From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Mon, 3 Jan 2000 21:04:32 -0600
Subject: Any Dream Necessary 1/1 by Ned \'TG\' Life
Source: direct

Reply To: sevencities@aol.com


The following story is a shameless rip-off of two X-Files 
Fan Fics, which I found very fascinating.  
Any Means Necessary an excellent story by Ophelia which 
is archived at Acacia and Therapy, a chilling tale by 
Amperage and also archived at Acacia are, in my opinion, 
`must reads.'  I apologize for the blatant use of their 
ideas and in places, text from their stories.  

I also apologize to Chris Carter's 1013 Productions and Rupert 
Murdoch's 20th Century Film Corp. and anyone else whose 
characters/ideas/text/etc. I have used.  

The Christmas carol "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" 
was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

But considering that the X-Files is in its 
last season and that people will little 
note nor long remember what we say here... 
whoops, there I go again. 


Category: Conspiracy,  Rating: PG  Spoilers: None,  
Archive: Wherever,  Feedback: Whatever, 
Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully and the Lone Gunmen 
do not belong to me.  They belong to some of the 
people mentioned above. 

Any Dream Necessary by Ned Life sevencities@aol.com

The scratchy texture of the cloth and its caustic odor 
caused Mulder to awaken abruptly.  The iron-like grip of 
the hand that held the offending cloth against his nose and 
mouth gave no indication of relenting.  Clawing at the hand 
with his own hands, Mulder struggled to free himself.  His 
lungs ached for air but each desperate gasp merely sucked 
in more of the poison.  Breathing became as painful as 
holding his breath.  Soon a rushing sound filled his ears 
and the room began to spin.

Sunlight filtered through the green gauzy curtains and the 
alarm clock shrilled as if startled by the light.  Mulder 
shot up in bed and slammed his left hand down on the 
offending apparatus.  Silence fell on the room like the 
final curtain on a play.  Mulder sat ramrod straight as he 
labored to subdue his racing heart and control his rapid 
breathing.  The dream had been the same as last night's 
dream.  Not a detail had changed.  The scratchy cloth with 
the caustic vapors.  The loss of consciousness and the 
regaining of consciousness only to find himself spread-
eagle and face down on his bed.  His wrists bound to the 
headboard.  His customary nighttime attire of boxer shorts 
not in evidence.  The betrayal by his body in its refusal 
to rebel against its imprisonment.  The touch of the hands 
on his skin.  Stroking. Exploring. Demanding.  And then the 
agonizing pain.  He emitted a low guttural sound at the 
memory.  

The clock stood as a silent sentry to the passing moments.  
Time, in its attempt to heal all wounds, was doing a lousy 
job.  When Mulder had wearied of trying to understand his 
nocturnal ordeal, he forced himself to perform his morning 
rituals.  Mindless routine helped to dull the pain.  Apply 
the toothpaste to the toothbrush, replace cap, use an up 
and down stroking motion as opposed to brushing back and 
forth and perform this action for a minimum of two minutes 
being sure to attend to each tooth individually.  The 
toothbrushing ritual gave solace for a full minute and a 
half before the terror of the previous night came crashing 
anew on him.  Dropping his hand to the sink while grasping 
the toothbrush as a drowning man would grasp a lifeline, 
Mulder's body shook as the pain and humiliation washed over 
him.  

Scully glanced over at her partner and debated whether to 
invite him to dinner.  He had been sullen all day but it 
wasn't as if that were anything new.  He had also been 
professional and thorough in the performance of his duties 
that day.  Almost too professional and thorough.  The 
decision was seemingly taken out of her hands when Mulder 
stood up abruptly and announced that he was finished for 
the day and would be in his basement office going over some 
files.  Investigation into the X-Files had suffered its 
most devastating blow ever.  An enemy more devious than the 
Consortium, more diabolical than Cancer Man had appeared.  
Budget cuts had come to the FBI. Mulder could now only 
conduct his investigations into the paranormal in his 
sparse, spare time. Watching the rapidly retreating figure 
of her partner, Scully decided that it was time for a 
confrontation.  

As she entered the basement office, Scully was not 
surprised by her partner's lack of acknowledgement of her 
presence.  Helping herself to a chair, she watched for a 
moment as Mulder continued to work on his computer as 
though they alone occupied the universe.  Rushing in where 
angels fear to tread, Scully dared to intrude on the 
private commune between man and machine.

"Is something bothering you, Mulder?"  

Mulder stopped typing and looked impassively at Scully.

"I'm fine," he stated simply and returned to his typing.  

Scully intruded once more.  "Mulder for the last week you 
haven't quite been yourself.  I would just like to know if 
there is anything I can do."  

Mulder once again stopped typing and once again gave Scully 
an impassive look.  "I'm fine."  

Taking a deep breath, Scully plunged in.  "Mulder, it's 
only been a couple of months since you have been out of 
counciling and I..." 

Mulder cut her off.  "I appreciate your concern but I'm 
dealing with things quite well.  Dr. Davis helped me to 
come to terms with the fact that I couldn't save the little 
girl and I am dealing with things quite well."  

Mulder realized that he was repeating himself, using the 
phrase almost as a mantra.  Scully sat silently for a 
moment and studied her partner.  Then quietly she said his 
name.  

"Mulder." 

Stilling his fingers, which had returned to the keyboard, 
Mulder slowly closed his eyes and lowered his head.  He 
should have known better than to try and shut her out.  
Scully had always been there for him and if ever he needed 
a friend, he needed one now.  

"I have been having this dream."  

His voice was almost a whisper.  Scully continued to wait 
silently.  

"In this dream I'm attacked."  

Mulder's fingers rested on the keyboard, his head remained 
bowed and his eyes closed.  

"I first had the dream about a month ago.  Then it came 
again a few nights later.  For the last week, it's been 
every night."  

Mulder slid his hands into his lap and continued to bow his 
head.  

"Where does this attack occur?"  

Scully was not so much interested in the dream as she was 
in the reason why it disturbed him so badly.  Mulder had 
been attacked any number of times in the line of duty and 
had always dealt with the emotional issues involved.  

"It happens in my apartment."  Mulder's voice had taken on 
a monotone quality. 

"Can you identify your attacker?"  

The shake of his head was barely perceptual.  Scully 
continued to study him until awareness dawned on her.  

"The attack is sexual in nature."  She made it a statement 
rather than a question.  

The barely perceptual motion of his head this time was a 
nod.  

"Have you called Dr. Davis, Mulder?  You need to talk with 
her about this."  

Mulder gave Scully a side-ways glance.  "I have made an 
appointment with Dr. Goldstein for tomorrow."  

"What?!"  Scully's voice was shockingly sharp and in stark 
contrast to her earlier gentle tone.  "That quack can't 
still be in practice."  Scully's eyes blazed and she half 
rose from her chair.  

Mulder visibly steeled himself to Scully's response and 
explained.  "I want Dr. Goldstein to help me recover some 
past memories."  

Scully stared at her partner as though he were speaking a 
foreign language.  "What are you talking about, Mulder?"  

Mulder slowly turned to face her.  "I believe this dream is 
an attempt by my subconscious to bring to the surface some 
memories of childhood abuse."   

"Abuse by whom?"  

The effort required to respond to her question was 
obviously beyond Mulder's abilities.  

"OK, Mulder, this is what we are going to do.  We are going 
to your apartment now and you are going to get some rest.  
I'll camp out on your couch and we will try and sort things 
out in the morning." 

Thankfully, Mulder did not object.  

Having briefly stopped by Scully's' apartment for a few 
overnight items, the agents proceeded to Mulder's 
apartment.   They entered the dorm-style building and took 
the elevator to Mulder's floor.  The ride in the elevator 
and the walk down the hall were done in complete silence as 
had the previous phases of their journey.  

Once they had entered the small and dimly lit apartment, 
Mulder settled himself onto the couch.  Resisting the urge 
to make a negative comment on the dismal state of his 
habitat, Scully instead went to the kitchen and fixed 
Mulder a cup of tea. She returned to the living room where 
she offered the cup to Mulder, settled herself into a chair 
opposite the couch and then slowly and cautiously extracted 
from him the details of the dream.  He spoke hesitantly at 
first, but soon the trickle of words turned into a torrent 
and finally the words came gushing out of him almost as 
though they were taking with them the pain and confusion 
created by the dream.  

When he had finished, he appeared more relaxed than she had 
ever seen him.  Scully gently took the cup from him and 
softly said goodnight.  Mulder smiled briefly and taking 
the hint retired to his room.  Fixing herself a cup of tea, 
Scully reclined on the couch and pondered the tale, which 
had been related to her. 

Sunlight filtered through the green gauzy curtains but 
didn't disturb the slumber of the alarm clock.  For once 
relieved of its morning duties, the clock slept on. Even 
without the aid of an alarm at this early hour, Scully was 
already awake and in the kitchen brewing a cup of coffee.  
She had decided to let Mulder sleep for another half-hour 
before waking him. The heavy footsteps of the paper boy and 
the loud thud of the morning paper hitting the door that 
led into Mulder's apartment announced, seemingly to the 
world, that morning had arrived.  Retrieving the paper from 
the hallway, Scully returned to the kitchen and, with the 
aid of the paper, coffee and kitchen clock, passed the 
remaining time allotted Mulder's repose.   

Having ingested both the coffee and the news, the coffee 
being the better of the two, Scully took another moment to 
mentally prepare herself for the day's coming events.  
Leaving the kitchen and entering Mulder's bedroom, Scully 
was alarmed at the sight of the empty bed.  Her alarm was 
increased by the sight of Mulder, sitting in the corner of 
the room, knees clutched to his chin.  Approaching him 
slowly so as not to startle him, she knelt down beside him. 
Looking into his eyes, she was struck by the feeling that 
she was gazing into a void.  The eyes were unseeing, 
unblinking.  These were dead eyes.   She placed her hand on 
his cheek, but received no response to her touch.  Her hand 
remained on his cheek until she realized that her lips were 
moving in a silent prayer.  Gently brushing a fingertip 
against his lips, she finally accepted the painful truth.  
Returning to the kitchen, she placed the call to Dr. Davis.

Sitting in her own living room that night, Scully struggled 
to keep her attention on the paperwork spread before her.  
Visions of the day's events came to her unbidden.  The 
ambulance at Mulder's apartment building.  Mulder 
complacently allowing the paramedics to place him onto the 
stretcher.  The seemingly endless drive to the hospital.  
Dr. Davis had assured Scully, as she no doubt assured the 
family and friends of all her patients, that she would take 
special care of Mulder.  The next twenty-four hours would 
be spent in keeping Mulder under observation.  

Scully had been allowed to stay with him as long as she 
wanted but she had finally accepted the fact that all her 
concern and caring weren't enough to heal him.  She had 
left him there in Dr. Davis' care and returned to the 
office to report to Skinner.  Punctiliously performing her day's 
duties, she returned home that evening determined to 
literally work through her pain.  She had managed to focus 
her attention back to her papers when there was a knock on 
the door.  Peering through the peephole, she saw three 
anxious faces.  The Lone Gunmen were on the loose.

"Thank you for seeing us, Agent Scully.  We heard through 
channels that Agent Mulder has been admitted to the 
hospital."  Byers, speaking as the three filed in, seated 
himself in an upholstered chair while the other two 
remained by the door.  

Scully couldn't tell if they wanted to be able to make a 
quick getaway or if they were just shy.  Scully smiled 
briefly as a thought fled through her mind. Did Mulder 
appreciate the depth of caring these men had for him?  His 
desire to elicit no concern for himself from others seemed 
doomed to failure.

Scully related to them the details of Mulder's nightmare 
just as Mulder had related them to her.  She knew that they 
were aware of the trauma that Mulder had suffered involving 
the kidnap and murder case involving the granddaughter of 
junior senator J. Howell of Missouri.  The mother, who had 
been under psychiatric care, had claimed alien abduction. 
Evidence had led the agents to a small cairn of stones 
where the child had been buried by the father; the alien 
abduction story having been created as a cover. However, 
the child, Anna Lisa Howell-Norgrove, age four at the time 
of her disappearance, was not found in the cairn. Evidence 
at the crime scene suggested that she had pushed her way 
out, not being dead as her father had supposed, but merely 
unconscious. An extensive search was launched to find the 
missing child, culminating in the discovery of Anna Lisa's 
body in an abandoned house. The child had been violently 
raped and beaten and there were bruises around her throat. 
Her body was fresh on discovery, no more than five or six 
hours old.  

Mulder, believing unjustly that he had not done enough to 
save Anna Lisa's life, had begun hitting his hand against a 
stone fireplace.  Despite Scully's repeated attempts to 
reason with him, Mulder would not refrain from his self-
destructive act. Eventually Scully got two local sheriff's 
deputies to restrained Mulder until he was able to control 
his behavior.  Scully took her partner to W.A. Jackson 
Memorial Hospital, in Albertville where Mulder was treated 
for a broken finger and lacerations of the flesh along the 
edge of his left hand, requiring a splint and nine 
stitches. Upon their return to Washington, Scully had 
persuaded Mulder to voluntarily check himself into the 
Arlington Hospital where he remained for a week.  

Upon his release, he had spent several weeks in counseling 
with Dr. Emmaline Davis.  The hospital and Dr. Davis had 
assured Scully that Mulder had responded well to 
psychiatric treatment which made it all the more difficult 
for Scully to understand Mulder's current condition.

"So you think this current episode relates back to 
his. emotional problems of a few months ago?"  Byers was 
attempting to choose his words carefully in an effort to 
consider Scully's feelings toward Mulder.  

"I wouldn't be surprised," replied Scully.  "Mulder has 
only been out of counseling for a short time and knowing 
his overblown sense of responsibility, it would be just 
like him, or his subconscious, to create this nightmare as 
some form of punishment for his inability to save the 
world."  

Scully knew her words sounded harsh but sometimes the very 
traits that she admired in him, that made her love him, 
were also a constant source of frustration. 

"Mulder thinks that the dream represents suppressed 
memories of childhood sexual abuse.  There is no doubt that 
there was mental and emotional abuse in his home, I just 
hate to think that there was also sexual abuse."  

Byers regretted the direction that the conversation was 
taking.  He had not intended to create a situation that 
would cause Scully to revisit her worries and concerns for 
Mulder.  

"Mulder is where he can get expert help in resolving his 
problems," said Byers.  "It isn't possible to change the 
past but there are coping skills that make it possible to 
live with it.  Dr. Davis will help Mulder acquire these 
skills."  

Scully was grateful for Byers reassurances; she would make 
good use of his sentiment.

Back at their lair, the three men discussed what Scully had 
told them.  

"She obviously was surprised that Mulder is ill again 
especially since Dr. Davis had been so confident that Agent 
Mulder had recovered from the trauma of the Norgrove case," 
said Byers. "Also she indicated that when he returned to 
work, he seemed back to normal."

Langly smiled and commented, "Whatever `normal' is for 
Mulder."  

This comment earned him a dark look from Frohike. 

Langly then added, "It seems instead of having recovered, 
he is worse now than when he and Scully first found the 
Norgrove girl's body.  He went a little weirdo at the time 
but not comatose the way Agent Scully described his current 
condition"  

"This doesn't sound like the way Agent Mulder would handle 
a trauma," said Frohike.  "Hitting his hand against the 
fireplace until he broke a bone sounds like him, but this 
mental torture, driving himself insane isn't the way in 
which he would handle a traumatic situation."  

Byers and Langly both stared at Frohike.  

"Man, wishful thinking on your part," said Langly.  "Mental 
torture until he drives himself nuts is exactly what Mulder 
would do to himself."  

Frohike gave Langly another dark look.  

"Gentlemen, we accomplish nothing if we fight among 
ourselves," cautioned Byers. "I'm as reluctant as Frohike 
to accept that Mulder is doing this to himself, but I do 
have to agree with you, Langly, that Mulder is more than 
capable of it."  

Langly nodded and remarked, "It's interesting that Mulder 
described the dream as unchanging even after he had it 
several times.  I've read research on the subject and 
people who have suffered abuse, trauma, injury or loss will 
have reoccurring dreams about the painful experience and 
then the dream will lessen in frequency and intensity over 
time.  Mulder's belief that the dream was trying to revive 
memories of abuse from his childhood is a valid thought, 
but the dream in this case is only making matters worse 
instead of better."  

Byers gave Langly a quizzical look.  "You're going 
somewhere with this," he said.  

Langly was please at Byers perception.  "What if this dream 
isn't meant to resolve anything, but instead make things 
worse.  What if the whole point of the dream is to drive 
Mulder crazy?"  

Langly looked from Byers to Frohike seeking opinions.  
Frohike now had a seemingly permanent dark look on his 
face.  

"You're suggesting that Mulder's decided to dream himself 
crazy?"  

Langly smiled and shook his head.  "What if someone else 
has decided to `dream him crazy'?"  

Byers took a deep breath of exasperation and said, "Please 
don't keep us in suspense any longer, Langly.  Obviously, 
you have a theory and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't 
make us extract it from you word by word."  

Langly settled himself more comfortably in his chair. " A 
couple of years ago, I came across some information about 
government research into mind control.  There was a couple 
of `60s projects, cold war programs, one was named MK-ULTRA 
and its predecessor was named ARTICHOKE.  The purpose of 
the programs was to explore a variety of ways to control 
the human mind."  

Frohike looked dubiously at Langly.  "Are you suggesting 
that someone is controlling Mulder's dreams?" he asked.  

"What do you guys think?" asked Langly.  

The three men exchanged looks, thought deep thoughts and in 
unison said, "Conspiracy."

"So what are we talking here?  CIA, NSA, FBI?  Who 
currently is working on mind control? And why Mulder?"  
Byers asked.  

Langly responded by saying, "As to the who, it could be any 
one of those agencies.  As for why Mulder, it could have 
been a matter of accessibility.  Mulder was at Arlington 
Hospital for a week.  A government agent, regardless of the 
agency, would have unquestioned access to him."  

Frohike was still doubtful.  "Do you know that any 
government agent visited Mulder while he was hospitalized?" 
Frohike queried.  

"No," replied Langly, "But give me a week and I'll find 
out."

Snow was falling gently and the individual flakes were 
reflecting the glow emitting from the streetlights, 
creating the illusion that tiny diamonds were floating down 
from heaven.    Christmas was approaching and amid the 
swirling jewels appeared the vision of three men on a 
journey to a humble structure.   

"I hope one of you guys has your key.  I don't know what I 
did with mine," said Langly.  

Frohike scowled at him, "So much for security."  

"Here," said Byers, "I have mine." 

The three wise men entered the building and quickly shed 
their outerwear as the crystals, which had adhered to their 
coats, melted and saturated the material. Once they had 
settled in their lair, Langly presented to his companions a 
short stack of papers.  

"That's a copy of the sign-in log for the week that Mulder 
was in the hospital. I've highlighted the entries that show 
visitors for Mulder.  You'll note that there was only one 
other visitor besides Agent Scully."  

Byers gave Langly a wary look.  "Do I want to know how you 
obtained this log?" he asked.  

"Through clever cunning, my friend.  I got the names of the 
clerical staff who work in the front office at the hospital 
and did some snooping around until I was able to find a 
role playing group that one of the clerks attended."  

Frohike looked at Langly in astonishment.  "That is what 
you call clever cunning?  What if none of the clerks were 
into role-playing?  What if they were all normal people?"  

Langly did not insult easily.  

Smiling at Frohike he replied, "There are a total of twenty 
people who work in the front office covering three shifts.  
I knew out of that many people, there had to be at the very 
least one person who was a gamer."  

Obviously more impressed than was Frohike, Byers asked, 
"And how exactly did that get you these copies?"  

Langly once again smiled and leaned back in his chair, 
clasping his hands behind his head.  His self-satisfied 
smile irritated Frohike, but curiosity won out and Frohike 
remained silent.  

"Dwebe the half-gnome had been tricked by the Silent 
Princess into giving her the coveted purple sash.  When we 
broke for refreshments, I made a side deal with Dwebe to 
help him get the sash back."  Langly extended his arms in a 
grandiose gesture. "I am Gandon, the grand magician.  Dwebe 
didn't question why I wanted the log.  He was so into the 
game that he had kinda lost touch with reality."  

Frohike rolled his eyes. "Talk about someone who has lost 
touch with reality," he said under his breath.   

"OK," said Byers, "I think we've covered that subject.  Who 
is this other person who went to see Mulder?"  

"He signed in as Dr. Charles Minx and made a notation that 
he was representing the FBI.  He isn't on the FBI payroll 
but he could have been doing it under contract. He spent 
about half an hour with Mulder and that was his only 
visit."  

Byers walked over to a table situated in the corner of the 
room and picked up the coffeepot that resided there.  He 
then stepped over to the small bathroom, filled the pot 
with water and returned it to the table.  Measuring in the 
appropriate amount of coffee grounds, he plugged in the 
pot's cord and tempted fate by watching the pot, waiting 
for it to boil.  His friends showed immense patience in 
joining him in his vigil.  A few minutes later, satisfied 
that the coffee had brewed, Byers poured himself a cup.  

"We need to talk to this man.  We need to talk to this man 
whether he wants to talk to us or not," said Byers.

The mall parking lot was filled with cars.  The falling 
snow served as both an inspiration and an irritation in the 
yearly ritual of Christmas shopping.  Inside one of the 
many parked cars, a gloved hand wiped the breath-fueled 
mist from the windshield.  

"I would feel a lot better about this if we were able to 
take more time to plan it," said Byers.

"You're right, of course," said Langly, "but Mulder has 
been in the hospital for over a week and he isn't getting 
any better.  I'm convinced that Dr. Minx is the solution to 
Mulder's problems and the faster we get to the doctor,  the 
better for Mulder."

"Heads up, men," said Frohike, "here he comes."  

The Lone Gunmen had been stalking Dr. Minx for three days 
and had now followed him to the mall.  The doctor had come 
alone to do his Christmas shopping and the Lone Gunmen saw 
a perfect opportunity to detain him.

Langly jumped out of the car and approached the doctor.  As 
he did, Byers slowly drove the car toward them.  Just 
before he reached his car, the doctor heard a voice behind 
him.

"Hey, buddy," said Langly.  "Is this your wallet?"  

With his arms full of packages, the doctor turned to look 
at Langly.

"Why, no," he said, "I'm sure it isn't.  My wallet isn't 
black."

By that time, Byers had the car beside the doctor.  Closing 
the distance between them, Langly jogged over to the 
doctor.

"Are you sure it isn't?" he asked.  "I could have sworn 
that I saw it fall out of your pocket."  

"I am quite certain.  My wallet is brown," said the doctor, 
his reserve of patience almost spent after an evening of 
Christmas shopping.  

Continuing to train his attention on the doctor, Langly 
could see out of the corner of his eye that Frohike was in 
the back seat of the Lone Gunmenmobile, about to open the 
car door.  Smiling broadly, Langly reached out his hand and 
clasped the doctor on the shoulder.

"Didn't mean to bother you, man, just thought it was your 
wallet."

The car door opened and before the doctor could object to 
the hand on his shoulder, Langly propelled him into the 
back seat.  Half of the packages managed to make it into 
the car with the doctor while the other half chose to stay 
behind, scattered on the ground.  Objecting strenuously to 
the rough treatment, the doctor's protestations abruptly 
ceased when Langly shoved his index finger into the 
doctor's ribs.  

Adopting a poor facsimile of a gangster's demur, Langly 
growled. "Shaddup, or I'll drill ya so full of holes, 
you'll look like an organic peg board."  

The doctor paled at this pronouncement.  Frohike groaned 
and Byers, behind the wheel, rolled his eyes.  Langly tied 
a handkerchief across the doctor's face, obscuring his 
vision.  Mercifully, Langly then joined his partners in 
silence for the remainder of the ride.

Having escorted Doctor Minx into their lair, Langly walked 
him to a chair and seated him, leaving the blindfold in 
place.  

Langly perched on the edge of the desk next to the doctor's 
chair and once again adopted the gangster demur.  "OK, 
Sparky, this is the way it is, see?  Your' gonna talk to us 
and your' gonna talk to us fast, see?  Your' gonna tell us 
everything we want to know, see?  Otherwise, we're gonna do 
things to ya that usually require anesthetics, see?"

"What is it that you want to know, what could I possibly 
know that is so important?"  the doctor's voice trembled 
and he was near tears.

"About a month ago, you went to visit someone at Arlington 
Hospital.  You had a nice little visit with him.  He hasn't 
been the same since.  Just what did you say to him?"  
Langly was attempting to continue a gangster persona but it 
was obvious that he shouldn't quit his day job.

The doctor grew very still and quiet.  He took several deep 
breaths and then in a strained voice said, "I don't know 
what you are talking about.  I don't believe I have ever 
been to Arlington Hospital."

"Cum on, Bones.  Of course you was there. My sources know 
what they's talking about. You was there, Doc," said 
Langly.

"I'm sorry," replied the doctor. "In this case, your 
sources are in error."

Langly sighed in frustration, rose and slowly walked around 
the doctor's chair.  "Doctor, I was quite serious about 
what I said earlier.  I meant every word.  And we don't 
have no anesthetics here."

Langly came to a halt in front of the doctor, his hands on 
his hips.

In the same quiet, strained voice, the doctor said, "Then 
you'll still get the same answer.  I have never been to 
Arlington Hospital."

Langly turned to Byers and, with a questioning look on his 
face, pounded his fist several times into his open palm.  
Byers looked at him, wide-eyed and then slowly shrugged his 
assent.  Langly turned back to look at the doctor, paused, 
and then his shoulders slumped.  Closing his eyes, he 
slowly shook his head.  Looking once more at Byers, Langly 
gave him a pleading look.  Byers gave Langly a sympathetic 
smile.  

"You asshole," said Frohike.

"Help yourself," said Langly, walking away from the doctor.

Frohike marched over to stand in front of the doctor and, 
once there, squared his shoulders.  Taking a few marching-
in-place steps, Frohike shook himself and once again 
squared his shoulders.  He stood for several minutes 
looking at the doctor.  Then, sighing in defeat, he turned 
and walked away.

"All right, all right," cried the doctor.  "I'll tell you.  
You don't have to hurt me.  I'll tell you.  It's been 
killing me ever since it happened.  I'll be glad to get it 
off my chest."

The three men all turned and looked at the doctor in 
astonishment. Langly almost tripped on his own feet getting 
back over to the doctor.
     
"Ok, Bones, spill it.  What happened?"  asked Langly.

"I run a small clinic," began the doctor. "I help people with 
behavior modification.  I can help them stop smoking, lose 
weight, stop biting their nails.  Any behavior that a 
person wants to change, I can help them achieve their goal 
with hypnosis.  Unfortunately, I have never been able to 
help myself overcome my gambling problem.  And that is what 
got me into this situation.  I live an average life, I live 
in an average house, I have an average family and I like it 
that way.  But I've risked losing it, for years I've risked 
losing it because of my addiction to gambling.  And it 
doesn't matter what I gamble on, as long as I'm gambling.  
Ballgames, horse races, car races, it doesn't matter."

The doctor stopped in his narration obviously needing to 
collect himself.  Rubbing his hands back and forth several 
times against his knees, he took several deep breaths and 
continued his story.

"A year ago I had gotten myself in pretty deep and was 
starting to think I might have to confess to my wife what I 
had done.  Then I was approached by a man.  A man who told 
me he could help me out of my current predicament if I 
would co-operate.  I was close to being desperate, so I 
listened.  He said I would be given a few courses in some 
new hypnotic techniques that had been developed by the 
government.  It sounded harmless, so I agreed.  The 
techniques weren't so different from what I was familiar 
with and the money they paid me took care of my debts.  It 
all seemed all right until a few months ago.  The same man 
called me and said that I was needed.  There was someone 
whom he wanted me to see.  To work with.  Or rather, on."

The doctor once again paused.  When it became obvious that 
he was at a loss on how to continue, Langly posed a 
question.

"What were you to do to this person?"  he asked.

The doctor let out a long sigh before answering.  "First 
you must understand a few things about hypnosis.  Hypnosis 
is simply the harnessing of your imagination or thoughts to 
achieve your personal and professional goals.  Hypnosis is 
not mind control.  You cannot make someone do something 
against his or her will using hypnosis.  In fact, hypnosis 
will not work if the person is not in agreement with what 
is being suggested to them.  I was never told the reason 
for what I was being asked to do.  I have to admit, I 
was so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn't press 
very hard for an explanation.  But it appeared to me that 
instead of using hypnosis to create a positive behavior 
pattern, I was being asked to created a negative one."

"You said that hypnosis will not work if the person is not 
in agreement with what is being suggested.  The man you 
hypnotized, his name is Mulder, Mulder didn't agree to the 
suggestions you made, did he?" asked Byers.

Dr. Minz once more sighed deeply.  "I was given a brief 
explanation of why he was in the hospital.  I talked to 
him, under hypnosis, about what had happened, how he felt 
about it, his guilt, his feelings of responsibility.  I 
encouraged his feelings of guilt and then I planted the 
suggestion of a dream."  At this point, the doctor once 
again paused.

"Go on," urged Byers.

"I made the suggestion that a few weeks after his release 
from the hospital,  he would have a dream.  This dream 
would be one in which he would be deeply humiliated.  It 
would be a fitting punishment for his inability to have 
fulfilled his responsibilities. My orders were to instruct 
him that, over time, the dream would increase in frequency, 
until he would have the dream whenever he slept.  My only 
explanation for their wanting this done was to drive him 
insane."  

"And you went along with it," sneered Frohike.  "Have you 
no sense of shame, no decency, no conscience?"

  "Ok," said Byers, "We don't have time for recriminations.  
What we need is to find out who `they' are and figure out a 
way to help Mulder."

"I can't help you with who `they' are," said the doctor.  
"The man who contacted me never gave me his name and we 
always met in small cafes.  As for helping Mr. Mulder, I 
simply have to put him under hypnosis again and instruct 
him to stop the dream."

Langly blink rapidly several times. "That simple?  All you 
do is re-hypnotize him and tell him to stop?"

"Actually, yes, it's that simple.  In fact, if you take me 
to him right now, I can do it in a few minutes."  

The doctor moved his head as if looking at them when 
actually he was looking toward where he had heard their 
voices.  What the doctor couldn't see was the three men 
looking at each other in dismay.  The revelation of so 
simple a solution, a solution that  appeared to be out of 
their reach, etched a deep look of disappointment on each 
of their faces.

"We have a small logistics problem, Doctor.  Mr. Mulder is 
back in Arlington Hospital, thanks to your dream.  You are 
apparently very good at what you do." Said Byers.

The doctor slumped in his chair.  "I didn't become a doctor 
to hurt people.  I wanted to help people reach their full 
potentials, I wanted to help them better use their God-
given talents.  I would do anything to undo what has 
happened."

"Well, maybe you can get back into the hospital and talk to 
Mulder again,"  said Langly.  "You signed in as FBI, you 
must have had an ID, just use that again."

"I don't have it anymore.  I had to give it back after I 
saw Mr. Mulder," said the doctor.

"You're not much use at all, are you, doctor?" said 
Frohike.  "I think we might do a few of those things to you 
that usually require anesthesia after all."

"Or maybe, instead of Mohammed going to the mountain, the 
mountain can come to Mohammed," said Lanlgy.

Frohike gave Langly one of those dark looks that he now 
reserved exclusively for Langly.  "Perhaps while we have 
the doctor here, he could help you with some positive 
behavior adjustments."

"Wait," said Byers. "Langly, please, in as few words as 
possible."

"Come on," said Langly, "We're suppose to be these hot shot 
crusaders for justice, righters of wrongs.  Let's have a 
little derring-doing here. We've already committed 
kidnapping.  Breaking someone out of a mental hospital 
can't add too much to the criminal count.  One of us goes 
visits Mulder, gives him a heads-up on our plan and then, 
bingo, we spring him!"

"Except, nimrod, Mulder is comatose and not exactly in a 
position to assist us with his release.  And they aren't 
about to let us cart him out the front door unchallenged,"
said Frohike.

"So, we don't cart him out the front door," said Langly, 
smiling.

Byers groaned,  "Please, not word by word.  Just say it."

"I once knew this guy, and we were walking down the street 
one day and he pointed out a bank.  He said he was sure 
that they had all the high tech alarm systems and locks 
that were available.  But, he said, all someone would have 
to do to get into the vault was to remove the grating on 
the side of the building that vented the air conditioning 
and crawl right in.  And you know what?  A couple of months 
later that is exactly what someone did."  Lanlgy retained 
the smile on his face.

"Do you still go visit your friend at the big house?" asked 
Frohike.

Under the cover of darkness, the three men crept silently 
toward the large, brick building.  One of the men clutched 
a Phillips-head screwdriver in his hand, another man held 
the building's blueprint in his hand, and the last man 
simply crossed his fingers.  Working quickly, the screws to 
the grating were removed, the grating pulled from the wall 
and the three men shimmied their way into the aluminum 
tunnel.  Silence was of the essence and served as an excuse 
for not inquiring for directions when they became lost in 
the maze.  Finally, identifying their location on the now-
tattered map, they confidently headed in the direction of 
their quarry.  

Peering through the grating into the room, they saw Mulder 
lying on the small cot.  The grating to the room was  near 
the ceiling and the cot was positioned directly under the 
grating.  The grating was merely pushed into the opening, 
not attached with screws, so removing it was easy, except 
for the necessity of not allowing it to fall to the floor.  
Pushing the grating out, it was then turned and eased back 
into the opening and placed against the tunnel wall.  One 
by one, the men lowered themselves onto the cot and stepped 
down to the floor.  

Wrapping Mulder securely in the sheet, one man took him by 
the shoulders and one man supported him by the legs.  As 
they lifted him, the third man supported Mulder's back and 
together, standing on the cot, they lined him up with the 
tunnel opening and slowly slid him in.  Giving Frohike a 
leg up, Byers assisted him in joining Mulder in the tunnel.  
Moving Mulder further into the tunnel, Frohike himself 
moved further into the tunnel, making room for the others.  
Langly now gave Byers a leg up and was about to hoist 
himself up when he heard footsteps.  Langly quickly looked 
toward the small window in the door that led out to the 
hallway.  The sound of the footsteps had stopped and 
Langly heard a voice.

"How you doing, Mr. Keese?"  

The sound of the footsteps then continued.  Realizing that 
an orderly was making a bed check, Langly held up his hand 
to indicate to Byers to wait.  Langly lay down on the small 
cot and pulled the wool blanket over himself.  A moment 
later, a face appeared in the small window.

 A voice said, "How you doing, Mr. Mulder?"  

Langly lay still, knowing that the orderly was not 
expecting a reply.  In a moment the orderly would move on.  
This was the point in his life that Langly would later 
credit with being the moment in which he got religion.  For 
at that moment, his nose began to itch.  Franticly wiggling 
his nose to keep from sneezing, Langly spontaneously 
discovered the capacity to pray.  He prayed as fervently 
as any devote Christian, Muslim or Buddhist. Or any fanatic 
who has ever sat on a mountaintop, waiting for the mother 
ship to arrive.  And as every other religious person has 
learned, Langly discovered that God answers prayer in his 
own way.  A body-racking sneeze emitted from Langly.  The 
orderly remained at the door. Langly lived through the 
longest moment in history. 

In a compassionate voice, the orderly said, "God bless you, 
Mr. Mulder." 

And the orderly moved on to the next room.  Langly 
convinced himself that he remained on the cot in order to 
make sure that the orderly would not return.  He preferred 
that thought to the thought that if he stood up now, he 
would pass out.  After assuring himself that the orderly 
was gone and that his legs would hold him, Langly stood on 
the cot and raised himself into the tunnel.  He replaced 
the grating and joined his companions. 

The long journey to the outside opening was tedious and 
tiring. They paused only once as they passed another 
grating and heard someone comment about  a need to call the 
exterminator to look into the rat problem in the vents.  
Hoping that they were the cause of the concern and hoping 
not to meet any of the four-legged version, they continued 
their trek.  At last, they saw the proverbial light at the 
end of the tunnel.  While Langly and Byers conveyed Mulder 
to the car, Frohike reattached the grating to its opening.

Mulder was transported to Doctor Minx's clinic where the 
doctor awaited their arrival.  The doctor had prepared a 
syringe for Mulder and had warned Mulder's three friends 
that the application of a stimulant was a necessity, albeit 
an evil necessity.   Mulder needed to be coherent, at least 
coherent enough to understand what the doctor was saying to 
him.  But the amount of stimulant necessary to achieve this 
end was extremely risky. Although Mulder's mental heath had 
never been that stable, his physical heath had always been 
excellent and it was hoped that that would see him through.

The doctor moved a chair next to the coach on which Mulder 
lay.  Taking the syringe in his right hand and pointing the 
end of the needle upward, he used the thump and index 
finger of his left hand to flick the side of the syringe to 
cause any bubbles in the syringe to rise. He applied 
pressure to the plunger and expelled the few bubbles from 
the solution.  Byers walked over to the doctor and took the 
syringe from him.  Kneeling beside him, Byers pushed 
Mulder's shirt sleeve off Mulder's arm and onto his 
shoulder.  Using the small antiseptic swipe that the doctor 
had provided, Byers wiped an area on Mulder's arm and 
quickly inserted the needle into the arm, pushed in the 
plunger and quickly withdrew the needle.  The men 
watched Mulder and saw that his eyes were beginning to 
focus.  The doctor began to quietly talk to him.  The 
other three men removed themselves to a respectful distance 
from the doctor and his patient. Only a few minutes passed 
before the doctor rejoined the three men.  

"I can't make any guarantees," he said.  "These weren't the 
most ideal conditions under which to perform hypnosis.  
Hypnosis works best when the subject is responsive to the 
hypnotic suggestion.  Mr. Mulder was more than willing to 
accept the suggestion of the dream but I don't know if he 
will be so receptive to the idea of giving it up.  The 
amphetamine, his mental condition, I don't think I'm as 
confident as I was earlier."

"Is there anything else we can do for him?" asked Byers.

"He's either going to respond to this session or he isn't," 
said the doctor.  "There isn't anything else to do.  Its 
pretty much up to Mr. Mulder now.  But I would suggest that 
you get him some medical attention as soon as possible.  
His heart rate is only slightly elevated but prudence 
would dictate that he be under observation until the 
effects of the drug dissipate."  

Byers held out his hand to the doctor.  

Shaking the doctor's hand, Byers said, "Thank you for your 
help, Doctor.  We will take care of him from here."  

The three men assisted Mulder into the car and drove to the 
Washington Hospital Center.  Parking the car in the hospital's 
parking lot, the three men discussed their next move.  

"Agent Mulder," said Byers, "Can you hear me?"

Mulder looked quizzically at Byers, but did not respond.

"They don't seem to have a drop-off window," said Lanlgy, 
looking around.

Byers forestalled a retort from Frohike.  "I'll go in with 
him.  You two go home."  

Having said that, Byers assisted Mulder from the car and 
began to walk with him toward the hospital entrance.  
Hearing a sound behind him, Byers turned around.  Walking 
toward the hospital behind himself and Mulder were Langly 
and Frohike.  Byers smiled at them and continued toward the 
hospital.  Entering the ER entrance, Byers walked with 
Mulder to the admissions desk.  

"My friend here has been injected with an amphetamine," said 
Byers.  

The nurse gave Byers a wearied look.  Waving for another 
nurse to join her, the nurse made the arrangements to have 
a gurney brought to transport Mulder into one of the 
examination areas.  Asking for a name, the nurse quickly 
located Mulder in their computer.  This fortunate turn of 
events did not surprise Byers, considering Mulder's 
frequent trips to emergency rooms.  The three men stood 
together, awaiting further developments.

"Gentlemen, your friend is in good hands now.  I would 
appreciate it if you would clear the area.  We are quite 
busy in here tonight.  There's no room for spectators," the 
nurse returned to her computer screen, typing frantically.  

"I thought, maybe, because of the circumstances of our 
friend's admission, that we should remain here." began 
Byers.

"Mister, its two o'clock on a Saturday morning and all the 
bars have just let out.  You would be amazed at the variety of  
concoctions that people have ingested and injected.  Right 
now, we just want to concentrate on treating these people.  
So, please,"  gesturing toward the door, the nurse 
indicated her desire to be rid of the three men.

Standing awkwardly for a moment, the three men turned and 
slowly ambled toward the door.  Stopping outside the 
hospital entrance, Byers turned to address his companions.

"I don't feel comfortable just walking away," he said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean.  It doesn't seem right just to 
leave him," agreed Langly.  "I don't know what else to do, 
though."

Frohike looked at the two men and then with a smile on his 
face said, "What say we contact the delectable Ms. Scully."

It took several minutes for Byers to undo the many locks on 
the door that led into the Lone Gunmen's lair.  Standing on 
the doorstep was Agent Scully. The snow swirled gently 
around her and her angelic face was framed by a fur-trimmed 
hood. In other circumstances, Byers could imagine her 
bestowing upon him a sweet Yuletide carol.   Byers 
indicated for her to enter, but she declined. 

"I just wanted to stop by and tell you that Mulder is doing 
fine.  The hospital only kept him overnight.  He slept 
peacefully again last night.  No dream. That makes three 
nights in a row," said Scully. "He's still a little 
disoriented and keeps talking about traveling through a 
metal maze.  I don't think he's ready to hear what really 
happened.  I'm just out for a few minutes to pick up some 
groceries for him.  And to let you know he's on the mend."

"I'm glad to hear that.  Thank you for stopping by to let 
me know," said Byers.

"Have you had any luck in tracking down which agency 
authorized this?  Do you have any idea why they did this to 
Mulder?" asked Scully.

"No, I'm afraid not.  But we have just started our 
investigation.  And Dr. Minx is helping all he can.  He 
truly does feel remorse for his role in this.  Langly still 
thinks that Mulder was just a convenient test case," said 
Byers.  "Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas, Agent Scully."

Scully looked blankly at him for a moment.  A pained look 
then crossed her face.  

"For hate is strong and mocks the song of Peace on Earth, 
Good Will to Men." There was deep irony in Scully's voice.

Impulsively, Byers reached out and grasped her hand as he 
took up the refrain.

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.  For wrong shall fail, 
the right prevail with Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men."  
Byers looked imploringly into Scully's eyes.

Tears sprang into her eyes and briefly she squeezed 
his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Byers."
  
 The End.