... but find her. While you're still human." Mulder took the paper from him and placed it inside his pocket. He met his friend's eyes with sorrow. "I didn't want to be the one to do this. I'm sorry." "For what ?" Frohike's laugh broke off in a fit of coughing that brought up blood this time. "I'm the lucky one. I get out. Now do an old friend a favor and finish me off.....I don't want to die this way." Nodding in numb agreement, Mulder left his side long enough to retrieve the fallen gun. He stood over Frohike's body, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch his own doing. A single shot rang out and then all was silent as Death came to claim his quota of souls. ************* "NO!" Scully bolted upright in bed, her eyes flying open in horror. Sweat soaked her hair and face, and she felt her heart pound inside her like a racehorse in sight of the finish line. She stood to her feet, pacing the floor in an attempt to calm herself. Something horrible was happening. Death was in the air, the scent of destruction she knew all too well from her bout with cancer. Death and horror and in the middle of it all Mulder's eyes staring at her from the back of her mind in silent grief. Somewhere under the cloak of the sky, she knew that a terrible thing had happened, but it drove her to insanity that she didn't know what. Her mind issued the order to her body, but somewhere in between the rational explanation fell short. She winded up sitting on the edge of the bed, staring up into the sky and wondering what the moon saw and if he knew why she dreamed. ************* Mulder was locked in the final stages of a drinking contest with himself. He let the last gulp of tequila blister down to his stomach before reaching for the glass and the bottle. The world was sliding from one side to another in a blur of dulled emotions as the drink began to at long last numb his consciousness and his conscience. He turned the bottle upside down. Nothing came out. Frowning to himself, Mulder shook it again. Still nothing. Where had it all gone? And more importantly, where could he get more? Krycek had to stash liquor somewhere around this place... He pushed himself away from the table, trying several times before actually succeeding in standing up. The mush that was the leftovers of his brain sloshed backwards, nearly taking him with it. "Whoaaaaaaa . . ." He grabbed the corner of the table before he tipped completely over, focusing with serious concentration on the counter a few feet away. On the count of three, he let go of the table, staggering forward until he crashed into his goal. "Ouch." Mulder whispered to the voices in his head laughing at him. It wasn't nice to ignore a conversation, now was it? "What do we want tonight, guys?" Throwing open the cabinets under the sink, Mulder dug around until he pulled out a short square bottle of clear liquid. "Jackpot. . .I knew our little Russian friend kept vodka around here somewhere." He looked back toward the table and decided it was way too much trouble to walk the long distance back to his seat. Besides the floor was comfy in a strange sort of way. The cork wouldn't hold still long enough for him to get a good grip on it, but after five minutes of fumbling around with the three bottles dancing before his eyes, Mulder finally got it off. Smiling, he tossed the offending object aside and raised the trophy to his lips, his throat open in eager anticipation of the drink. Right as the first few drops began to tantalize his tongue, the bottle was suddenly wrenched away from him. Mulder looked up, confused for a moment, until he saw Krycek towering over him. "Heyyyy now, that'ss mine." He reached for the bottle, but the movement threw his balance off, and he missed both Krycek and the vodka completely. The floor wasn't so comfy the second time around, when it slammed into his face. Undaunted, Mulder rolled over. "Gimme it back." He said, to the closest of the three Kryceks. This was interesting. . .three of everything. An X-files, yes. Maybe he could call Scully and they both could track it down just like old times. . . "Not this time, Mulder." Krycek reached down and helped the man up. He had seen Mulder drunk before, but not like this. It would have been funny if it wasn't so sad. "I think a pot of black coffee is more what you need at this point." "I don' wanna no coffee." Mulder mumbled as he was deposited back in his seat. "We like being drunk jest fine." He didn't bother to ask what Mulder meant by "we", instead reaching for the jar of coffee and a pot, a tiny smile playing on his face. "Well you certainly have achieved that." When there was no answer, he turned around to see Mulder in deep contemplation of the mysteries of the human hand. He put two scoops of coffee into the pot, then added two more as an afterthought. Turning the stove on, he added water before setting the coffee pot on the nearest burner. "You know we should be celebrating." Krycek poured half a glass of the vodka for himself, taking a tiny sip- one of them had to stay sober- as he talked to Mulder, or whatever part of him was sitting in the chair. The man didn't look up from the study of his thumb. "Those guys were packrats- they had loads and loads of old data and new data that the guys in lab will just eat up. The explosion was nice too. Neat, clean, everything went perfect." Still no answer. Krycek wasn't really expecting one. As soon as the pungent aroma of the coffee hit his senses, he took two cups from the cupboard and filled them both with the thick black drink. He set one of them in front of Mulder. "C'mon now. It's good for you." Mulder grudgingly picked up the cup, his mind barely registering the fact that it was hot, and took a sip. His face contorted into a grimace. "What'ss this shtuff ?" "Coffee." Krycek picked up his cup. "It'll blow away the fuzzies." He blew on the drink to cool it before taking a sip. A second after his taste buds kicked in, he leaned over the sink and spit his mouthful out. "Strong" wasn't quite enough to describe it. After he poured the rest of his portion down the drain, he turned back to Mulder, setting the pot in front of him. "Drink up." He said. "If this doesn't get you sober, nothing will. I'll be back in a minute- I have to call in our report to Headquarters." Mulder shuddered again as the bitter coffee mingled with the aftertaste of the tequila. It wasn't a pleasant taste at all. But Krycek was right, it was at the least effective, and after three cups the world was back to right side up. His brain had stopped moving, and the beginning of a killer headache were just sinking its claws into him. He noticed slight burns on his fingertips, red and puffy, and for a moment it was puzzling where they came from, until he touched his cup again. It was warm. In fact, it was hot and he hadn't even noticed it. Was it really the drinking or had he just lost the capacity to feel pain? Hybrids didn't feel pain. Neither did clones. Even the aliens didn't experience the sensation to its fullest extent. Only humans did. So maybe it really was too late. He was going to find out. It was easier to stand this time, although the headache sharpened when he did so, putting pressure on the area of his skull right behind his eyes and forehead. Mulder took a slow step forward, looking around the kitchen. Shoot himself? No, that was too messy. A knife? The pain was sharp but over too quickly, like a fireworks display. His gaze lighted on the stove and the brightly glowing burner where Krycek had heated to coffee and forgotten to turn it off. He walked until he was standing right in front of the stove, one hand gripping the side for support. The heat rose from the reddish coils in waves he could feel on his face and neck. He laid his palm on the surface of the burner, waiting for the pain to overwhelm him. It came, but not in the torrent he would think the burning would cause. "I want to be human!" he told his body, his voice louder this time. Even as he could hear his own flesh sizzling, he didn't pull away. "Have you lost your mi-" Krycek couldn't finish his sentence for the surprise at seeing Mulder with his hand planted firmly on the burner. "What are you doing ?" He rushed over to the stove, pulling Mulder and his hand away. Some of the flesh stuck behind, crackling and hissing like bacon on the surface of the burner. "I want to feel..." Mulder felt the world take a nosedive again, spinning him around and around until his legs gave out from under him. "I can't feel it." "Huh." Krycek snorted, reaching above the sink for their first aid kit. "Wait until your liquor buzz wears off. You'll be feeling it all right." He smeared some burn cream on strips of gauze bandaging and wrapped it around Mulder's hands. "Now let's get you a nd whoever else is in that head of yours into bed." Mulder made no protest as Krycek helped him over to the couch, laying him down then tossing him a blanket. "Sleep. You'll be back to normal tomorrow morning." He didn't bother asking the question aloud, choosing instead to roll over so that his face was against the back of the couch. "And Mulder. . .if you decide to play patty cake with another burner, I'm not going to be here to peel you off. So behave." The lights went out and a few seconds later, Mulder heard the door open and shut. He was alone with the darkness and the ghosts. They stepped out of the shadows of his mind, a silent congregation of the dead. Some were strangers made familiar by their appearance in his nightmares. Others he knew all too well. "Leave me alone..." he whispered, knowing it would be useless to plead with those who lacked ears to hear and souls to understand. He had taken that away from them. This was only part of his punishment. Even the solace his tequila used to provide was gone like vapor under the sun. His senses drew away from him, whether at the hands of sleep or unconsciousness he didn't know. "Times up Mulder! Pull the trigger or they both die!" Pavlov's face loomed in front of his, the black void of his eyes glowing from inside out, his voice dripping the venom of a snake. He stepped aside, motioning toward Samantha. "Shoot her!" "Fox...please..." her voice was a thin pale whisper lost in the very air that breathed it. "Don't do this..." "Don't listen to her! Finish the job!" "Fox!" The faces and voices slammed into each other, growing louder and louder until the glass walls of his mind threatened to shatter with the noise. There was only one way to end it. The crack of his gun silenced the confusion. Samantha's body crumpled to the floor, but when Mulder looked down it was Scully that sprawled lifeless in front of him, her blood staining his hands. Screaming his anguish, he turned and emptied the rest of his gun into Pavlov. The alien smiled as green ooze dripped from the bullet wounds, the toxic fumes already stinging Mulder's eyes. As Mulder fell to his knees, the creature's voice surrounded him, low and hissing. "You didn't think we'd let her live, did you?" "I'll kill you!" Mulder opened his eyes, his breathing coming in ragged gasps that threatened to rip his lungs in two. He sat up, shaking his head to clear the last of the nightmare- or what ever it was- from his head. He fumbled in his pockets until he found the tiny piece of paper Frohike had left him with. He left the couch, crossing the room until he stood by the window. A mix of moonlight and overflow from the streetlights outside illuminated the words on paper smeared with bloody fingerprints. 72.5 degrees south. 39.5 degrees west One word scrawled under the coordinates stopped him cold. Scully. He stared at the piece of paper for a long, long time, his thoughts on things of treason I don't know if I am real without you What is left of me without you? I dont' know what's real without you How can I exist without you? - Shame Stabbing Westward to be continued.... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 10/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - She scrubbed a fresh handful of soap into her hands, the lather turning a pinkish red as it mingled with blood then rinsed away into the sink. The delivery had not been quick, or easy, but after sixteen hours of exhausting worry, both mother and daughters- she had been right about the twins- were on doing fine. "How did it go?" Skinner looked up from the rifle he was cleaning long enough to ask the question. She looked tired, but happy so it must have went okay. Well, okay for child birth. That was one thing he was keenly glad that she had *not* needed his help on. "Fine," she said, drying her hands on a towel and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "At least as fine as fine can be with limited medical resources and a shaman covered in white paint and feathers dancing around us the whole time." He had to restrain his smile on that one. She must have meant the witch doctor. The wiry little Indian had been resentful of Scully when she first arrived on the scene, but now he had accepted her presence to the point of being helpful. How much benefit his herbs and potions actually were remained to be seen. Still, it was harmless and it kept the natives happy. "What was it?" "Girl," Scully looked over her hands carefully to make sure all traces of blood were gone before reaching into the refrigerator for a head of lettuce and some other vegetables. Even before colonization, electricity had been rare in the place they lived, but the house came with a fully self-sufficient generator that was more than adequate. "Actually two girls." She began to slice the vegetables into paper thin strips to make a salad. Cooking had never ranked too high on her list of things she excelled in. It had always been a little too....domestic....for her tastes. But it wasn't like she had a choice. Skinner got lost trying to boil water, and generally avoided the kitchen like a plague. That left her to take the food supplies he brought home and turn them into something edible. She had to admit, it wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be, and after a few primary mishaps she was starting to really get the hang of it. She still stuck to easy things like salads and sandwiches and pastas, but occasionally Scully could get up enough courage to try something a little more adventurous. She was even mastering the art of baking. Now that was something she never pictured herself doing- planning meals and baking chocolate chip cookies. Or if she was going to be totally honest, she had thought about it on the rare occasion, but it always went along with thoughts of marriage to a certain man who hated his first name. A man she had killed, just as surely as if she had pulled the trigger herself..... After a moment of silent reflection, Scully cleared her throat and asked Skinner a familiar question, one that had kept her up yet another night. "How did he die?" she asked, looking up while she continued to dice a cucumber. Skinner sighed, not looking up from his gun. He had at least two that she saw- the rifle and his government issue handgun- and probably a great many more hidden from view. It must be a hangover from his military days, she decided, but he cleaned them with the same religious concentration she used to see in herself. Or at least the person she thought she was. "I thought I told you." "I want to hear again." He dropped the cleaning rag and met her eyes. The story was a lie he had told so many times it felt like the truth. Every little detail was perfect. "Agent Mulder traded his life for your release." "Why kill him? He had information they wanted." The conversation was very predictable. She would ask the questions and answer by answer he would debunk her hope back down to reality. "They must have gotten it from someone else, or decided he wasn't going to break. You heard the gunshot." "I know," Scully scraped the cucumber from a plate into a glass bowl and started work on some carrots. "But how do we know it was him?" Now for the hard part. It was inevitable in these conversations, the time when he had to firmly dash the hopes he could tell she was hiding from him. He hated doing this, hated what it was doing to her, but there was no other way. If she even got a whisper that he was still alive, she'd be on her way to find him and nothing short of a small army could stop her. "Trust me, Scully. He's not alive. He's not coming back. That's just something we live with." The way she ducked her head instantly told him he had hit a nerve, and her voice wasn't quite as strong when she answered him. "And how do we do that.....sir?" Skinner swallowed and picked up the rag again, his interest suddenly returning in his gun. It was the one question he had no answer to. Neither did she, he knew, and that was why he hoped Mulder got his letter. Before she decided living with it was one thing she could not do. ************** "Commander Krycek, Commander Mulder, step forward." Mulder moved in mechanical obedience to his superior. Today was supposed to be a red-letter occasion for him. The higher-ups had been so pleased with the cache of information stolen from the Lone Gunmen that they decided to bestow commendations on both him and Krycek. In the Enforcer regime, pats on the back were few and far between, which was all the more logic behind his happiness. Except that he wasn't logical and he wasn't happy. Krycek, on the other hand, had turned his charm and his smile up to their highest wattage. The effect was blinding, and earned him the lion's share of the credit. To be absolutely fair, he had tried valiantly to give some of it to him, but Mulder hadn't wanted it and bounced it right back. If Krycek got a kick out of this, let him get the glory. Mulder would settle for clean hands. It was strange, the way blood and skin refused to part company once they had been joined. No matter how many times he washed his hands, scrubbing them until the skin was pink and raw, the blood from the murders he committed never came off. It was constantly before him, and he didn't understand why no one else could see it. "On behalf of the World Coalition, we recognize your supreme effort for the good of the people and the State, in retrieving large amounts of data that can be used to strike a decisive blow against the forces of the resistance." The officer beamed down on the two of them. Krycek stiffened to attention. Mulder tried to ignore the way his black uniform was making him itch and sweat around the collar. "In rewards of your efforts, we would like to award you with these commendations for your efficiency, as well as two week's paid leave." Now it was Mulder's turn to stiffen with surprise as the statement struck home. In two weeks he could be a long way away. Heading south, and west, toward Scully. What was he thinking??? They'd follow him straight to her and then his nightmares would come true. The wheels of his mind kicked into gear, spinning slowly and then faster as treason became hope. He didn't even hear the rest of the speech until Krycek's cough pulled him back to reality. Snapping out of his trance, he saw the officer standing in front of him, hand held out expectantly. He shook his hand, accepting his commendation with a stoic nod. As the man walked off, Mulder noticed that there was a smear of blood where his hand had been. When he blinked nothing was there. Maybe the vacation was a good idea after all. Before the delusions caught up with him for good. "Hey, man, what are you doing?" Mulder looked up from the charred remains of his commendation to see Krycek standing behind him. "Playing with fire." he said. "I had some trash to burn." " That 'trash' got us a two week leave with pay. You won't find me complaining." "I wouldn't find you complaining if they ordered you to shoot your own grandmother." "Ouch," Krycek opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. "You should be nicer to me, Mulder. I can make a worthy friend." "Yeah well I haven't shot you in your sleep yet, so consider yourself an acquaintance." He poured a cup of water over the pile of ashes, watching the smoke curl into the air. "I'm being serious. At least tell me where we're going on vacation so I can know what to pack." He stopped short and turned around. "My hearing must be screwing up. I could have sworn you said 'we'." "Oh no, I said it all right. W-e." Mulder sighed. "What makes you think you're coming ?" Krycek took a sip of his beer. "Because they don't kill deserters with nice, neat shots to the head. Believe you me, the penalty will make whatever they did to you back in Arizona look like a kiss on the cheek." "You think I'm deserting." "Actually you haven't gotten that far yet. You're considering it, but you haven't made the official decision." He snorted. "You're pulling rabbits out of a hat. I'm not listening to this gibberish and I'm not taking you with me on leave." He started to walk toward his closet. "So find yourself a broad and be happy." "But isn't that what you're going to do?" When Mulder turned back around, Krycek knew he had won a small victory, or at least a foot in the door. "I wouldn't go so far as to call her a broad- Scully's more of the ladylike type." he continued. "If you ever say her name again," his voice dropped to the low pitch he usually reserved for Pavlov, "I will kill you." "I know you want to find her, Mulder," He walked across the room until he was standing beside him. "And I know how you feel, but it's not worth it. Once we get out there I'll have to figure out some other way to stop you, but either I go with you or I make a phone call to Pavlov." "Or we could open up a third option and I shoot you now," He took another swig of beer. "You could," he agreed. "But they're watching you. You're still considered high-flight probability. So I figure you have a choice of baby-sitters. Me or a Enforcer shadow unit." "I'm not running away." "Try telling that to them when they have a gun shoved in places where the sun don't shine." Krycek smiled at Mulder. "Face it. I'm coming." He didn't answer for a moment, then turned around and walked to his closet. "We leave tomorrow morning. Five AM." "For where?" "Texas." The look on Krycek's face said it all. "Haven't you had enough of the wild west? I was thinking more along the lines of Old Vegas. Gambling...vodka....blondes" "Bring your cowboy boots." He said, throwing his suitcase on the couch. "Cowgirls...." Krycek brightened at the thought and then headed into him room to pack, reminding himself to call the red-head and reschedule her "appointment". ************** "We have a situation." Pavlov looked up with more than mild annoyance at the intruder. "You come unannounced, my friend. There are more proper ways of doing business." "This can't wait. It concerns Mulder." With a sigh of resignation, he stepped back to his desk, waving to someone in the shadows. "You can go, for the moment." The Smoking Man was surprised to see a girl around the age of nineteen, her face streaked and stained with tears, hurriedly flee from the room. "My, my, my." He said, shrouding his smirk in a cloud of whitish gray smoke. "I didn't think your kind indulged in such decidedly *human* pleasures." "I have no interest in the things you creatures define as pleasure." Pavlov smoothed his hair back into place and took a seat behind his desk. "My only attraction is her mind. How do you humans say it- a mind is a terrible thing to waste." He smiled in self-content. "What news do you bring of our mutual friend?" "One of yours has given him two weeks leave." "Yes, I know. Did you interrupt me for something as trivial as that ?" "I think it is unwise to allow him so much freedom at this point in time. He has just killed three men he once called friend. He will be depressed. Depression leads to introspection, which, my friend, could very well lead to treason." "Mulder has been beaten. I have profiled him extensively. He poses no danger to us as long as he remains blinded by his guilt." Pavlov yawned. "If this is all you have to tell me, leave and send the girl back in on your way out." The Smoking Man regarded the alien coolly, taking a long draw from his cigarette before speaking. "I thought much as you did once. For years I plotted the destruction of Fox Mulder, plotted in careful detail until I knew he was beaten." he walked toward the door. "I underestimated him then. I shall leave you to do the same." "Wait-" Pavlov's voice called after him. "What are you so convinced will pull him back into what he was?" "You forget one tiny detail. Scully is alive. As long as she is alive, he has hope." He turned in smug satisfaction, pausing before he left the room. "Do you want the girl now?" "No. Send her back to her quarters, unless you've taken a fancy to her." Pavlov waited until the door slammed shut to pick up his communication link. "I need a shadow team to report in my office, full ensemble, in two minutes." He said. "Complete intel updates. We're moving out." The final pieces in this, the grandest of his chess matches, were falling into place. He had not forgotten the only human ever to beat him at his mind games. And to add insult to injury, the offending creature was *female*. Revenge had long been his desire, but she seemed to have vanished. He had assigned shadow teams to the bald man who left with her, but three days away from the camp the teams sent reports that they had were nowhere to be found. It was only natural that Mulder would know where she was. Pavlov was surprised that the man had kept his distance this long. The whole situation was made to order. If Mulder didn't bolt, it would proved that they had beaten him. If he did, sweet irony would take over and he would lead them straight to the woman he had hidden so well. After Scully was gone, his old enemy would be crushed beyond repair, and it would be Pavlov who restructured him into a vessel more worthy of the State. The glory would be his and his alone- he would not share it. He would handle this incident personally, without telling any of his associates or superiors, who might want to share in his credit. The High Command itself might even grant him a promotion, the recognition he deserved. The old man was right. Hope could be very dangerous. Or it could be very useful. ************** "Not a bad place," Krycek dropped his bag on the floor and looked around the cabin. "Except of course for the fact that I'm spending the only leave I'll get until Christmas in the middle of God's outhouse." He looked out the window, wrinkling his nose at the drab expanse of forlorn desert. "Do you have a thing for self-torture or do you actually get some kind of perverted kick out of this ?" "I like the solitude." Mulder had packed light, bringing only a duffel bag packed more with equipment than with clothes. He'd wait a few days, gathering supplies and checking for shadow teams, then slip out. Forever. "We certainly have overstocked on *that*." He snorted. "I think the only speck of humanity for miles is that dust bowl of a town we passed through ten miles ago. And I'm sure the nightlife is less than interesting." "Read a book." Picking up his duffel bag, he walked into the nearest bedroom and dumped it on the bed. "Where'd you find this place?" Krycek's voice floated out of the hallway. "Scully and I used it as a hideout once." "Ahhh." "Not *that* kind of hideout." he said, hiding a smile at Krycek's insinuating tone. "Mulder," he appeared at the door, still holding his suitcase. "You can't tell me that you never-" "No." Mulder cut him off. "We never." "Man," Krycek shook his head. "You don't know a good thing when she's right beside you." The thought was sobering, attended by the demons of old memories. "You're right," he agreed. "I don't." The same strange note of almost pity darkened Krycek's eyes, but the change was gone before Mulder was sure it was really there at all. "I'm going to hit the shower. This place does have a bathroom, doesn't it?" "Down the hall and to the left." Mulder said. Once he was alone, he reached down inside his shirt and pulled out the slip of paper, reading it for the thousandth time. 72.5 degrees south. 39.5 degrees west. Scully. He was insane. But he was going to do it. The sun glowed like a disk of molten gold, bleeding drops of scarlet and purple along the horizon as it fell into the night. His feet made tiny scooping noises in the sand as he ran, the cool air of a desert evening drying the sweat on his face and neck. The rhythmic in and out of his lungs matched pace with the beating of his heart and the pounding of his thoughts. Mulder could almost imagine that if he ran fast enough, he could catch up with the sun's chariot of flame and ride beyond the world. This type of running did so much more than condition his body. It salvaged pieces of his mind, dredged them up from darkness to light. He lived for those moments, if only for the scant glimpses of sanity they provided. Part of him remained alert, refusing to totally shun reality. His gaze probed the desert in search of the slightest indication that something was amiss. Nothing looked out of place, but he wasn't blind to the camouflage skills of Enforcer teams. He had been a part of them once. But no more. As soon as the sun finished drowning in itself he would leave it all behind. Death awaited him if he failed. Death awaited him if he succeeded. It was not a life he was living. The part of him that had made him alive died the moment he shot Samantha. The flesh and bone shell that remained was simply carrying out leftover commands. He had to make his peace with Scully and then the ritual of dying would be complete. He had even laid aside a special bullet, hollow pointed to make sure he blew his worthless brains out on the first try. And it would not be defeat for They had already won. They won every time he took another life in Their name, and this was the only way he could strike back them. Mulder corralled his thoughts to the narrow island of Logic as he ran a mental check on his equipment listing. The past two days had passed in the slow drawl of desert time, more than long enough for him to prepare. He had everything from maps to ammunitions to a hand-held GPS finder, courtesy of his old employers. Tonight was the night. The desert floor ended in a cascade of rust red rock as a ribbon of water carved a gorge through the sand. He slowed to a stop, watching a sprinkle of dust and pebbles skitter over the edge from his feet. The sun was nearly gone, throwing it's last rays over the canyon like ropes of gold through the black shadows shrouding the walls. Mulder let his eyes fall as far as they could, standing as he caught his breath. It would be so easy for his body to travel where his gaze had paved the way. To fly until he fell and to fall until the rocks made him forget who he was and what he used to be. His hand touched the cross around his neck, a loving kiss of flesh on metal. She had given it to him on a sunset not so different from this one, and the memory was bright, like a speck of gold among soot in his mind. No, he would not heed the call of the desert and of his own guilt. He would find her and he would give her back her cross. He would kiss her hello and goodbye all in the same breath. And then he would die. ************** "We have visual, sir." Pavlov looked up from the maps he was studying to see a scout in full paint-and-brush camouflage gear step into the building. He had established a temporary headquarters in the only town around, located around ten miles from the cabin Mulder and Krycek were staying. "And?" "Nothing out of the ordinary. He went for jog, then went back. Just like he has every day." "Keep up surveillance of the cabin in two man shifts. Don't get too close. I want a full status report every two hours." "Yes sir." The scout saluted and then ran back to his desert. Pavlov watched him disappear, then turned back to his maps. "What are you planning Mulder?" he mused to himself. "What are you planning..." **************** He opened his eyes. A symphony of silence greeted him. For a moment Mulder lay in the darkness, letting his ears search for any sound or movement. Nothing. Krycek was asleep. Now was the time. His feet hit the floor without sound, his hands at the same time feeling under the bed until they met a canvas back pack, already packed. He pulled it out, setting it on the bed and opening it for a last minute once-over. Gun. Check. Ammo. Check. Maps. Check. Rations. Check. Coordinates. Check. One dose of complete insanity. Double Check. Well, the last item wasn't in the bag but he carried it with him nonetheless. He pulled out one of the maps and a flashlight, shining it along the thin red line that designated the Mexican border. It was about eighty miles to the south west of the cabin, easily reached in a matter of days if he hurried. Even faster if he picked up a car from somewhere. Krycek's old Jaguar sat in front of the house, but Mulder didn't want the attention it would bring. He would cross the border at the tiny town of Soledad. It was a good site- one he had visited before on a mission right at the beginning of things. They wouldn't be expecting him there. Although he was hoping that they wouldn't be searching for him at all until he was safely over the border and on his way through South America. His flash light traced the way he was to go. It ended on a tiny red X on the west coast of Chile. That was where she was. That was where he had to go. A not so small puzzle began to form in the back of his mind as to how to dispose of Krycek if he woke up. Despite his good-natured complaining, the man had actually proved himself something of a worthy companion. It hadn't been Mulder's choice to bring him along, but it certainly wasn't his intent to kill him. Although he was sure Krycek wouldn't balk at shooting him to keep him from escaping. It was just that he was tired of killing. He zipped his pack shut, tucking the map in his pocket, and sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that. He moved with caution through the house, walking on the balls of his feet to minimize the creaking of timbers. Down the hallway, past the dark shadows of Krycek's bedroom, into the living room. So far so good. Past the couch, past the kitchen. Now he was at the door, a thin fingernail of moonlight visible from underneath it. Mulder took a deep breath, reaching for the handle... "Going somewhere, Mulder?" The lights came on to reveal a very wide awake Krycek sitting on a stool in the kitchen, a gun trained with aim that was also fully alert on Mulder. "Step away from the door." ************* Mulder sighed heavily as he did so, the sound meant to portray disappointment and cloak his real actions. His hand slid toward the silenced 9 mm hidden underneath his jacket. "Why don't we just leave that there," Krycek said. "Hands on your head. Shed the pack and take a seat." He put his hands behind his head, but made no other move. "You're making a mistake, Krycek," he told him. "I don't want to kill you just when I found out you could cook." The man laughed. "You should thank me. I'm saving your life." "You got a funny way of doing it," Krycek rose to his feet, gun hand unwavering. "How far do you think you'll get before they're on you like hounds on a rabbit ?" "Far enough." Mulder said. "C'mere." He motioned Mulder over to the side of a window. Some people never learned. Here he was trying to do his good deed for the century and the man he was wanting to help was giving him nothing but garbage. "Look past the car out at the clump of brush." "I see a clump of brush." His tone was impatient- he had no idea why Krycek wanted to play these games. "You're right- one that *wasn't* there three hours ago." The implications of the sentence promptly left Mulder speechless. He leaned against the wall by the window, hands in his pockets. His gaze met Krycek's in cold accusation. "You set me up." "No," Krycek's reply was simple. "They moved in the evening after we did, but I had nothing to do with it." "And you didn't bother telling me," "You didn't need to know then." Mulder looked away in a mix of disgust and annoyance. When Krycek spoke again, there was an edge to his voice as well. "Hey, listen Mulder, I could have let you walk out there and get your butt blown off." "Instead you're going to blow it off yourself? Get yourself another commendation and two weeks more leave that you can blow on some cheap whore? I'll have to hand it to you, Krycek, you've got the makings of a real company man." "You think I enjoy this?!? That this is what I wanted my life to come to? I didn't want to sign up with these monsters." "That's crap and you know it. You've always been on their side from the day you walked into my office. I trusted you once, and I won't make that mistake again." "That was a different time and a whole lot different world. The men I worked for tried to stop this from happening! Sure they weren't boy scouts about it, but they fought. And I said *worked* for, Mulder! I never swore my allegiance to them, or to the aliens." "Then why do you continue to work for this government? Why don't you fight?" Krycek's eyes were burning now, twin pools of black oils that snapped and crackled with his anger, as he took a step closer to Mulder. "You want to see why I work for them Mulder??? You want to see it?!?" He turned around, pulling his shirt and his t-shirt over his head. Highlighted by the moon, the skin on his back was criss-crossed with a web of scar tissue, enough that his real skin was barely visible. Mulder couldn't quite find words as he felt his anger disintegrate into shock. That type of scars were very familiar- he bore them on his back as well, but Krycek was marked with even more than he himself had. "You've got them too, don't you Mulder? From the camps? From the interrogation rooms?" "What...happened?" Krycek turned back around, his voice hardening with bitter memories as he began to speak. "Everything I did before Colonization was for me, to ensure my well-being. It was my goal, and I sacrificed my life and literally my limb-" he glanced down at his prothestetic arm. "to the god of survival. The ultimate ideology, or so they said. "After the invasions began, I began to break into containment facilities, searching for the ultimate pawn- the vaccine we both know exists. In one of those places, I found Marita." "Marita Covarrubias?" "Yes." he nodded, his voice momentarily softening. "You didn't think I could feel, did you Mulder? That I could care for anyone else but yours truly?" He laughed but this time it was sharp and hard like his face. "She was my pupil, my protege. I taught her how to survive the game we both played and she did it so well. But she made a mistake. She wanted out and she betrayed me and the Consortium in a gamble for her freedom. She lost." He shook his head. "Do you know what they did to her ? The experiments they performed on Scully were nothing compared to the hell she existed in. I found her and I took her with me. Why? I loved her, Mulder. Me! Alex Krycek! Loved another human being! We were going to find the vaccine and trade it to both the aliens and resistance in the greatest double cross of all time. It would make us free forever." "What stopped you?" "A squad of Enforcers at midnight. They took us to the camps. I tried to bargain with them to leave her alone..." The razor edge to his voice and face faded into sadness as he continued. "But they didn't. They did things to her you wouldn't ever want to imagine, and I'm not just talking about the routine interrogations. I killed a guard for trying to hurt her, and they sent me straight into solitary, into this little four foot cell and threw away the key." Mulder fought back a shudder at the memory of his own time in solitary. He knew what Krycek was talking about, better than the man expected. "They wanted me to work for them. When they finally pulled me out of solitary, the torture began. They used all their favorite "persuasions" on me for eight days straight, without so much as a pause. In the end my old survival ideologies won out. I signed over. Just like you did," There was a heavy pause. "I shot her Mulder. I shot Marita. Because they told me to. And it might surprise you to know that I'm just human enough to hate myself for it." The truth was much harder than the misconception he had been clinging to. Mulder could still hate Krycek, but not as readily as he once had. Not when they shared so many of the same demons. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to hate him anymore. Krycek's voice had fallen down to a thin whisper When he spoke again. "Who did they make you shoot Mulder? What took away your will to fight back?" His shoulders sagged and he sank to the floor as he answered, almost unable to speak around the guilt he felt. "My sister. I killed Samantha." His own words screamed back at him, hitting him like fists to the face. They shared in the silence until Mulder looked up to see Krycek extend his hand to him. "Get up." He said, pulling Mulder to his feet. "Get up and get out." "But the shadow team...." "Use this." He handed him something that looked like a compact cell phone. "It's a satellite feed disrupter. It will mess with their communications systems, as well as the searcher satellites they'll try and hunt you down with it." Mulder flipped the device open to see a keyboard and a screen with red and green alternation lights. "I'll take a wild guess and bet that this isn't something you just happened to have in your pocket." "No, um, I checked it out of Requisitions before we left." His rakish smile returned, dancing a tango with the night. "I told you I knew you were escaping." "Come with me." Mulder took a risk and made the offer. "Nah," Krycek said. "I'm a survivalist, remember? Besides, someone has to stay behind and cover your butt. The disrupt's only good for twenty four hours at a time. Any longer and it has to be recharged." "How do I turn it on?" "The red switch in the corner. I'd suggest trying it now, that way the sand man will be distracted by the time you get outside." "Why are you doing this?" He had to ask, had to know why the man who was so much of an enemy turned friend in the last moment. "We all have to fight back somehow. I don't have a taste for heroic causes and dying in battle. I'd love to see Pavlov's face when he finds out you're gone. And also...I need to avenge her some way." "We all do." The rest didn't need to be spoken. Both of them knew without saying the need that came underneath the Enforcer steel. A need to gain revenge for those you were made to destroy, for the pieces of your soul ripped away by your own hands. Mulder picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, punching the red button on the disrupter before securing it in his pocket. A moment passed, and then a glance out the window showed the "bushes" moving, two forms just visible in between sand and sky, heading in the direction of town. "Thanks." he said, finding the moment suddenly awkward, and wishing he was out in the desert taking his chances with the Enforcers. "Don't mention it. But are you going to stand here all night or are you going to find her?" In response, he drew his gun and then held out his hand. "Take care of yourself." he said. Another smile accompanied Krycek's handshake. "Hey, don't sweat it. That's what I do." Mulder released his hand, taking a handful of heartbeats to collect his thoughts before walking towards the door. He smiled to himself. It was good to know some things hadn't changed about him. Here he was, taking yet another impossible risk against impossible odds that would probably wind up with his butt in a sling. The only difference was, Scully wasn't there to catch him if he fell. That last sobering thought stayed with him as he stepped outside. ************** Morning came amid a thousand aches and pains from joints he hadn't even expected to work anymore, much less register pain. Krycek peeled one eyes open, squinting as an assault of bright yellow-white hit his senses. Morning, definitely, and a long time past sunrise. He had overslept. In the middle of the floor no less. A screech of brakes sent his internal alarms blaring, and he was on his feet before he could blink, gun in hand as he crouched in front of the window. The black uniforms of Enforcers swarmed toward the cabin like spiders on the march. So much for his good intentions of keeping watch on Mulder's behalf. How far did the man think he would actually get? He had often wondered exactly what made Mulder risk everything on a slim chance at what might be nothing. Krycek remembered he used to hate him for that very thing, among other reasons, but now he admired him. And wished him good luck, because he would need it. Backing away from the window, Krycek straightened to his feet and noticed a piece of folded paper lying on the table. A closer look revealed it to be one of Mulder's maps, his intended destinations marked in nice neat red marker. The Enforcers were at the door. Visions of Mulder walking into his safe haven and being greeted by her body filled the picture screens of his mind and it wasn't pleasant. The crash of splintering wood and jamming cartridges returned animation to his body. Krycek bolted for the pot-bellied stove, ignoring the sear of hot metal on flesh as he pulled the door open barehanded and stuffed the map inside. "Step away from the stove!" Strong voices preceded strong hands as members of the team shoved him away from the stove, keeping him back at gunpoint as one of the soldiers pulled the map out of the fire and doused it with water from his canteen. Krycek peered around the bulk of the man guarding him to see with some relief that the bottom half of the map was seared beyond recognition. The tiny red X that marked Scully's location had fallen prey to the fire. Another smudge of water logged red caught his attention, a mark on the border between the United States and Mexico, but he hoped that it would blend in with the soot and not attract attention. "Building a bonfire, Mr. Krycek?" The muscles in the back of his shoulders tightened at the voice calling his name. Even with the hissing quality, he could tell Pavlov anywhere. The alien was the first person to ever call him "Mr." and walk away from it alive. And that was only because Krycek just hadn't had the opportunity to kill him yet. "He was trying to dispose of this document, sir." A fresh faced guard whose Uzi looked older than he did spread the remains of the map on the table. "It looks like a map." "Why don't we give our friend a seat?" Pavlov gestured to his minions, and they unceremoniously hauled Krycek off the ground and into a chair. "I'm sure he's going to tell us all about the whereabouts of Agent Mulder and a certain satellite disrupter. Both have gone missing." "Gee, did you check your other pocket?" Krycek asked him. The baby faced soldier landed a blow hot with indignation across his face. "You will address your superior with the respect due his office!" he demanded. Krycek turned and met the boy in the calm stare he had used so many times before, on the Smoking Man and others. It had penetrated their jaded exteriors, so it was no surprise when the soldier began to shift his weight from side to side uncomfortably. "The next time you hit a Commander, boy, I suggest you decide how you want to die in advance. I am your superior and you will treat me with the respect of my position." "Yes, sir." The soldier gulped, tacking a salute onto the end of his words. "Of course. . .sir." "Enough." Pavlov's voice commanded both of their attentions. "There are more important matters at hand." He focused on Krycek, his face eerily unexpressive as he spoke. "When did he leave?" "I wouldn't know. I woke up this morning to find me, myself, and I but no one else." He remembered an old proverb from his Consortium days. That was truth number one. "Did he do or say anything that would make you think he was planning a desertion?" "No. Last night he said he might take a day and head up north to check out an old friend of his." That was the lie. "And what about the satellite disrupt my men experienced last night? The one that is still troubling us?" Pavlov's tone made it clear that whoever had caused the problem would indeed pay. "That was Mulder. He suspected you guys were shadowing him, and thought that it might throw you off the trail." That was truth number two. Now all he had to do was throw in a little bit of imaginative thinking and presto! One lie, ready to swallow. "Now that I think about it, he did seem rather disturbed before he left. Preoccupied you could say. Kept muttering her name over and over." "By her you mean the woman." From the look on his face, Pavlov wasn't hungry even for the most appetizing of lies. The early chills of dread began to wrap themselves around Krycek's stomach when he thought of the last time he and the creature had played question and answer. The scars on his back ached with the memories. "Scully, yeah, that's her name." Pavlov paced the floor, his brow furrowed as if in deep concentration as he walked toward the stove. Borrowing a glove from one of his men, he shoved a pair of iron tongs into the heart of the fire. For a moment he held them inside, then withdrew them, the tips red hot. A demon smile whisked around his face, moving from his eyes to his cheeks to his mouth and then back again, as he held the tongs in front of Krycek's face. "You never fail to spin an entertaining story when the mood strikes you. But I see through your lies and your greater lies. Tell me where Mulder went." "I don't know." A truth fell from increasingly desperate lips as the tongs edged closer and closer to him. At a nod from Pavlov, two of the soldiers pinned him to the seat while a third pulled the glove off his good hand. "It must be strange, only having the sense of touch in one hand," Pavlov said. "But then I would think it would make you appreciate it all the more. And that you would want to preserve that sense from things like, oh say, burning, which would deaden and harden the nerves." He lowered the tongs until the glowing tips rested mere inches above the skin of his hand, his voice a mere whisper as he spoke. "Where is Mulder?" "I told you- I don't know! You've got to believe me---" Krycek sealed his words off to contain the surge of pain that burned through him as the tongs sank into his palm, eating hungrily at the flesh. He wasn't doing this for Mulder. He was doing it for Marita, for the one thing in his life that had been truly his. Until Pavlov had taken it, taken her. He chose a new course of action, letting his pain out in a roar and a rush of adrenaline, pushing aside the guards and landing on Pavlov. Before the alien could move, Krycek grabbed the tongs and pressed the heated end into the creature's face. A scream different from humans though it was in human voice pierced the air, and for one moment the facade of skin wavered to reveal the true face of the monster. He was still filled with the drug of anger and didn't realize he was no longer on top of Pavlov until he crashed into the table, surprised at the casual strength of the throw. Pavlov had fully regained his human costume, pushing away the hands that tried to offer help. One side of his face was now horribly disfigured in a ragged red burn, but the alien barely noticed the pain. He took a step forward, and the cold menace in his stride told Krycek that he had just done something incredibly rash. Something squished under Pavlov's foot, and he looked down to see the map lying in a dirty puddle on the floor. Not taking his eyes off Krycek, he stooped and picked it up, holding it close for examination. Something in his eyes changed and turned to victory. "You may count yourself fortunate, Mr. Krycek, that you were able to be of service to us after all." He tossed the map to one of his men. "Match that map with another. The red x on the border tells us where he's going." Krycek watched, something that tasted cold like the early stages of fear clinging to his every breath as the soldier spread a new map over the counter, comparing it to the old one. "Soledad, Mexico." He said. "Eighty miles from here. He's got a days head start but we can beat him there easily. It would help to know which route he was taking, but with the satellite disrupt still on, it could be hours before we can determine that." Pavlov smiled back at the man in patronization. "You humans are so weak, so dependent on your technologies. My people have advanced to other ways of tracking down those who would escape our justice." He turned his smile to Krycek, and his eyes became even more black, intensifying the air of utter "un-humanness" about him. "Surely you are going to see us off." "I'm comfortable right here, thank you so very much. Just do me a favor and open the door before you go out this time." "Your career as a Commander is over. If you are lucky I will spare you your life, now !stand to your feet!." Biting his lip at the pin pricks and stabs of pain shooting through him, Krycek rose to his feet. He remained silent as he walked beside Pavlov until they reached the doorway. There he chose to lean against the frame, kicking at fragments of wood while the rest of the soldiers filed past. Pavlov was last, staring him straight in the eye with a warning. "Once I have Mulder, and the High Command knows what I and I alone have accomplished, you will be nothing more significant than a pitiful little worm to be squashed under my thumb. I do not have the time to properly enjoy your death, so consider this a stay of execution." He stepped off the porch and into the sun. The true meaning of his words sunk into Krycek Slowly, and then gave birth to a smile he had to work at concealing. The smile drained as he counted the members of the shadow team. Seven soldiers, if he counted the team leader. Eight total if Palov was included. Against one man With those odds, maybe he should head for the border too. If it was any other human besides Fox Mulder, he would have. But Krycek knew that the man was good at what he did, with years of both resistance and Enforcer training to back him up. Even the experience was dwarfed by the intense drive he saw in Mulder. The same kind of fire that had gotten him out of a Russian prison camp so very long ago, and had kept him alive this long when the world's most powerful men were trying to kill him. he thought to himself, a wry tint to his words. "How are you going to find him?" he said, throwing the words out as a challenge to Pavlov. "Call the mothership?" "As I said before, Mr. Krycek, our race is gifted far beyond the limits of your kind." A soldier's gasp and a sickening sound of something Peeling away accompanied his words as the man shell fell away to reveal an undisguised alien. The creature was lithe and muscular, with huge black eyes that darted back and forth like lizards. A flick of his wrist revealed wicked black claws that shredded the sunlight into thin ribbons. Out of the corner of his eye, Krycek saw the young faced soldier race to the nearest bush, his breakfast and probably dinner from last night making an impromptu appearance on the lawn. It was all he could do not to gag himself, to look away at the pure evil and primal cunning that radiated from the beast. The other soldiers were holding their ground admirably, hands gripping and re-gripping their guns uneasily as the alien Pavlov leaned back on his haunches, head lifted to the sky as he sniffed the air. The creature almost seemed to fall into a trance as it wandered around the yard, stopping when it seemed to pick up something from the west. It shook its head, sniffing the air again, and then before Krycek could blink regained it's human form. The ever-smiling Pavlov turned to his men and waved toward the cars. "He went in a south western direction, heading in a straight line from here for about thirty miles. There the trail hits a river, but we can assume he's going to Soledad. We'll come in from the opposite direction and lay an ambush scenario. Any questions?" No one so much as breathed. They were all too busy trying to hold their jaws off the ground, and to remain on the right side of sanity after what they had seen only seconds before. Finally they recovered life enough to pile silently into the cars. Pavlov met Krycek's eyes one last time, and though his "new" face lacked the scar tissue, the memory remained in the eyes. They were his true eyes, only smaller and more compacted to fit the smaller head. The same evil and cunning swam inside their murky depths. his voice hissed the final ultimatum even though he did not speak, breathing his thoughts as it were into Krycek's mind as he and his henchman drove off in a cloud of dust. "And he'll be ready for you." Krycek answered aloud, feeling the need to speak if only to reassure himself that this was reality and not an episode of the Twilight Zone. As cocky as the alien was, there was one thing that would drain the smile off his face. Krycek had seen the stiletto tucked away in a pocket of Mulder's pack. He also knew something Pavlov didn't. He was positive the creature didn't know because he had removed it from Mulder's history file himself. Mulder hadn't just led the resistance. He had taken an active part in the fighting. And his area of expertise had been summed up in one word. Assassin. The title had been granted him freely after only one event. The very messy, very public scandal in which three of the members of the High Command had been reduced to green stains on the plush carpet of the White House they were visiting. No, Pavlov didn't know what he was walking into. But then again, neither did Mulder, which made it even. Krycek shook his head as he remembered the creature underneath Pavlov's human skin. The black, glistening claws, the silver fangs, the coiled muscles. The unearthly mix of cunning and intelligence. On second thought, it wasn't even at all. And he was afraid Mulder was on the losing side. to be continued..... - - - - - - - - - - - - - From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 18:09:44 -0500 Subject: becoming judas (11/12) by darkstar Source: direct Reply To: clone347@aol.com from: darkstar (clone347@aol.com) rating: pg-13. classification: see part one disclaimer: see part one summary: see part one - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 11/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sky was restless, changing from sun to storm, from peace to violence in little more than a change of the wind. Gray clouds churned and toiled among themselves and against a sun that struggled to shine through gaps in the clouds. The uneasy earth only mirrored the tension mounting in his own gut with each step. He had been on the move for three days. Walking, running, jogging, sometimes staggering but always moving. He could sleep when he was over the border. When he was sure he had not been followed. The disrupt had ran out of energy over forty eight hours ago, and each minute since then had been one of mounting anxiety that he would turn to see a shadow team sweeping down on him from the horizon. But there had been nothing, which in a way frightened him all the more. Mulder's fingers ached from clenching his gun but he would not release his weapon for a moment. Something dangerous rode on the wind, something that tasted of fear and evil and death. And despite the precautions he had taken, he couldn't help feeling that that same darkness was laying wait for him in Soledad. But that was impossible. If Pavlov had indeed found his location, he would have taken him long before now. He realized the logic but still didn't let go of the gun or slow his pace. If the danger compounded with each mile he traveled, so did a growing seed of hope within him. Scully was the light at the end of the very long and black tunnel he ran through, a light he had to see no matter the cost or the peril to himself. She walked the halls of his memory freely, images of her laugh, her touch, her smile sustaining him when his body begged to stop. A square of brown appeared on the far horizon, standing apart from the parched earth only by the way the torrent of sky rushed around it and over it rather than above it. Soledad. Beyond it lay the border and a continent of desert and mountain and jungle. He could lose his way or he could lose himself but once he was in the middle of it, even the sharp eyes of the Colonists would be a distant past. A chill not from the wind passed over him, the same breath of warning in his ear. Mulder shook it off but had the sense to suspend logic enough to walk not run toward the town. A very slow, very careful, very deliberate walk. Shadows may be shadows but he had chased them long enough to know that they meant what they said. Call it premonition, call it paranoia, but it might just save his life. ************* "Command central this is Position One. Target is approaching due east, I repeat, target is approaching due east. All posts alert." The young soldier finished his report, then pressed his back against the clapboard walls of a run down store and threw the safety off his rifle. Everyone had their own theory on the identity of the mystery man they had been ordered to capture- alive no less. Some said he was a rogue agent, making a run for the border and the resistance. Others said he was a Commander gone AWOL. Still more insisted he was a trained assassin who had gone delusional and now must be captured and re-educated. Personally, he didn't care which story he took his theory from. All meant someone highly capable and highly dangerous. This was his first mission. He was nervous enough after seeing that....thing...or whatever it was that their leader had mutated into. One thing he did not need was ghost worries about some assassin, or a Commander, or a rebel agent. He eyed the street the target would have to take, since the dirt road was the only street in the town. If things went well he would have a clear shot at wounding the man. If he was the one to bring the target down, it would atone for his earlier loss of control- and of lunch. The soldier tightened his grip on his gun and waited. The target appeared minutes later, and even without his binoculars the soldier could see him walking past the edge of the town, taking it slow and casual with his hands in his pockets. If he used the binoculars, he could see the man's face clearly. It was blank, without emotion or suspicion. "This is One, visual is confirmed. Target has just entered the town. Is not aware of net." he spoke into his earpiece. "Requesting permission to neutralize." There was a pause and the crackle of static before his team leader replied. "Position One this is Command Central, you had go to bring the target down. Non-lethal force. We want him alive." "Yes sir. Alpha over and out." He clicked off the transmitting end of his earpiece and lifted his binoculars to his face again. A ricocheted gleam of sunlight struck the glass, blinding him in a flash that was gone after a second. When he looked up the street was empty. "What in the-" he scanned thestreet, finding only dust ghosts and buildings. The man had vanished, almost like he was never there. The soldier clicked the transmit button on his earpiece, frantically searching for any sign of the target. "Command this is One, I have lost visual! I repeat, visual confirmation no longer possible! He just vanished...." The very soft click of a safety being released just behind his ear told him otherwise. His muscles began to freeze in a wave of paralysis slowly rippling over his body. Turning his head to the left, he saw the target standing over him, that same non-expression masking his features. "Surrender and I won't have to kill you." the man said, looking down at him from behind the business end of a silenced nine millimeter. The soldier stiffened with pride despite the fear running wild inside him. "An Enforcer *never* surrenders." As the nerves in his fingers regained feeling, he tightened his grip almost imperceptibly on his gun, waiting for one slip in the target's guard. "Suit yourself." There was a very real sadness in the man's eyes as his fingers increased pressure on the trigger. He reacted at the same moment, swinging his rifle up a moment too late. The bullet beat him to the punch, entering his temple and exiting through the base of his neck along with most of his brains. But in the half-second between the entry and exit, the sudden pain was cut off by and equally as sudden blackness as his life was stolen away. Mulder wiped away the blood that had splattered his clothes in distant regret. The kid was young, one of the few that had actually believed in the cause he was fighting for. It had been in his eyes, the moment before the bullet fractured his skull. He pushed all thoughts of tragedy aside. This was war and death was just one of the casualties. "Postion One?" An earpiece microphone sputtered to life from what had been the soldier's ear. "Have you reattained visual? Come in, position One." He reached down and picked it up, wiping away the gore with his shirt before speaking into it. "We're sorry, this number has been disconnected." There was the static of shocked silence for one moment as the leader recovered his composure. "Identify yourself." "Among you my title is Commander Mulder. Come and get me, boys." Before the other man could answer, Mulder dropped the tiny microphone on the ground and crushed it with his foot. He picked up the dead soldier's gun, along with the two spare ammo clips the boy had been wearing on his belt. Scavenging from the dead was distasteful, but it was the easiest way to get weapons. There was always more than enough death to go around. He looked up to see the face of a little girl watching him from a window in the building to the left of him. She stared until her father or a brother pulled her away from the window, pulling the curtain after a wary glance himself. So the town was not deserted after all. The residents were staying inside. If he had any doubt about the ambush, it was gone now. Mulder just counted himself lucky he saw the blink from the soldier's binoculars when he did. But there would be others coming and he had to be ready. Mulder tucked his handgun and the spare clips of ammo in his belt. He cast one lingering glance on the man he had just killed, then disappeared back into the refuge of the alley. ************* "What do you want us to do now, sir?" Pavlov didn't tear his gaze away from the street, looking calmly out the window as if he was watching a tranquil sunrise. "The objective has not changed. Find the target and apprehend him. Alive." "Sir, he killed one of my men in cold blood!" the team leader protested, silenced at a raise of Pavlov's finger. "This is a combat situation. People die." He let his words sink in before continuing his order. "Send your men out in pairs, starting from Position One and working their way through the town. Don't worry, commander. Justice will be served, and I promise you will be there to watch when it is." Not entirely satisfied but unwilling to challenge his superior, the soldier began issuing orders to his men. His team was close, and all of them by now knew that one less of their group was walking away from the mission. He hoped that in itself would be enough for one of them to make a "mistake" that would prove lethal. If not, he might have to make one himself. ************* Mulder crouched in a doorway, across the street from the alley and the dead soldier. It helped when you knew the standard response protocol of your enemy. He had led missions not entirely different from this one, and knew that the leader's first move would be to send a pair of men to the last known position of the target. The other four would be closing on from other sides, but he could deal with them later. It turned out he didn't have to wait long. The two came out of the woodwork like any other resident poltergeists, guns at the ready. One played sentry at the same time the other checked the body. It was the sentry that spotted him first. The stacatto crack of gunfire broke the whisper of the wind, and the bullets drove into the doorframe uncomfortable close to his head, chips of wood spraying out to sting his cheeks like tiny needles. Mulder raised the Uzi to his shoulder, squeezing off a two-round burst before rolling out from the doorway and into the street. He landed on his feet, drawing the rifle up again for two more shots. This time both struck the sentry, one in his shoulder and the other in his throat. He didn't wait for the soldier to hit the ground, diving behind the shelter of a rusting car as the other Enforcer charged him, paving the way with a stream of steady fire. Bullets shattered the windows and punched holes in the metal siding, and every so often he would feel a slight tug on his clothing as one passed too close. The waiting game was over. Instead of standing, he fell to his stomach, sending a spray of bullets underneath the belly of the car. A garbled scream ended the soldier's gunfire as the bullets cut his feet out from under him. Despite the primal adrenaline of warfare, Mulder retained enough mercy to put another bullet through the man's head before leaving. This time he ran down the street, hugging buildings and the ground as he moved in the direction the two had come from. A shadow Enforcer team meant only one thing. Pavlov was here to bring him back. He remembered the stiletto in his pack at the same time a rash of gunfire opened up at his heels. A spasm of instinct hurled him to the ground, bullets kicking up clods of dirt around him as he worked to bring his rifle up into firing position. A sliver of lead fire seared its way across the skin of his cheek, a thin line of blood warming the area where the bullet had grazed him. The shelter of a corner shielded him from the gunfire. This kill had to be quick and it had to be neat. He wouldn't get a second chance. Jamming a fresh cartridge into his gun, he picked up the waiting game where he had left it off. The bullets stopped coming the instant before a soldier appeared around the corner. Mulder squeezed off two shots in reaction, killing him but allowing his partner to move in. Now he was the one looking down the barrel of a gun, into eyes filled with stone cold hate. "Drop your rifle!" The soldier yelled, brandishing his gun. "On your face!" A slow sigh of defeat sagged his shoulders as he tossed the rifle aside. The soldier retrieved it cautiously, glaring back at Mulder and daring him to try anything. "I said *on your face*! I already have a reason to shoot you- don't give me an excuse!" He lowered himself to the ground, hands folded underneath his stomach. There was the soft buzz of static in the background as the Enforcer radioed his commander. "Command central this is Position Three. I have him." The response was quick this time. "Keep him contained until reinforcements arrive. All units are moving your way." The soldier turned his attention back to Mulder. "Ok, scum, hands behind your head." "If you insist." Mulder rolled over, his hands coming up with his pistol, a single shot dropping the soldier before he had time to react. He was on his feet before the other man's body hit the ground, moving to retrieve his rifle. Now the field of play had opened up into two choices. He could continue evasive maneuvers or he could sit and let them come to him. His eyes lighted on a fire escape in the building beside him, leading up to the roof and an idea began to form in his mind. No, he would not run this time. Let the soldier boys come. *************** "Sir, we've lost contact with all but two of our positions." The team leader could barely control his frustration as he turned back to Pavlov. "Who is this guy ? He's taking them out one by one like he was one of-" His words trailed away at the impossibility of the thought. "One of us?" Pavlov turned at long last from the window. "You are quite right in assuming that. He is a Commander, with experience in both shadow units and assasination detail until he went AWOL on leave." The soldier was stunned. "And you didn't think that information would be important to the success of this mission," "Success is slowing him down. We've accomplished that. One of your men seems to have control of the situation, and I suggest we waste no more time here. Which way did the communication come from ?" "Near Position Eight. A warehouse not far from here." "Then we should move now." Pavlov began to move at a fast, clipped walk. "The other pair should be arriving as we speak." *************** Mulder lay flat against the roof, his chest and lungs heaving from the hurried climb up the fire escape. And not a moment too soon, for the sound of footsteps and voices announced the arrival of the last team. Two voices, each displaying different levels of shock and anger at the bodies of their comrades. One was loud and irate, burning the air in a streak of language that would have made Scully's Navy brothers blush. The other said nothing more, but Mulder could hear footsteps as he moved into a wary position. He would take the big mouth first. The elevation gave him an almost unfair advantage. He chose the true aim of his 9 mm over the messier firepower of the Uzi. All thoughts of death and tradegy and casualties were gone from his mind, pushed aside by finely honed instincts of war until he was almost proud of himself for orchestrating such a kill. Rising to his feet, he fired twice. The first bullet went true to its course, killing the loud soldier instantly. The quiet one was harder, ducking out of the path his death was taking toward him. He brought his rifle up, already firing, towards the roof, but Mulder had already pulled the trigger a third time. The bullet struck him in the chest, knocking him backwards and sending the stream of gunfire in another direction. It was over that fast. Little by little Mulder became aware of the sweat and blood, both his and his enemy's, which soaked his skin and his clothes. He rose to his feet, staring down at the dead soldiers as he moved toward the fire escape. Their ammo clips would come in handy.... The crack of a pistol jerked his guard to the left, down the street at the same moment the knife-like sensation of a bullet gouged through his ribs and out his back. The team leader and Pavlov. He hadn't expected them so soon. In a cry more like surprise than anything, Mulder fell to his knees on the roof, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his hands, and he gasped as the air hit his wound, heightening the first promises of pain. He pulled his hand away, running a two second assessment of the injury. The wound felt shallow, and in all likelihood he was lucky. It looked like the extent of the damage was the chunk of flesh it had torn away, before bouncing off his ribs and out of his body. He didn't feel fortunate. He felt sore and he felt stupid as yet another voice, one he surmised belonged to the team leader, called out to him. "Throw down your weapons and then proceed slowly down the fire escape." None came readily to mind, the block of pain making it difficult to concentrate, and Mulder realized that for now he would have to play along. He tossed the 9 mm and the rifle over the edge of the roof, then reached to do the same to his pack. A gleam of silver winked up at the sun as he noticed the stiletto sitting in the front pocket. An option. Pulling the weapon out of the pack, Mulder slid it up his sleeve and then hurled the rest of the back pack to the ground. Shaking his head to clear away the red fuzzies that often came with injury, he rose to one knee, then to his feet. His hands, slick with blood, maintained an unsteady grip on the rusted rails of the fire escape as he moved down one step at a time, very glad that it was only two stories. By the time he reached the ground, the soldier and Pavlov were waiting for him. The team leader, or at least that's what Mulder guessed him to be, kept his fury back except for his eyes as he trained his rifle on him. Pavlov carried no weapon, but wielded his trademark smile like a dagger. "You've cause quite a lot of trouble, Mulder." he said smoothly. "Six Enforcers, all dead at your hands. They're not going to like that very much back at Headquarters." Something in the way he said that tipped off suspicion in Mulder's mind. "But I'm not going back, am I?" he asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question. "Perceptive man. It's true at one point I wanted you alive. Your behavior has changed that. Now I see that you are too much of a risk to be kept around like a time bomb on a short fuse." "Sir-" the team leader diverted his attention to Pavlov for one moment. "I may be mistaken but the law requires you to bring any deserters back alive to stand trial for high treason. Killing this man would be illegal." Pavlov's smile wore thin as he turned to the man. "Thank you for the advice, Commander. You and your team have been most helpful." His hand descended on the back of the soldier's neck with such force that Mulder heard the bones crack even from where he was standing. The Commander's body went slack as he crumpled to the ground, open shock following him into death. "You killed your own man," "No witnesses." Pavlov said. "I wouldn't want the High Command to get word of this little incident. Losing a whole team would be bad on my record, especially when I failed to bring the target back alive." "So I'm next on death row," "You could say that. So is the woman as soon as I find her." He took a step back, noticing the way Pavlov's flesh was starting to ripple and wrinkle in places and ways totally unnatural to a human body. Then he remembered. Pavlov looked human enough but he was truly an alien underneath all the trappings... "But that's just it. You won't." he said, his hand closing around the cylinder handle of the stiletto as he gathered himself for a sudden attack. "And at risk of sounding cliched, this town ain't big enough for the both of us." The stiletto whispered softly as the blade slid out of the cylinder. Pavlov cocked his head to one side, the smile distorted as the flesh of his face began to lose shape and form. "You're right. It's not." he said, the words turning into a hiss as his human appearance fell away totally. A grumble of thunder above them split the sky almost the same way Mulder's heart split his chest at the deep-seated unease, even fear, that came bubbling from the depths of his being. He was standing toe to toe, eye to eye, with a nightmare. He thought he had seen horror in the newborn versions of this creature, but though the appearance was identical, it was totally different. The monsters he had killed had been new to the world, equipped with instinct and primal strength but none of the evil and cunning and assurance reflected in the ebony eyes that watched him now. Now, as he stared into razor teeth and dagger claws and a hundred different ways to die an agonizing and bloody death, Mulder felt very close to terror, closer than he would ever like to admit. The thing leaned back on it's haunches, a thin black tongue flickering out of it's mouth. He had no more time to reach afraid. An unearthly shriek scraped the sky under the roar of thunder, and it scared the earth itself to tears. Soft pitter-patters of rain begain to fall around them, but Mulder barely noticed. For a fraction of a heartbeat the creature paused, muscles coiling, and then an intense scream erupted from its jaws as it pounced *************** A gray torpedo of slashing claws and glistening fangs hurtled toward him, catching Mulder solidly in the stomach and propelling him backwards and flat onto his back. He didn't have time to wait for breath to return as he rolled over, out from under the powerful jaws. The fire that flared up from the wound on his side was dwarfed by the mind blowing pain raking his arm as the claws caught his shoulder. He screamed, stabbing the stiletto into the monster's heart in an attempt to gain release from the agony. The alien recoiled, it's tongue flickering out in a low hiss as it looked down at the weapon. Mulder backed away as fast as he could, trying desperately to make it to the guns, but when the thing looked up, he swore he saw Pavlov's same smile. A voice that sounded like Pavlov's spoke directly into his brain. The creature grasped the cylinder of the stiletto, hissing again as it pulled it out of it's flesh, sticky threads of black clinging the point. Mulder watched helplessly as the only weapon that could do anything to save his life went sailing through the air above his head, down the street. He threw himself backwards, his hands finally closing around the Uzi as the Pavlov-monster charged him again. Now he was on his feet, jerked up by the iron cords of adrenaline and desperation. His fingers squeezed the trigger and held it down as a steady stream of bullets plowed into the alien. Each one seemed to disappear into the slimy meat of its flesh, a tiny spurt of black blood the only thing marking the damage. The gunfire was not meant to kill, because it could not, but he hoped it would hold back the beast just long enough for him to reach the stiletto. He was moving, as fast as he dared, never letting go of the trigger. The ploy seemed to be working, for each time the alien charged him, the thud of bullets would drive him back. It threw its head back and shrieked it's frustration amidst the rain and the storm. The stiletto was within sight, a flash of metal and of hope in the mud, when the unthinkable happened. The bullets stopped coming. He stopped cold in shock and frustration, desperation setting in as he realized he didn't have another clip. "Pavlov" must have realized the same thing, for his smile returned, made even more demonic by the rows of teeth flashing death in his direction. The alien raced toward him, claws extended and jaws gaping. Mulder ran. Faster than he ever had, faster than he thought he could, like a giant spring had been released, and was throwing him through the air. Just not fast enough, as a heavy weight slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground an arm's length away from the only thing that could save his life and Scully's. The claws sank into his shoulder again, flipping him over onto his back. He tensed, expecting his death to begin in slashes and screams. Nothing happened. Instead, the creature leaned forward, its face inches from his own while it kept him pressed firmly into the mud by its weight. The voice returned, speaking in his mind with a breath almost as foul as the odor in his face. The words were much less cultured now, more primal and truly alien. Pavlov drew one claw across Mulder's throat just enough to break the skin into a scarlet choker of blood. There was triumph in those words, the gloating of one who knew for certain the victory was his. He kept his eyes focused on the alien, but his hand stretched out in a painstakingly slow grab for the stiletto. Yeah well if the thing would be arrogant a moment more, Mulder might have a last chance at life. The creature's tongue shot out, black and slimy, across his neck, lapping at the stray blood. the voice promised. The pleasure in Pavlov's tone when he spoke of it made Mulder's blood boil. He kept his emotions in reign, however, because his fingertips were flirting with the cylinder. Closer....closer...got it! He closed his fingers around it, pressing the button to release the blade as he let his rage build his strength. The creatured raised one hand, claws fully extended and shining with wet blood. His muscles tensed like a steel spring, ready to strike at the perfect moment. There was a pause. "Think again." Mulder said, staring straight into the coal black eyes as he released his hand in a vicious arch that embedded itself firmly in the alien's neck. "Game's over, Pavlov. You lose." A scream unlike anything he had ever heard in his life tore lose from the creature's throat, and it clawed at the back of its neck, ripping it's own flesh in an attempt to undo the fatal damage. Mulder shoved the monster off of him, rolling to the side and breathing in gasps and heaves as the pain tried to take over. He fought it back, clinging to consciousness long enough to watch his enemy die. Pavlov thrashed about in the mud, shrieking and hissing. The noise grew less and less as his body began to disentigrate, eating away at itself. Finally there was nothing left except a puddle of bright greenish ooze that mixed with the mud and the shades of red and black blood. Mulder closed his eyes, letting his head sink against his arm. He lay in the mud, staring up at an upside down view of the slackening rain. Overhead the sun dared show its face again, peeking out in rays of palest yellow now that the nightmare was gone. Part of him realized the magnitude of what he had just done. The rest was too tired and sore and bleeding to take pride, or to care, or to do anything besides lay where he was. He didn't want to move again. Ever. His eyes eased shut, not sure when or if he was ever going to open them again. "He's alive, Father!" The voice of a little girl snapped his eyelids right back open. "I told you he was alive!" There was the sound of footsteps skidding to a halt and then the face of the little girl from the window peered down over him. "Hey, mister." she said, smiling. "What's your name?" "Mulder." "My name is Melissa. My daddy is a good doctor. He can patch you up." Another face joined hers, a man about forty-five with a kind look about him. "Melissa, go tell Mommy to get a room ready." "Ok." the child brightened. "But what's that green stuff right there?" "Don't touch it. Just go tell Mommy." The man looked back down at Mulder. "I didn't know those things could be killed." "There are ways." Mulder groaned as he turned his head. "Not pleasant, as you can tell. Do you see a metal cylinder on the ground anywhere near the... ummm....green stuff?" The man walked away for a second then returned holding the stiletto. "This?" "Yeah...it belongs to me..." "My name is Doctor Warchol." The doctor helped Mulder to his feet, supporting him as they walked towards the house. "You can stay at my house until we clean you up. Once the rest of the town figures out it's safe to leave their homes, you'll be a pretty popular guy. We share your feelings towards the Enforcers, if not your courage." "I can pay." Mulder grunted, fighting the urge to throw up. "Hard cash." "No need. We've had our share of resistance fighters in our time, but none have taken down a whole shadow team singlehandedly!" Warchol laughed like he found the concept amusing. "No, we'll take good care of you while you're here." "If you can just patch me up and give me a room for the night, I'll be out of your way." "Oh." the doctor sounded disappointed. "You have someplace you gotta be?" Mulder turned his head back toward what little of Pavlov the earth hadn't absorbed, thinking of the alien's words. "Yes." he answered. "I do." ************* The west coast of Chile Two months later: He had heard the footsteps before he had seen the man that caused them, a lone figure in moonlight walking towards the house from the direction of the mountains piling up behind them. Skinner chose stealth over confrontation, picking up his shotgun and moving between the door and a window, so he could maintain visibility. The man looked non-threatening, but years of experience told him not to believe his eyes too readily. For all he knew the stranger could be an assassin sent to finish the job on Scully. They'd had to get through him first. And that was something Skinner knew would not happen. However there was something familiar about this "stranger", in the way he walked, in his build. True, the man was coming around the back way but the house faced the ocean so he reasoned anyone would have to. Not that they'd had many visitors. His thoughts flashed to Scully, asleep in her room. If push came to shove would she be able to get out in time? Would she even want to? He flipped the safety off the shotgun. It was up to him to make sure those questions never had to be answered. The man stopped at the door, his face still cloaked by the veil of night. Skinner moved away from the window, stepping back and bracing himself for a gunshot and the mayhem afterwards. Knock. Knock. Knock. The soft sound was almost anti-climatic, and while his muscles relaxed, his grip on his gun did not. "It's open." he said, just loud enough for the man to hear without waking Scully. The doorknob turned, and the door swung open. He blinked twice as the face became visible, the one man he had never expected to see. "Agent Mulder..." he cleared his throat, stepping back but not lowering his gun. "Come in." Skinner watched Mulder as he did so, walking inside and dropping a worn back pack on the floor. It was his old friend all right, but so many things had changed about his face and his eyes that it was no wonder he had mistaken him for a stranger. If it was, however, truly Mulder and not a hybrid or a clone. "Why have you come here?" he asked. Mulder seemed surprised to a degree at the question. "I got your letter. You said to come." "I sent that almost three months ago. Why didn't you come sooner?" "I had some loose ends to tie up." Now that Skinner had a clear look at Mulder, he could see the ugly red scars running down his arm from his shoulder past his elbow. "Loose ends" was certainly an understatement, so it appeared, but there would be time to swap stories later. "I thought you had obligations." He chose the most diplomatic word possible, but found it hard to keep the edge off his voice. For over a year Mulder had stayed away, and then he shows up now, now when it was almost too late... "I did." he said. "But I no longer have to answer to them." He pulled something out of his belt and set it on the table. A 9 mm handgun, equipped with silencer. There was a moment of silence. "Where is she?" "She's asleep." Skinner said, sitting down in a chair and laying his own gun idly across his lap. "That's all she does now. In between doctoring and walking for hours on end." He shook his head. "Does she eat?" The open concern suddenly flooding the man's voice dispersed any doubts to his identity. It was trademark Mulder, the way any mention of Scully flipped a switch that turned on emotions otherwise dormant. Scully used to talk about him the same way, before... "When I can talk her into it." He had no intention of softening the truth any longer. "Your death has been hard on her. Harder than I imagined it would be." "You said she was fine." "I *said*," Skinner glared up at his former agent with a look used a thousand times before. "that she was coping. There's a big difference between that and *fine*." He sighed, a sadness of sorts creeping around his voice. "It doesn't matter, not anymore. She's not even bothering to cope now. As long as she had her vaccination research, some way she thought she was fighting back, she could make it." "What happened?" "She hit a wall. I'm not the scientist she is, but the tools I found for her just don't cut it all the way. She wanted to take her information to the resistance." Worry edged Mulder's next question. "You didn't let her, did you?" "No." he replied. "She gave up on the idea and gave up on the rest of life at the same time. I don't know if even you can reach her now." "I want to see her." "As I said, she's asleep." "I won't wake her." he promised, a sort of almost pleading to his voice. "I just want to see her, that's all." Skinner opened his mouth to refuse, but one look into Mulder's face changed his mind. The pain and guilt and sadness reminded him without words that Scully had not been the only one to suffer during this time. "All right." he nodded. "But do it quietly. Her room is down the hall." He didn't get up from the chair, watching as Mulder disappeared down the hallway. There was something about the way the man moved, a purpose in his step that convinced him that he would have found her anyway, even if he had told him no. The man had come too far and searched too long to stop at anything less. ************** Mulder hardly dared breathe as he opened the door to her room, half-believing that if he did, he would wake up back in New Orleans to find it all a blissful dream floating amid a sea of nightmares. But it was not a dream. He never dreamed of things so beautiful they made his eyes hurt like they were hurting now. Or was his heart that felt the pain? She lay like a butterfly in a chrysallis of moonlight, the beams of silver spread over her like they were protecting her somehow. Her hair was the brilliant copper red of old times, spilling around her like a cascade of spun fire. The ivory of her skin seemed almost translucent in the light, soft and pale. It was her face that melted the night into nothing by comparison, stopping his breath and stopping his heart. Her eyes were closed, tiny wrinkles along her brow furrowed in concentration even as she slept, lips parted slightly. It was a different face, sadder, but marked with something he had not seen in a long, long time. Innocence kissed her features as she slept. He should go, leave forever before the horrible decay of his soul spread to her as well, taking away the thing he had most wanted to give her. Peace. But he could no more move than look away, trapped by a power she did not even know she had over him. Before he could know or care what he was doing enough to stop himself, Mulder reached one hand out toward her, needing to touch her just once. Once to assure himself that it was real and she was here and both of them were alive. Then he could leave and go meet his fate a happy man, because he would die free and he would die with her face on his mind and across his soul. His fingers brushed the skin of her cheek, following the familiar line of her face in a simple gesture he had ached to do so many times during the past year. A lock of hair had fallen across her eyes, and he curled it around his finger, smoothing it to the side. Mulder pulled his hand back like it had been burned, a pain truly like fire stinging his flesh. Struggling to breathe around the intense tightness of his chest, he turned and walked back toward the door. Her whisper struck him like a harpoon in the back. "Mulder???" He had awakened her. How could he be so stupid? Now there was no easy closure, no melting into death unmourned and unnoticed. Swallowing hard, he turned around. Scully felt her face shift as her emotions ran from shock to surprise to joy to shock again until they all collided and tears thickened her voice, nearly reaching her eyes before she remembered that this was Mulder. She didn't cry in front of Mulder. "You're alive..." she could barely speak, the heavy weight of emotion crushing her words. "No." She shrank back against the wall, holding her hands in front of her to ward off whatever demon had come to visit her. Mulder, her Mulder, was dead. She had heard the gunshot! "NO!" Her voice was louder this time. "Get away from me! You're not him! I heard the shot- I know he's dead." "Scully, it's me. There was a shot, but it wasn't me. I'm alive." He walked toward her slowly, his hands up to show his meant no harm, until he stood beside the bed again. "I escaped...and I've been looking for you ever since." The lie soured the back of his throat, but he would rather die for real than have her know what he had done in her name. Who he had killed, what he had destroyed. "Mulder..." her voice collapsed and she wrapped her arms around him with all the desperation that was in her. He was alive...he was here....why had Skinner lied? Mulder held her in the embrace, remembering all the times he had feared he would never hold her again, never be near her. She clung to him tightly, almost cutting off his breath, but he welcomed it. More tangible proof that it was really happening. Scully found her senses a moment after her face was buried in his chest, and pulled away just as suddenly. She leaned back on the bed, wrapping a blanket around her as the night air sent a shiver through her. "How did you escape?" "Get dressed." Mulder said. "We'll take a walk. I can explain everything then." His smile was warm and she found herself smiling back like she never thought she would. "Ok. I'll be out in a moment." He squeezed her hand one more time, and she found herself staring unbashedly as he walked out the door. It was impossible. Flat out impossible. But it was him so she'd better get dressed. ************* The moist sand felt delicious on her bare feet as they walked along the shore. She smiled as she remembered how Skinner had watched them like a hawk until they had gotten out of sight, his shotgun still held ready. It reminded her for all the world of the way her father would act if she was on a date. But she was all grown up and this was no childhood sweetheart. It was Mulder. He had told her the story of his escape, how he had double-crossed Pavlov and his men after offering to exchange his life for her safety. From his words, he had only told Skinner that he was making the deal, not how he planned to overturn it. Scully was glad Skinner hadn't lied to her, tried to change reality for a truth that might fall easier on her. Mulder had been searching for over a year, he said, from the top of Canada on down. The Lone Gunmen had helped him find her in the end. When she asked how they were doing, he fell into silent sadness, and told her how they had been killed in an Enforcer raid. Now there was nothing left to say, so they walked without speaking, enjoying each others company. The more she looked at him, the more Scully noticed that something was wrong, that the shadows under his eyes and the pain on his face came from far more than the memory of a friend's death. He wasn't telling her something, and that something was killing him. "Mulder, something's wrong." She stopped, looking up at him. "There's something different about you. Something you're not telling me. I want to know what it is." He smiled at her, his hand finding hers again. "I'm just tired." he said. "It's been a long journey. At times I never thought I'd be standing here right now, with you." His arms formed a circle around her. She leaned into his embrace readily this time, resting her head against his chest and allowing a smile of her own to cross her face. "Neither did I." she admitted. Closing her eyes, Scully let the sea breeze, spunky and spiked with a hint of salt, to play with her hair and cool her face as she relaxed. This was Mulder, she reminded herself. She could trust him completely and totally, because he would never lie to her... Scully felt something flat and stiff like leather push into her cheek, and pulled back a little to notice that there was an object in the inside pocket of his overcoat. "Mulder, I didn't know you kept your FBI badge..." she said, reaching toward the wallet, or whatever it was. "I didn't." his voice sounded surprised, and his eyes matched it. "I shredded it when we changed our identities. You were there." "Then what's this?" she pulled out a thin brown object that looked for all the world like a badge of some sort. "It's nothing- give it back." His hand moved to grab it, but she was faster, pulling it away teasingly as she dance out of his reach. "Let's see what we have here...." she said, flipping back the cover. "Commander Fox Mulder, Shadow Team 4280-" The teasing note in her voice died straight away and when she met his eyes, her gaze was dark with fear and suspicion. "This is an Enforcer identification badge. Krycek had one..." This was not true, this was not happening... Mulder would never turn on her. Would he? "So did all the other bounty hunters we killed." The betrayal suddenly became clear to her, and Scully dropped the badge in the sand, moving back from him. "Why do you have one?" The cold dread in her voice shook him to the core. He was stunned that this was happening. How could he have forgotten about his ID? Oh yes. He had been preoccupied with seeing her again. And now, he had reached his goal but had it come to this? "Scully, wait-" he took a step toward her, his hand held out as he begged her to understand. "I can explain." "Don't-" She held up her hand, a detachment to her tone he recognized as the way she always spoke to Pavlov or a guard. She had never used that voice with him. Never. Until now. "I'm sure you'll have a very good reason and an even better lie." Now a little of the coldness wore away and her words were colored with pain. "Just tell me if you're one of them or not." He couldn't meet her eyes, staring miserably down at the earth as he spoke, dreading her reaction. "Yes. I worked for them." Only when the words were out in the open, breathed like a plague into the air, could Mulder look up to see her flinch at his answer. The open shock of betrayal in her eyes wasn't so very different from Samantha's the moment before he had shot her. But he had done this for her...she had to believe that. "I can explain Scully..." he moved closer. "If you'll just listen for one moment." His fingers made contact with her shoulder. "NO!!" The word flew into the air in a mangled scream and she turned away from him, running down the beach back toward the house. Skinner was there...Skinner could protect her.... Unless he was in on it too. The thought frightened her beyond words, adding fuel to the fire that drove her forward. She could hear Mulder's steps fall heavy and fast behind her, the way he called for her to stop. If she did, then what? He would kill her? Was that his assignment here? No, she would not stop. She had to run, get away. The sea and the sky and the sand became a blur around her, the beauty of the night choked by her terror and the utter horror from the truth. "Scully- stop!" Mulder ran after her, the speed at which she fled surprising him. He was having trouble catching up with her, and if she didn't stop when he did he would have to stop her. It wouldn't exactly help his case. She had to know the whole truth. The truth he should have told her from the beginning. Now he was in reach of her, gaining speed and asking her to forgive him as he jumped forward. The weight of his body hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground. Another scream tore from her throat as she kicked and struggled against the hands that held her down. "Scully, listen to me. Just for one moment." "Let me go!" "No!" "I said to *let* *go*!" She drew back her hand, and slapped him as hard as she could. The sound of the blow froze both of them as realization set in of what just happened. The thought was paralyzing. Mulder moved back, letting go of her, but she didn't run. When he spoke again his voice was soft. "I can tell you what happened." "I know what happened!" she spit the words out, trying to feed from her hate rather than the tears that she knew were in her eyes. "You sold out! They released you from the camp because you handed them your allegiance and your soul on a silver platter! What did they offer you Mulder?!? Freedom? Money? Your sister?" "You." His voice was low and pained as he spoke, but she had no room left for sympathy. Surprise, however, was another matter entirely. "What did you say?" "They offered to release you if I joined them. They were going to sell you as a slave." Now that he had her attention, he had the hope that she would somehow understand. "Please believe me Scully. I couldn't let them do that." "Believe you." Her echo of his words was bitter, and she looked up at him, her soul bleeding through her eyes. "When you told me you had escaped I believe you. When Skinner told me you were dead, I believed him. I mourned for you Mulder! I felt like I was dying because I !believed! the lie that you were dead." She rose to her feet. "But now I wish you had been." Her words hit like a blow to the head, and Mulder couldn't look at her. Then he realized she was walking away from him, and he couldn't let that happen either. Springing to his feet, he grabbed her elbow. "You can't walk away from me yet. Not without knowing why I did what I did." "I don't care." She tried to pull away from him. "I need to go." "No! You have to hear this. When I'm finished you can leave and never look back but let me talk." Scully didn't answer, standing in angry silence for a moment. "Let go of my arm, and I'll listen." she agreed, not bothering to look at him. The pressure on her arm disappeared, but still she kept her face turned away. The sight of him made her sick, the thought that the one person she trusted completely had betrayed her completely. "You saw me at the slave auction. It was Palov's idea. He knew what seeing you there would do to me." "Why should you care what happened to me? You were quick enough to save yourself when the deal was offered." "The deal wasn't for me, Scully. I signed away my allegiance, as you called it, to get them to release you. You were dying in there. No, you won't admit it to me or anyone else. But you were." When she didn't move, didn't look at him, he continued. "Have you forgotten so soon? I was right there with you. I took solitary to get you medical treatment. I killed a man to keep you safe. I looked away when you cried and I held you when you got sick, even though you wouldn't tell me what was making you throw up. How could you even think I would betray you?" When Scully blinked, the pools of tears in her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks. She wanted to believe him, wanted to with every part of her, but he had lied once. What was to keep him from lying again? What one thing kept their whole relationship from being a lie? Everything she had thought they were and wanted them to be... "I want to believe you, Mulder." she spoke very softly, like the falling of snow at midnight. "But you have to convince me that it's not another lie." "You heard a gunshot." he said, pulling out his darkest demon in an attempt to just make her look at him. The thought of baring the decay of his soul was no pleasant, but he would do it for her. "When you were being released." "So?" "So that was when I shot my sister." Scully snapped her head back around to meet his gaze so fast her neck popped. Truth or lie was forgotten in the pure, numbing shock of what he was saying. His sister...his faith...his belief. "You what?" "I shot her, Scully. In cold blood. That's why they let you go. It proved my loyalty to them. But it saved your life, and that was why I did it." She stared at him, her eyes uncomprehending of the truth or simply refusing to believe. "You killed her because of...me?" "There was no other way." It was so much easier to be angry, to push away her humanity with walls of iron hatred and righteous indignation. She had asked for the complete, total truth and she had gotten it. Along with every ounce of the bone-crushing guilt that accompanied the knowledge. And she still couldn't look at Mulder. Not out of loathing for him, but out of loathing for herself, what she had caused him to do. She walked away. Mulder watched her disappear back toward the house before dropping to the ground. He stared at the sea, listening to the breakers pound and beat on the surf. It couldn't drown out the groaning of his own soul. If he had his gun, he would have ended his suffering right there. Scully didn't believe him. She thought he had sold out, had cashed in to save himself. He had thought his universe was dead, but now the decaying bones of it crashed down around him. So he had not been alone in that kind of pain. "So do I Scully." He said, laying back in the sand and closing his eye. "So do I." to be continued.... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - becoming judas 12/12 darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Morning found him still on the shore, kept company by a very inquisitive flock of seagulls who scattered the moment he sat up. Disorientation burned away like mist under the sun to give place to the deep-seated pain that had followed him into sleep. Scully hated him. She had heard his explanations, read his motivations and trampled on his soul when she had walked away without so much as a backward glance. Was it so easy for her to hate him? Mulder didn't know why it wouldn't be He was thoroughly sickened in disgust with himself. Sometime he would have to go back to the house and face her and Skinner and the look of sad betrayal that would paint each of their faces. Sometime was not now. The sea hadn't changed overnight, still as vast and timeless as always. The thought struck him that it would be easy, oh so easy, to start swimming slip quietly away from himself and the rest of the world. He certainly would not be missed. But that would be running away. If he was brutally honest, that summed up his problems in one nice neat little ball. He might say the time he had spent with the Enforcers was against his will, and it would be a layer of the truth, but he had been running. From his guilt, from his pain, from his sister's memories. When he could run no longer, he had literally fled. Then when he found the thing he most ached for, when he had found Scully, he had run away from the truth about himself. He could kid himself all he wanted that the deception was to spare her feelings. Mulder knew that in reality it was to save his own. To keep the fragile illusion that he could be her white knight going for just a little while longer. Everything he believed about himself was centered in her belief of him. That belief was gone, dashed to pieces by his own manipulations and lies. Enough of running and hiding. He would face all of his demons all at once. Then he would destroy them and himself in the same process. Would that make her happy? Would it atone for the misery he brought into her life? It would have been so much better if Pavlov had killed him, or if he had bled to death afterwards in the mud. A tall shadow fell across the sand beside him and Mulder looked up to see his former boss standing over his shoulder. "You never did tell me about those loose ends you mentioned. " Skinner said. "I wouldn't be asking, but I thought it might help clear up a little mystery. Like why Scully came in last night looking like she wanted to cry. She might have in her room- I didn't follow her. Why she hasn't said a word all day today. Little details like that." His jaw tightened as his gaze pierced Mulder's. "She's protecting your secret but she doesn't have to. How long did you work for them?" "Up until three months ago." "I know you had your reasons but for her sake and yours I hope they're good." "The head interrogator offered me a deal. Sell out and she got out." "Did you have a choice?" "Not one that I'd ever make." Mulder rose to his feet, brushing off the sand that coated the back of him. "She had been sold. Not just to your average run-of-the-mill hormonal pervert. The Smoking Man bought her. I couldn't let her be reduced to that... to him." He stopped talking, waiting for the harsh words he knew were coming, for Skinner to shoot him or hit him or anything. If the AD lost control in any way, he hid it well. Skinner felt what could have been anger toward Mulder change course for the kind of understanding and sympathy that could only have come from one who had walked the same bloody road himself. He remembered the devil deals he had made, of one in particular when he too tried to bargain for Scully's life. The only difference was, he had lost. Now, staring at the demons in Mulder's eyes, he wondered if he was seeing himself if things had gone differently. "Why didn't you just tell her?" he asked. "You know how she is, sir. She would never have let me do it. If she thought I was alive, she would have driven you insane trying to find me. And I...I didn't want her to know." "I know you may not believe it now," Skinner said. "But you're no sellout." Mulder's smile was bitter. "Try telling that to her." "I don't think I have to. She understands more than you give her credit for. Just give her some time to digest it, and then talk to her again." "No." He said the word simply, without emotion. "I've done too much damage already. I'll just take my bags and be gone." "Mulder, you've gone through too much to let this die. Both of you have. I saw the scars. What gave them to you, I can't imagine." "I ran into an alien. I fought him." "And lived?!?" Skinner asked, disbeliving, a new respect in his eyes for the man in front of him. Mulder shrugged, walking toward the house. "I thought I was lucky then. Guess I was wrong." ************ A light rain cried all the tears she couldn't as Scully looked out the window, watching the raindrops slide down the pane. Mulder was gone. When he had walked into the house, she almost hoped that he would want to talk, would say anything to her. But he had only looked at her once, and even that was out of the corner of his eye on his way back out the door. He hated her. Hated her for giving him reason to commit such nightmares, for consigning him to live and dwell among the men he most hated. She was so sick of being used as a tool to find chinks in his armor. Since her abduction, Scully had lost count of the times They had hurt him through her. And now those same people used her again, forced him to make a choice. Her or Samantha. Why he had chosen her, she couldn't fathom. She was nothing more than a thorn in his side, a weight to drag him down. Samantha embodied his life and his hope and his love, the reason he set out to find Truth in the first place. Why he killed his sister to save for her the rags of her dignity, Scully didn't know. It certainly wasn't worth it- she wasn't worth it. Maybe he did it out of duty, maybe out of obligation. Either way she was certain he loathed her for it. He hadn't even said goodbye. Neither had she. As much as she long to beg him to stay, she would not. Could not. The barriers of pride were stubborn, and strong. So she had watched him go through a blurry film of tears but not once asked him to change his mind. She couldn't do that to him again, keep him somewhere she knew he didn't want to be. "He thinks you hate him." She turned to see Skinner sitting in his accustomed chair, watching her calmly. "How could he?" she asked, astonished. "I'm the one to hate. I caused all this..." "Stop that." His voice sharpened a little with the command, then eased up again. "Mulder makes his choices for himself. We can't change his mind any easier than we can change him, once he gets set on something." "It doesn't really matter." Scully said, not even bothering to make an attempt at actually believing what she was saying. "He's gone now." "Then I suggest you go after him." "I can't." It would be a weakness, the little woman running after the man she loved when he did not want her. "Why not?" "I just can't." He stared at her for a moment. "You're a strong person, Scully. Quite possibly the strongest I've ever known. But strength like yours can be a virtue or it can be a crutch." "I'm not sure I follow you." "Don't follow me. Follow him. Tell him you forgive him. It's all he wants to hear." Did she really? Did she really want to forgive and forget all the heartache he had put her through, and forgive herself in the same moment? "It's too late." "I got here ten minutes after he left. He can't be much more than fifteen minutes away. Which way was he headed?" "To the coast I think. North, like he was following it to the mountains." "He can't be that far away. Do it Scully. Do it for him, do it for yourself. If nothing else do it because it's just the right thing to do. But get out and stop him." She smiled a little, her mind made up. Leaving the window, she walked over to the door, not bothering to put on a jacket. She had always like the rain anyway, the gentle soothing feel of moisture on her skin. The rain fall was so light, it hadn't been able to wash away his footprints in the sand. One by one they stretched in a line beside the ocean and one by one she followed them. ************ The rain began to fall harder as her steps took her away from the indian village and higher into the green slopes of the mountains. She had all but lost his trail, but the chieftain said a white man had passed through town before she had, heading for the rocks. This was the only trail fit for any human to take, and while Mulder was agile, he was no mountain goat. Or so she hoped. Questions and doubts assailed her with the quickening of the rain fall. The rocky path forced her to concentrate on her footing, not on the voices of her own fear, and Scully devoted all her energy to moving faster so she could drown them out completely. The air was thin, though he was not very high up at all yet, causing him to pant for breath as he sat down on a moss covered log. His hair and clothes were soaked with the rain, but they could have been on fire and he wouldn't have noticed. His gun was dry and so was the Bullet he had been saving. It was a good place to die. The mountains sloped up from the south, growing larger and larger like great emeralds as they expanded north and east. To the west, directly in front of him, stretched the sea like a cloth made of beaten sapphire. The cliff he was standing on was about two hundred feet over the water, falling down in a waterfall of rock into the ocean below. Perhaps he would stand up when he died, so he would fall into the sea. Make up for all those times he had forgotten to feed his fish. Better yet, no one would find his body. Not that anyone would be looking. Death was patient enough when you wanted to help him along, and Mulder felt no need to rush as he set his pack beside him. He opened it, taking out two pictures. One was older than the other, the colors faded with age and wear, but both were crinkled with the marks of frequent handling. One was of his sister Samantha, smiling as she posed beside a boyish version of himself for the camera. The second was the newer of the two, a polaroid snapshot with Scully's face eyeing the camera in an expression halfway between amused exasperation and a smile. Her eyes were sparkling, and though there were faint shadows under her eyes, she looked genuinely happy. Mulder remembered the day he had taken it, right after her cancer had gone into remission, which was probably what made the shadows. He had found an old polaroid in a desk drawer with a few exposures left, and under pretense of "using the rest of the film" he had taken several pictures of the office and Scully. This was the only one left. Even looking at it now, he could remember like it was yesterday. Life had been sweet, happy, and oh so fresh since news of her remission. He had almost lost her then, and the memory of the simple joy in knowing she was going to live radiated through the photo. With such tenderness more like a gesture of reverence, Mulder ran his fingers over her face lovingly, then folded the photo in two. He placed it along with Sam's picture in his pocket. The next object he took from the bag was sentimental in a much different way. Every piece of metal that fashioned his 9 mm was etched with memories, those that were dark and cruel and rank with despair. He recalled Scully's words once, that those who lived by the gun died by the gun. She had meant it to make a point, but it was as true then as it would become in a few moments. True in a very, very personal way. ********** Her problems started with a fork in the trail. The path branched off in two directions, one leading to down to a small cliff and the other snaking up and northward into the heart of the mountains. Logic told her that if Mulder was going away, he would have taken the high road. A nagging little whisper that refused to be silenced told her to follow the lower road, but it could not explain why. It made no sense at all, but something about that road felt like Mulder. The same feeling was coupled with a sense of urgency she couldn't put her finger on to determine the cause. It was the same feeling she had felt the other night, like something dreadful was going to happen, something unknown. Scully bit her lip, knowing she would kick herself later for following an emotion, and walked down the lower path. Just because the elevation wasn't as high didn't make the going any easier. The rain turned the path treacherous, and Scully found herself sliding as much as she walked. The skin of her palms was torn, bleeding in places from the sharp rocks her hands seemed to hone in on. Still she pushed on, faster and faster, as the urgency grew with each step. She first spotted the ocean, glittering under the sun, when she was on top of a small pile of rocks that led down to the ledge of the cliff itself. Her gaze zoomed closer when she first noticed the unnatural black of an overcoat, her eyes expanding the vision to include the man wearing it. A man facing the ocean. With a gun to his head. And his fingers on the trigger. "Mulder!!" the pieces flew together and out of her mouth in a scream. Forgetting where she stood, Scully stepped toward him, her legs folding under her when the step landed on air. She fell down the pile of rocks on her knees, the top two layers of skin peeling back until she landed on the ground. The pain was all but ignored. Mulder...she had to get to Mulder...had to stop him... He whirled, frozen in surprise to see her and then in surprise to see her fall. "Scully- what are you doing here?" The gun didn't move from his head but then again his finger didn't tighten. She pushed herself to her feet, gasping for breath in between her words as she spoke. "Forget me...what are !you! doing?!?" Mulder's face was frightening in the lack of emotion he showed when he answered. "Taking care of business." "With a gun to your head!" "Go away, Scully. This doesn't concern you." He eyed the blood on her hands and now running down her legs. She had rushed....but why? She shouldn't be here, not when she had made it so crystal clear she wanted nothing to do with him. She looked like she had rushed to see him, but why? She had made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with him. "You're wrong." She moved closer to him, until he began to move back. "It has everything to do with me." Still breathless, she continued to speak, throwing pride and caution to the wind. "I know what you did for me... because of me." The thought was painful and she swallowed to clear the tightness in her throat and her chest. "Mulder...I was angry at first, but only because I thought you had betrayed me. I trusted you, Mulder. Only you. But when you told me about your sister I knew the truth." "Why did you leave?" he asked her. "I had to. I couldn't stand there and know that everything you've had to do and have done has been my fault. If you should point the gun at anyone, it should be me! I should die! Not you!" "You haven't done anything, Scully." He said. "I was wrong to lie. I was wrong to get you captured in the first place. Now my sister is dead and so am I." "Mulder..." she held her hand out toward him, pleading. "Don't do this. Give me the gun." "We all have to pay for what we've done. So excuse me while I finish the job." He edged away from her, toward the ledge, until he was standing on the very edge. His fingers tightened on the trigger. . . "NO!" Scully lunged forward, her hand closing around his and the gun at the last second, knocking it back so that the shot went wild and shattered a rock instead of his skull. But her momentum didn't slow down and in horror she saw the edge of the cliff hurtle by underneath her, as she and Mulder plunged over the edge. The fall was over very soon, but it passed like time had been put on slow motion. She was aware of her screaming, of Mulder's startled cry. Of the way the colors of green mountain, gray sky, brown rock, and blue ocean melted together like a smudged oil painting. Of the rain, falling down in slivers below them and above them and around them. Of the way his hand found hers, pulling her close to him even as they fell into something like certain death. It was all very slow...her stomach rose up into her throat as they must be gaining speed. . . the blue of the sea became predominant, edging closer and closer and closer... The air was beaten from her lungs by a giant fist as they plunged through the surface, the icy cold stealing her breath as much as the force of impact. Disorientation struck next, and Scully twisted and turned in a frantic bid to discover the lost path back to air. Finally she found it, swimming upward in fast, swift strokes. Her lungs went from burning to screaming for air and she realized she wasn't going to make it in time... A hand grabbed her by the back of neck, hauling her through the film of the surface and into air. She gasped for breath, arms flailing wildly until someone pinned her against them. His voice was soft against her ear, quick and breathless from leftover panic. "It's ok..." he soothed her, holding her against him. "Breathe, Scully. I got you. Just breathe. It's going to be ok. We're alive." His touch calmed her as much if not more than his words, and she opened her eyes to see his face inches away from hers, eyes flooded with concern. "Are you-" "I'm fine." she interrupted, knowing the question before he asked it. Even when she reassured him, his arms didn't move from their protective embrace, though she knew it must be hard for him to tread water and support her weight. As much as she hated to, she pulled away enough to start treading water on own, keeping her hand in his. "Don't ever scare me like that again." she said. "And I suppose that knocking me off a cliff isn't startling at all in its own right." "I couldn't let you-" "You should have." He sighed, looking away from her back up at the cliff. "I can't live like this. I can't take the guilt." "You don't have to." "But I do." His eyes snapped back to meet hers, and the raw anguish hurt her more than the fall ever did. "I shot my sister, Scully. It was really her, for the first time ever, and she had been in the camp the whole time, and she had searched for me and..." his torrent of words slowed again. "I shot her." The talk was dangerous. Scully knew it and pulled his chin up with one hand so that they were eye to eye. "You saved me, Mulder." He had to believe that, had to know how grateful she was to him. "Even now I have nightmares about that place, about the room and the men and the auction. Sometimes in those dark dreams, the Smoking Man takes me away and I see what my life would have been like." She shuddered from more than the water. "But you kept me from all that. At an unfathomable cost. One that I'm afraid I'm not worth." "I'd do it all over again." he said, his eyes heating up to the familiar intensity that drove her mad. "In a heartbeat. It's what scares me. I loved- love- my sister beyond imagine, but I would sacrifice her again. You are worth it and so much more than I have left to give. . ." Now it was her turn for speechlessness. The subject was growing uncomfortable, hitting closer and closer to the taboo of her feelings. She found a smile to put on her face, and cast it with a mischievous twist in Mulder's direction. "Are we going to swim here until we become fish bait or are we going to start heading home?" "Lead on, Dr. Scully." He smiled back. "In fact, I'll race ya." No sooner had he gotten the words out than he was off, cutting through the water back in the direction of the house. "Not fair!" Scully stopped long enough to shout her protest after him but it did no good. He was already a good fifteen yards ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward. "Look who's calling not fair." Mulder complained, dropping onto the sand, his chest moving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. "I could have won if you had told me how fast you could swim. I was taking it easy on the weaker vessel." "Weaker indeed." Scully snorted, shaking her head and smiling for real as she sat down next to him. "This 'vessel' is a Navy brat, remember? I could swim before I could walk." He mumbled something unintelligible, then they both lay side by side in the sand, staring up at the sky of evening. The rain had stopped mid-way through the afternoon, the clouds peeling away to reveal a freshly washed night sky. "We'd better go." Scully said. "Skinner is going to be worried." It was still up to her to be the practical one, now that things were back the way they used to be. But that wasn't right. Things would never be the same and both of them knew it. Whether the change was good or bad, she didn't know. "Yeah. We wouldn't him to have a stroke or something." "Mulder," she scolded him. "He's not that much older than we are." "Then we'd better get back before we have strokes." She laughed and rolled to her feet. A sobering thought penetrated her happiness and when she spoke again it was much more serious. "You aren't staying here forever, are you." Her thoughts ran to the moon and back in the space of silence before he answered. "No." "How long?" "You'll know when the time comes." They said nothing more about it, but the phrase turned over and over in Scully's thoughts on the long walk home. ************* The more she tried to cling to every day, the more time slipped like liquid through her fingers until a week had passed by. She had tried smiling again, and food was much more interesting than before. But then every was more alive when he was around, even herself. Sometimes it was funny, the way they tried to compress a year of lost time into a few days, like when the village witch doctor had offered to marry them. Other times she would remember that nothing lasts, and then a sense of sadness would set in until Mulder's smile drove it away again. Today was different. There was something about him that had shifted ever so slightly, like each moment meant more now than before. He brought her flowers at breakfast. Mulder never brought her flowers. And if that alone wasn't enough to confirm her growing realization of what was happening, his bag sat by the door of his room, neatly packed. Goodbye was something she had never been very good at saying, especially to him, so the day wore on under the beautiful illusion that it would be just like any other. Until evening, when she found herself sitting on the porch with Mulder and wondering what to say that could fill a silence that stifled both of them. She looked at the sky, she looked at the sea, until she could run no longer, and looked at him to bridge her thoughts. "You're going back to them." It wasn't a question, not really when the truth was so painfully obvious. "I have to. Your work on the vaccine can help the entire world if I can get it to the resistance." His eyes told her he found no pleasure in the thought. "Let some else save the world." She said. "We've played hero long enough." "You know I can't do that." He sounded so assured, even to his own ears, that he half-convinced himself. And he had thought it was hard to leave her then. Watching from a window was nothing compared to this closeness, the sad and wonderful pain. "When are we leaving?" "We-" Mulder echoed, then shook his head. "No, Scully, you're not coming with me. Not this time." "You're going to have to stop me." Scully said, her jaw tightening as she dug her heels in for a fight. No way she was going to let him out there without her. Not a chance. "I can if you want me to, but I'd rather it not come to that." "You don't want me?" Her eyes were blue with uncertainty in that moment, and Mulder fell over himself in haste to clear up the misunderstanding. "It's not that." "It's too much of a risk. You're safe here. If I took you with me and someone-anyone- saw you, it would start all over again. I refuse to let anyone else hurt you because of me." "We could be careful." There was hope in her words, there always had to be hope... "Not careful enough." His hand closed around hers, a simple intensity in his eyes begging her to trust him. Scully had to remind herself that breathing was a normal body function. What was it in his stare that had such a power to unnerve her, melt her resolves like wax under a flame. The same flame that was burning inside her now, whispering thoughts of strangely familiar desire in her ears. "What about Pavlov?" Even now the sound of the name conjured dark shadows of memories she had tried to forget, but that still sent chills through her spine. She could still feel, at times, his hands on her temples, the ghost of his presence in her mind. "He'll be suspicious." Pavlov. He hadn't told her yet, not wanting to darken the stolen happiness of their time together with thoughts of that kind of past. "He's dead." New understanding lit up in her eyes as her fingers traced the scars on his arm. "Did you fight him?" "Yes." Mulder looked down at the scars himself, the searing pain that caused them still in his mind. "He tracked me when I left. Wanted to find you too. We fought. I survived." "What will you tell your superiors?" "I have a story ready. They'll believe it." It was a skill he had honed to perfection, the art of convenient lying. Another little silence settled over them, each wondering what to say. Scully picked at the fabric of her dress as she marshaled her courage to ask the one question she truly needed an answer to. When he was coming back. When, not if, as she feared it would be. "When you coming back?" She hardly dared speak the question that came out in a low soft tone between regular speech and a whisper. Mulder thought to himself, sighing at the complete and total honesty of what he was about to say. In a life of lies and greater deceptions, he had to be honest with her. Especially now that he was going back, and wasn't sure how long he could remain honest with himself. "I don't know." He said. "Once I'm back in, it'll be hard to slip out unnoticed. If they got suspicious..." "I know." Her lips moved in a fraction of a smile. "Too risky." She raised her eyes to meet his again, trying desperately to cling to the shreds of her self control. "Will you kill?" "If I have to. I'm planning on using my targets as couriers to get your vaccination work and any other information I can get to the resistance." It was a daring plan, bordering insanity, but he didn't care. Rationality had never been a strong point with him. "But you'll kill them...if you have to." He nodded, unable to answer her with words. The patch of silence stretched longer this time, and Scully felt she would scream if for no other reason than to make noise. A glint of gold around his neck caught his eye and coaxed a smile into life. "You wore it." She said, touching the necklace lovingly with her finger. "Always. Didn't I say we'd see each other again?" "Since when do I believe everything you tell me?" "Since you do you believe anything I tell you?" He unclasped the necklace and held it out to her. "I used to wonder how a piece of metal and gold could mean so much to you, but now I know. I've lost count of the times I would see it and remember you when I thought I couldn't stay sane another day." Uh-oh, they were nearing the minefield again, that area of conversation charged with explosive true feelings. Mulder's emotions were beginning to show through, as she had expected. If she wasn't careful she would fall into her own feelings and wouldn't that be a mess. But she craved the release so badly, more than she craved her next breath... "Keep it." She closed his fingers around the cross. "You need it more than I do anyway. Maybe it'll keep you out of trouble." Scully didn't add what she was thinking. "Let's not ask for too much." Mulder let got of her hand long enough to fasten it around his neck again. When his eyes grabbed hers, she knew she was in too deep, that she should get away very quickly before something happened that they would both regret. "I have to go." She said, turning away from him. "Why?" His hand captured hers, and she was struck paralyzed, unable to pull away yet unwilling to look at him. She feared nothing more than what she would see not in him but in herself. He cupped her face with his hand, turning it back toward him. "Why can't you let down the walls?" That voice, his voice, unnerved her. "Why do you always push away?" "I...have...that is I..." Scully gave up on the explanation she knew would never get it out right. Partly because she didn't have one. Not now. "We can't." His arms were on either side of her, trapping her in a prison that was gentle like velvet but strong as iron. She couldn't escape. "Tell me why we can't." He could see it in her eyes, the pieces of her marble facade crumbling in bits and pieces to reveal the light of her soul. Mulder felt himself drawn toward that light like a moth pulled toward a fire. This felt so right- what could she have to hold back? There was no answer from her, but her eyes told him she had none. He was going to take another risk. She didn't want to do this. She wanted to do this. He was leaning forward. She should pull back. She should meet him halfway. This was not happening. This was not. . . Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as he touched his lips to hers. At first she was paralyzed, shocked by the contact. It was a kiss that was not a kiss, hesitant and uncertain much like his eyes when he pulled away, waiting for her reaction. For a moment she didn't know if she could respond. Then she knew beyond a shadow of doubt she could, and what she wanted to do. A horrible feeling took root in his gut and spread through his body. He had done something wrong, had taken a liberty that was not meant to be. She wasn't moving, wasn't talking. She didn't want the same thing he did. "Scully, I'm sorry-" She cut him off in a second kiss that was neither hesitant nor uncertain. It started slow, soft, building intensity until it was like a star was being born between them, in glowing whites and electric blues that couldn't drown out the color of her eyes. He lived and died and found paradise all in the few heartbeats before she moved back, resting her forehead against his. Stars did not explode. Mountains did not fall. The sea did not dry up. If the earth stopped spinning, she didn't notice it. The absence of sound was sweet, almost like a drop of sugar melting on her tongue. If only for a moment, the universe had existed for them and them alone. Then the moment was gone, dissolved as she watched helplessly. Words seemed criminal but she spoke anyway. "Good night, Mulder." She planted a kiss on his forehead, then disentangled herself from his arms. His gaze continued to surround her completely, a sad smile leaping from him to her like a charge of static electricity. Scully realized he knew the same thing she did. She had said good night because she simply could not tell him goodbye. ************ In the moment before she opened her eyes, she knew he was gone. The pale light of a day freshly dawned flooded her window, but the morning felt different. Or was it her that had changed? She lay on her back, not moving yet, the tingle playing along the edges of her nerves. Did she want to get up and see if her gut feelings were real or did she want to go back to sleep and pretend otherwise? A few more hours wouldn't make much of a difference, even on the slim chance that she could sleep again. She stood up, touching the crucifix and reciting a hasty Hail Mary as she left her room. The door leading to the porch was open, and the morning air was cool on her legs as she walked down the hall. Another door stood ajar as well, the door to the room he had slept in. Scully took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she pushed the door open. Not wanting to believe even now, that this was it. The room was empty, the light playing on a neatly made bed and tidy floor. The space looked larger, perhaps because she felt the hole around her own heart so keenly. She took a step forward, then another, allowing herself to imagine him in the room. Picking up a pillow, Scully buried her face in it, inhaling deeply the scent of salt and spice. She smiled. It still smelled like him. The room's only window lent a breathtaking view of distant mountains in the north. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, Scully could see the scenery clearer in her mind. The wet, cool sand of the shore. The huts and buildings and fishing boats of the village. Finally, the rocky faces of the mountains themselves, bearded with green. He was somewhere in those mountains. She wondered if he felt the same rays of sun that caressed her skin now. She chose to believe he did. Her arms were reluctant to put down the pillow, but she did, smoothing the wrinkles out carefully. There would be no tangible evidence of his stay, only the pictures and sensations of her own mind. She left the room behind, shutting the door carefully, and walked out to the porch. Skinner was sitting on the steps, his eyes turning from the sea to her when he noticed her presence. "He left a couple hours before dawn." He said, anticipating her question. "He... said it would be better not to say goodbye." "It was." Scully nodded. There was no goodbye that needed to be said. If she didn't have to watch him leave, it was so much easier to pretend that he was here, safe with her. That he wasn't risking his life alone for a world that didn't care. Except for her. She cared with ever fiber of passion in her soul. The porch looked different in morning. She found herself almost unsure whether last night had been real or just another beautiful dream. Unconsciously, her hand went up to touch her lips. It was real. No question there. And his promise had been real too. A vow made to her without words and sealed with a kiss and something more powerful. When he had put on her cross, he had swore to come back alive. She in turn had promised to keep the faith until he did. With a small sigh, she walked back inside, down the lonely hallway to her room. Later she would think about the repercussions of his actions, of the lives he would have to take and the blood he would shed. Later she would worry about the possibilities if he was found out. This morning she had to run a follow up visit on the chieftain's twins, both of which were driving the mother up the wall with cases of colic. Then she would spend the rest of the day gathering herbs to replenish her dwindling medicine supply. Maybe in the end she would take a walk along the ocean. Then she would go to sleep and wake up and do much of the same thing. But she would keep her promise. She would live for his return and with his memories. Taking a dress out of the closet, Scully held it against her in the mirror. It was rather new, or at least she had never worn it before. She looked up from the dress, startled by the face reflected back at her. It was as if she was looking at herself for the first time in a long, long time. A tiny smile skimmed along her lips, like a stone tossed over water, to splash into her eyes. Yes, the red dress would be quite nice after all. ************** A long tongue of flame licked hungrily at the edges of the paper, turning it brownish yellow right before it digested it's latest bite completely into ash. Mulder dropped it on the table, watching it burn. "You really should find another way to feed those pyromaniac tendencies of yours." Krycek said, eyeing both the fire and Mulder. "And explain to me again how you managed to turn a death sentence into a commendation." "Rule of thumb. People in power are always willing to move the blame to someone with a position they want." "So you pinned it on our friend Pavlov. What did you tell the High Command anyway?" He smiled a little as the fire continued to nibble away at the commendation. "That while we were on leave we discovered Pavlov and a renegade shadow team selling sensitive secrets to the resistance. Of course I had all the documentation and back account numbers I needed to back up my claims." "Forgeries, of course." "The only way to go. Actually it was easier than it sounds. As it turned out Pavlov wasn't the most popular guy in the world, and a lot of them had old scores to settle. I just threw them a bone and let the dogs go for it." A smirk spread across Krycek's face. "Letting them slug it out while the spotlight drifts conveniently to someone else. Of course that's also quite convenient because he's dead. You're getting good at this. That sounds like something I would do." "Hey now, be nice." "I was!" He leaned back against the refrigerator. "So how what the trip?" "What trip?" Mulder echoed, all innocence. "Scully." "I have no idea what you're talking about." Despite the intended seriousness of his tone, he couldn't quite keep a smile from the corners of his mouth. "Well I'm glad at least one of us had fun." He tossed a manila envelope to Mulder. "But it's back to the salt mines. We've got a hit tonight. And since you took your sweet time getting back, you get to do the honors." Krycek walked towards the bedroom. "Wake me up when it's time to go. And put the fire out before you set off the smoke alarms again." "Yes, father." The cheerful note in his voice disappeared as he opened the envelope. The slip of paper fluttered out with the name of a the target. Only one this time, a scientist who was to die for his work on a vaccine. Could he really do this again, kill to live and live to kill? Tonight he was going to find out. "Take my life! Please, take anything you want, but spare my work!" the old man winced as another crash came from his laboratory. That would be Krycek, doing his part of the mission. Now it was time for Mulder to do his. "You'd really die for what you work on." He said, his voice dripping skepticism. "Yes...gladly- but leave my work! You're human! You know what it could mean to us!" On the outside he was stone and hatred but on the inside he was smiling. This was the one. The man who would get the honor of saving the world. "Listen to me and listen fast." He said. "I'm not going to kill you." "What?!?" "Don't ask questions if you want to live." "But the work-" "This is your new work." Mulder handed him an envelope containing all of Scully's notes and a vial of her blood. His voice fell to a whisper. "The rudimentary stages of a vaccine." "A vaccine???" The old man's eyes widened, and he hastily shoved the envelope inside his lab coat. "Who are you?" "A friend who will remain nameless." There was another series of crashes and the sound of glass breaking, then Krycek's voice came from the lab. "I got it all, Mulder. Hurry up and pop the geezer so we can get outta here early." "Ok, do exactly as I say." Mulder flipped the safety off his gun. "I'm going to shoot you." "I thought you said you-" "I'm going to miss. You fall down and be a good little stiff. Don't move until you hear the car pull away. Then find yourself someplace were you can disappear. If you're found again they won't be near as forgiving as I am. Catch my drift?" The man nodded. "How can I thank you, sir?" "Don't get caught." His finger squeezed the trigger just as Krycek's footsteps came toward them. The old man's body slumped to the floor. "What took so long?" Krycek said. "You always finish before I do." "He was a talker." "Oh, one of those?" "Yep." Mulder walked back out of the building and toward the car. "Let's go find a bar." They had to get out just in case the old man couldn't hold still. "On me." "In that case lead on." They were three steps away from the car when a screamed curse split the air behind them, as did the sound of a cartridge being jammed into the gun. He whirled to see a kid not a day older than fifteen charging toward them, a rifle in his hands. In the orange glow of a nearby street light, Mulder could see the murder in the boy's eyes. Pure instinct moved his hand to draw his gun. One hair of a second was all it took to pull the trigger and "neutralize" the "threat" before he was the one to die. But he couldn't pull the trigger... "You killed my father you murdering-" The words turned into a gasp of pain as two bullets caught the boy in the chest and stomach. The hate in his eyes changed to pain and fear, and he fell to his knees, hands dropping the gun to cover his wounds. Blood bubbled from his mouth and down his neck, mixing with the stains from his chest. Mulder turned to see Krycek lower his still smoking gun, his expression slightly annoyed. "Let's go get that drink." He said, walking around to the driver's side of the car. "Let the cleaners take care of him." The fear in the boy's face intensified at those words, and he held out his hand out, his voice raspy and pleading. "Please...shoot...me..." The boy coughed and winced as more blood came up. "Don't... leave me...for them." A moment of pity softened his features as he moved toward the boy, fingers closing on the trigger of the gun. "If I have to." His whisper was lost amid the crack of the gun that ended the boy's life. Until now he had never considered death a favor. It had been so easy to forget some of the less glorified aspects of his job. Like the part where he had to shoot kids in the head, and then pretend to smile while their blood still stained his clothes. "Are you coming?" Krycek called. "Yeah." Mulder tore his gaze away from the dead boy and turned toward the car. As he pulled the car door open, he caught a reflection of himself in the moonlight. The gold of the cross still glittered around his neck. He had his answer. He had her. And he would survive until he saw her again. Even if he had to save the world to do it. *********** He lit his cigarette hurriedly, drawing in a lungful of the savory smoke before breathing it out to sweeten the air around him. Morleys were very, very hard to come by these days, and this only the third pack he had been able to find since the beginning of colonization. But the Smoking Man had the feeling that he would be smoking a lot more of them now. It was just one of the perks his new position offered. He had to admit, Pavlov's office was nice. The subtle grandeur of the furnishings remained intact, as did the girl he had met earlier. She waited for him in the quarters with all his other slaves, just one more acquisition to prove his prowess in the new society. It was too bad about Scully, really, she would have been quite a trophy once properly tamed... The smile that the thought gave him vanished when his secretary, a Samantha clone carefully schooled in the behaviors of the original, showed a young officer into the room. "What did you find?" he asked, peering at the man through the smoke. The soldier was to be trusted- after all his new rank as Commander had been a gift meant to earn confidence. The Smoking Man had not survived by displaying any of the arrogance or superiority Pavlov did. He preferred to demonstrate his talents at manipulation in other ways. Like this one. "Everything you asked, for sir." Another cycle of smoke passed through his lungs and out through the corner of his mouth as he took the envelope the officer laid on his desk, noting the red CONFIDENTIAL: EYES ONLY stamp. "So tell me, where did he go?" "Commander Mulder used a satellite disruptor to slip away from shadow team surveillance. He then crossed the border into Mexico at a town known as Soledad, where he fought and destroyed all members of the team, including Minister Pavlov." The soldier recited the facts with the clean crisp tone of a finely oiled machine. The Smoking Man liked that. Machines were very useful things, taking orders without question, and he liked his men to copy them. "From there where did he go?" "The trail was cold, since we were starting after he had already gotten back, but we were able to find particle signals leftover from the disruptor's original homing beacon." "And?" This could turn out to be well worth the time and trouble, not to mention money, it had cost to conduct a private search without the knowledge of the High Command. He leaned forward in his chair, waiting for the soldier to finish. "We tracked his destination to a remote part of western Chile, along the coast. On your orders, sir, we ran a reconnaissance satellite over the area and took the photographs in the envelope." The soldier paused, waiting for him to look over the pictures. The Smoking Man crushed his old cigarette in an ashtray and lit a new one as he pulled out the photographs. This called for a fresh rush of nicotine. As the drug calmed his nervous system, he found it quite simple to mask the pleasure at the information. The top photograph was grainy, blurred like satellite imagery often was, but the overall picture was surprisingly clear. He had no trouble at all making out a woman in a dress the color of red wine walking away from a house by the ocean. A woman with short copper hair. "I trust you told no one of this." It was a dangerous secret to keep, but very profitable, as that kind tended to be. "No sir, but my men can at the target destination in five hours. I included a mission profile with the other information. It indicates that we can take the woman with minimal expenditure of force. When do you want us to leave?" "I don't." "Sir?" The Smoking Man leaned back in his chair, letting two tendrils of smoke curl out of his nostrils like twin snakes. "You've done very well, Commander. I am impressed." The soldier relaxed at the praise. "I do my best sir." "And I will assume that you will continuing doing exactly that. Minister Pavlov is gone, tragically, but now is time for a shift in power among us. If you do well for me, I will make sure you are in on it when that shift begins." "Yes sir. Is that all sir?" "You may go." He waved the soldier away. "Take three days paid leave." "Yes !sir!." The young man left the room, a smile barely kept back from his features. Once the door was shut, the Smoking Man let his own smile out of hiding. The poor Commander had no idea that he would suffer a tragic accident on the way out of the building. The information on his desk was too volatile to entrust to anything other than his own keeping. And now the question remained of what to do with his insurance policy. As much pleasure as it would bring him to see Mulder's face when he showed him his precious little secret had been unearthed, that was not a joy he would indulge in. For now. He would bide his time, wait until the leverage could be used in a fitting way. Mulder could be an effective set of eyes and ears on the inside of things, doubly so since he was expendable if anything went wrong. Or the information could be a valuable smokescreen in the event his own career should ever fall into jeopardy. He inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs, the nicotine relaxing his muscles. Sealing the envelope, he opened the top drawer of his desk and carefully placed the information in a hidden panel above it. The game was not over. It had only just begun. finis. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - the end !!!! yayyy!!!! ::fireworks:: so how did you like it? send all coments, questions, and all other flavors of feedback can be sent to: clone347@aol.com, as can david duchovny clones. :P your comments are worshipped daily with incense and small shrines. the Muse and I thank you for reading. darkstar - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - COMING SOON : He sold his soul to save her life. Now he wants to be human again. But can he? Becoming Judas II : Resurrection. coming soon to a mailbox near you for a sneak preview go to www.angelfire.com/scifi/becomingjudas