From: Lovesfox Date: 17 Sep 2002 15:53:28 -0700 Subject: Connected by Lovesfox 1/12 Source: atxc Title: Connected Author: lovesfox E-mail: lovesfox@rogers.com Website: www.geocities.com/fanficcorner Rating: R (language, some violence) Category: X-File, Mulder/Scully friendship/UST Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST, X-File Spoilers: Nothing specific, up to and including S7 Summary: An experiment results in a new ability Archive: Yes to Ephemeral and Gossamer. Others - with permission, please Disclaimer: The characters herein do not belong to me, they belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Thanks: As always, to my betas Nancy and Mortis *~*~*~*~*~* Connected by Lovesfox *~*~*~*~*~* Part 1 of 12 Unknown Location Unknown Date & Time Cold. It was the first sensation to register. She was so cold. Scully shivered, and tried to concentrate. Her mind was slow to respond, felt stuffed with cotton. Discomfort. Extreme discomfort. The surface she lay upon was hard, and unyielding. Pressing into her cheek, her chest, stomach and legs, her outflung arms. Forcing her eyes open, and meeting only darkness, she attempted to move, managing to roll partially on her side and to draw her arms inward. Pain was the only reward, and she tensed in reaction. Her entire body ached -- a low, deep ache like one experienced during a bad flu. Her head worst of all. It throbbed, unmercifully. Several slow, deep breaths helped, and her muscles gradually relaxed. Only to tense up again as she suddenly thought about her partner. Where was Mulder? A picture flashed in her mind. It was of her and Mulder. They had been meeting with Doctor Vladimir Kushov in his laboratory, hearing about the scientist's fantastical discovery, when...Her head gave another twinge, and she winced, trying to remember. The pain eased, and the memory returned. Black-clad men in gas masks had suddenly burst into the lab. Before either she or Mulder had done more than reach for their weapons, the commandos or whoever they had been, had sprayed something from tiny canisters held in their gloved hands. Something cloudy and heavy that had hung in the air and made her eyes sting and water. She had coughed, feeling like she was choking, her head spinning, trying to reach Mulder. And then nothing. Until now. Obviously the canisters had contained some form of knock-out gas. She shivered again, from the cold, and at the thought that they had been deliberately drugged, and this time drew her knees up towards her chest. A moan slipped past Scully's lips as her head and stomach protested the movement. The sound echoed slightly, and was duplicated. By someone else. Her heart skipped a beat, started thumping, fear and unease roiling through her. "Mulder?" she called out, her voice raspy and hoarse. One hand went to her back, groping for her holster. Her empty holster. No gun, and a check of all her pockets revealed she was minus her ID, her wallet and her cell phone as well. She heard shuffling, like a body rolling over, and low groans. Then a croak that was his voice. "Scu-leee? You...okay?" Relief covered Scully like a warm blanket, and despite everything else, despite the fact she had no idea where they were or how they came to be there, she felt better. Not alone. "It's me, Mulder," she confirmed. "I'm...not sure how I am, though." "Know that feeling," was his wry response. More shuffling, a muttered curse, and then he asked, "Are you hurt?" "Not exactly," she said slowly, experimentally attempting to sit up, and succeeding. "My head is pounding and my body aches all over, but nothing specific. I'm also missing my gun and my phone." A pause, followed by scraping noises. "Shit," faintly reached her ears, and she assumed he had been similarly relieved of those items. His next words confirmed it. "Ditto on all counts." More shuffling sounds and then he called, "I'm not restrained at all...Can you move, Scully?" The thought that she had not been restrained in any manner should have occurred to her, but it hadn't. With a small frown, she stretched her legs out slowly. "Yes, I can." "Keep talking, Scully, and I'll work my way towards you," Mulder said next. "O-kayyyy," she answered semi-absently, blinking quickly and turning her head, trying to make out anything in the inky blackness. Dragging and scuffling sounds came then, and she imagined Mulder crawling cautiously and blindly across the unknown terrain of the floor. "Scully?" he called, sounding both anxious and impatient. She was supposed to be talking, so he could use her voice as a beacon. "Sorry, Mulder," she told the empty space in front of her. "Um, let's see...how about the human skeletal system?" Without waiting for his response, she began, "Anterior view. Skull, mandible, hyoid bone, cervical vertebra, clavicle, sternum--" A heaviness in the air, a presence, had her stopping in mid-recitation. Seconds later something brushed her pant leg, and then Mulder's hand was on her thigh. Dangerously close to another part of her body. He had apparently been somewhere to her right. The weight of his hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, as if Mulder had realized where he had grabbed her and was embarrassed. "Found you," he said, his breathing somewhat labored. Her own embarrassment was forgotten, to be replaced with concern. "Mulder, are you all right?" Struggling up onto her knees, she reached out carefully with both hands, making contact with his cheek and his shoulder. She patted both locations, soothed. "What's wrong?" Panicked, she added, "Were you hurt in the...the attack?" "I'm just...winded," he replied, one of his hands coming up to cover hers on his cheek briefly before removing her hand and squeezing it. "Felt really weak and light-headed for a moment." She thought back to that moment in the lab, saw their positions again, and realized that Mulder had been closest to the commandos. "I think you got a heavier dose of whatever was in those canisters," she opined. "Are you experiencing any other symptoms?" Mulder squeezed her hand again, bringing it to rest on his knee, still in his clasp. "I think we've covered everything." He cleared his throat, coughed a little, and then remarked, "Nice place we've got here. Cozy. Cheap on electricity." Scully smiled and shook her head. He was all right. Despite her fears, she attempted to follow his light vein, knowing it was his way of trying to reassure her, and himself. "I don't know, Mulder. I think I like my own place much better." He chuckled before mock-cheerfully saying, "Well let's blow this popsicle stand then, huh, partner?" She tried not to think of how hollow his laugh and his words had sounded, and nodded, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see her. Her voice was husky when she replied, "Definitely." *** Mulder grimaced as he knee-walked along the floor, his joints aching from the steady contact with the hard, cold concrete. Sweeping his hands lightly over the cement surface of the wall he and Scully were now investigating -- each moving in opposite directions -- and finding nothing, he inched forward again. Sweep wall, find nothing, move on. And repeat. After discussing the very limited options regarding their current situation, they had decided that exploring their 'prison', and hopefully locating a means of escape, was essential. Hence his current activity. The faint sounds to his left told him Scully was carrying out a similar search. "Anything?" he called to her, despite the fact he knew she would tell him if she were to find something. Her sigh telegraphed her frustration and exhaustion, which matched his. "Not yet," she replied a moment later, her voice faint. Dismal. Pausing for a much needed rest, he lowered his arms, hands coming to rest on his thighs, and sank down butt-to-heels. Sitting thusly, Mulder took stock. The nausea was now gone, and while the throbbing in his head had subsided, he was aware of an odd buzzing. One he would almost describe as being in his mind. He decided it must be an unusual side effect of whatever gas they had been exposed to, and hoped it would clear soon. It was distracting him from the task at hand, as well as throwing his concentration to hell. In an effort to banish the feeling, Mulder forced himself to recall and chronicle the events of the morning -- the events that had led them to this unknown location. This predicament. The call through the X-Files office line from a Dr. Vladimir Kushov early that morning, while slightly unusual, had not raised any flags or sounded an alarm. Immediately intrigued at the scientist's revelation -- that the doctor had been working on an experimental drug involving mind control -- he had corralled Scully the moment she had walked into the office, hustling her out to his Bureau car. With a promise to fill her in on the way to the lab, of course. Despite her skepticism, Scully's curiosity had been piqued. The address supplied by Dr. Kushov had led them to a rather unremarkable building on the outskirts of Washington. Said building had turned out to be a busy medical center. He and Scully had been met in the lobby by the very nervous scientist. A Russian whom neither of them had met previously, Kushov was in his early-fifties. Short and swarthy, he was possessed of a facial twitch and fluttering hands that had made Mulder feel jumpy himself. Oddly enough, the doctor's lab had been down in the basement. The gleam in Scully's eye as she flicked him a glance had told him she wanted to say he should feel right at home. He had answered her unspoken comment with a little smirk. Kushov had led them past the dual, gleaming metal elevators in the lobby and around one corner to a door with a keycard entry. Glancing over his shoulder in both directions, the doctor had pulled a white plastic card from his lab coat pocket and shot it through the slot. Yanking the door open, Kushov had gestured them through with a marked edginess. Descending concrete stairs one floor, they had followed the quick-footed doctor through an almost-labyrinth of hallways before he had stopped in front of a white-faced, unmarked door. A series of buttons to the numerical keypad lock, and then the scientist was herding them inside. Once again checking over his shoulders, nervously scanning the empty hallway. Kushov's theatrics had only served to intrigue Mulder further. The room they had entered was a typical laboratory -- long, waist-high counters covered with assorted equipment, various microscopes and test tubes. Just to the left of the door, there was a work station with an elaborate computer set-up and several monitors. All of which displayed what Mulder vaguely recognized to be scientific calculations of some sort. Dr. Kushov had urged them over to the computer and sat down before it. Pointing at one of the screens, he had babbled jargon Mulder had not followed one iota. Glancing at his partner, he had seen her nodding her understanding, an excited interest animating her features. Then things had gotten hairy. Scully had been bending over the doctor's shoulder, leaning towards the monitor, index finger pointing. He had been looking about the lab and not at his partner and the scientist when Scully had made an odd sound. As he turned back in concern, she had straightened up and stepped back, hand going to her waist, a confused look on her face. His own hands had come up in reaction, reaching for Scully, a question on his lips, when Dr. Kushov had risen from the chair and brushed past him, mumbling what had sounded like, "It's not too late." He had felt a sharp pinch near his hip, but before he could react other than to clutch at his waist as Scully had done just seconds ago, there was a thunderous crash. As his eyes had taken in the team of men in black uniforms and gas masks swarming into the lab, he had been reaching for his gun. Uselessly as it had turned out, for several of the commandos had sprayed some sort of gas at him and Scully, rendering them incapable of much movement. A last look at his partner, seeing her stumble and fall, and then he was falling as well. Still, his eyes managed to find Dr. Kushov in the back corner of the room before apparently succumbing to unconsciousness. That was all he could remember until hearing a moan that he had just known had come from Scully. Squatting now in their dark prison, he could recall the look on the scientist's face. It had not been one of surprise, but rather...resignation. As if Dr. Kushov had expected the attack. Rising back up on his knees, Mulder moved a few inches to his left and started a wall sweep again, his brain working furiously. "Scully, I think we were set up." Several beats of heavy silence, and then she replied with skeptical curiosity, "By whom?" "That's the question, isn't it?" Mulder shifted yet again and began musing out loud. "On the telephone Dr. Kushov said he had heard about me, about our investigations into the paranormal." "Not unusual in and of itself," was her response. "We've been contacted before by people who've read articles about the X-Files, or heard of some of your exploits." "True," he murmured, chuckling inwardly at her usage of the words 'your exploits', and moved another couple inches over. "His story seemed to check out though. Even the Gunmen had heard of him." His mind supplied a picture of how Scully would normally have been regarding him if they had been in the office or on a case. Arms crossed, eyebrow slightly raised, the skepticism clear on her face. She had always made him work for her support and assistance, and he was grateful for that fact. It was never a given; she didn't agree with every word he spoke simply because he was the senior agent. A partnership at its best. Mulder continued on despite the lack of a response, starting with what he considered to be the most compelling evidence. "Scully, Dr. Kushov was not surprised when those commandos burst in. I think he knew the attack was coming." Her voice when it came sounded puzzled. "And he wanted us there for it? Why?" That was something he hadn't yet figured out. "I don't know," he answered slowly, the gears in his brain turning. Scully was silent again for several moments -- the only sounds in the room were their hands sweeping the wall and the shuffling as they moved along it. "Mulder," she said at last, her voice both speculative and disturbed. "Just before the attack, I felt a sharp pinch in my side." She paused, and then clarified, "Like a needle." Mulder remembered that moment when she had seemed to falter. And he also remembered that right after, as Kushov had passed him, he had felt a pinch near his hip. "So did I, Scully," he told her. "Right after." He heard her sharp inhalation. "Mulder, I think Dr. Kushov injected us with something!" "The plot thickens," he murmured. They needed to get the hell out of this place and back to Kushov's lab. Scully made no further comment, and he was just about to call out when she said rather excitedly, "Mulder, I think I've found something!" Dropping to all fours, he crawled as rapidly as he could along the wall in Scully's direction. Bumping into her leg, he realized she was standing and rose to his feet as well. He lifted his hands up to the wall, fingers searching. She had found a door. *** End Part 1 of 12 *** Part 2 of 12 Unknown Location Unknown Date & Time Scully winced as she heard Mulder grunt again, in what had to be pain. Once it had been discovered that the door they had found was not locked but still would not open, he had insisted on attempting to ram it by himself. His supposition was that it was being blocked by something on the other side, in an effort to stall them further. For an as yet unknown reason. "Mulder, let me help," she tried to reason. For the third or fourth time. Her partner was nothing if not stubborn. "Two of us are a lot stronger than one." He was breathing heavily, clearly winded, and possibly injured from his several attempts. But she knew he hated to admit defeat. Surprisingly, he capitulated, though he had to joke about it first. "What? You don't like my manly display here, Scully?" Shaking her head to herself as Mulder could not see her, she declined to answer, and a moment later he murmured, "Come here, Scully." It didn't occur to her then, but even with the total darkness of the room, she found his outstretched hand easily. Mulder positioned her beside him, so that she would have been staring at his back if she had been able to see, telling her to lean in with her shoulder. "On the count of three," he said, "Rush the door with me." "Got it," she said, and took a few deep breaths to ready herself. Her headache had mostly disappeared, but she still felt off -- like her head was stuffed with cotton. Thick, and fuzzy, with a steady buzzing noise like a low hum. Mulder started counting, and on three, Scully moved forward, sensing her partner doing the same. THUD. Pain was like a starburst in her shoulder, radiating down her arm and through her chest. No wonder Mulder had been grunting. Using one's shoulder to force a door open hurt! She couldn't help stopping and bending, cradling her arm by cupping her elbow with her other hand. Blinking back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. CRACK. Mulder had obviously not stopped. After a few more thuds, she heard splintering sounds and then felt a rush of air as the door finally burst open. Extremely weak, hazy light filled the space beyond the room they had been held in. Slowly letting go of her elbow, she brought her hand up to shade her eyes, once again blinking rapidly. Adjusting to the light, as scant as it was, after utter blackness. A shadowy blur that she knew to be Mulder stepped over the threshold and out of their prison. "Careful, Scully," he said, and held out his hand to her. Taking a step forward, she slipped her fingers into his, gripping his hand tightly, and walked out of the room. Releasing her hold once free of the door frame, she turned around to study the area. Their teamwork had been successful. She was too sore to gloat, and knew it would only make the going rougher with him pouting, or arguing that he had weakened it with all his previous attempts. And who knows, maybe he had. "Let's get the hell out of here, Scully," Mulder said, pulling her from her musings. She wondered where 'here' was. What light there was came from holes in the floor above, and tiny casement windows high up near the ceiling. Looking around, it appeared they were in a warehouse of some sort. There was a feel of disuse about the place, and of abandonment. Not to mention the obvious signs of clutter and debris. Broken wooden pallets were piled in several spots, covered with dust and grime, probably years worth. They found a staircase, dilapidated and rickety, at one end. The lack of significant windows had led them to assume they were in the basement of the building -- again -- and that they had no choice but to risk the stairs. Mulder insisted on going first. He took hold of the railing and shook it, ensuring it was secure, before taking his first step. Scully watched nervously as he climbed, placing his feet carefully, testing each stair by bouncing his weight slightly. She exhaled noisily when his voice floated down to her. "Clear, Scully. Stick to the inside like I did." It was difficult not to hurry up the stairs, both from nerves and eagerness to be out of the basement and the building itself. Though there was still the unknown beyond -- they had no idea where they might have been brought, whether they were in D.C, or elsewhere. Once they had walked several feet it was clear they were now on the ground floor. There were more signs that it was an abandoned building, though less debris lay about. The windows were black and gray with grime, but some sun shone through regardless, letting them know it was still daytime. Scully looked at her watch. Not quite three in the afternoon. But which afternoon? "Mulder, does your watch give the date as well?" Her partner had been poking around a smaller room off the wide hallway they were walking along. He came out saying, "It's still Monday, so we only lost a few hours, as opposed to a day. Or more." Only a few hours. How comforting. "Anything in there?" she asked, nodding her head towards the 'office' he had just checked out. "Busted chair in one corner, lotta dust and some animal droppings that scared me with their size." Scully rolled her eyes, fighting a smile -- more at the crooked grin he wore than his words. Knowing that her partner was merely attempting to lighten the situation any way he could. She had been hoping for some hint or clue as to where they were -- the few attempts at looking through broken windows had shown only a rather hilly but barren landscape, with no signs of life beyond the odd stand of trees or bush. It seemed very unlikely they were going to find anything. Mulder's next words eerily echoed her thoughts. "I don't think we're going to learn anything here, Scully. We'll have to use our G-man and G-woman wits." This time she did smile, in agreement and acknowledgement of his repartee, and nodded her head. "After you." "Onward, ho," was his response, before starting off towards what they believed was an exit. *** Once outside, and once they had adjusted to the bright sunlight, Scully asked him to lift his shirt. Mulder couldn't resist a tease. Waggling his eyebrows, he said, "Note to self. Imprisonment makes Scully frisky." Her huff of irritation was only partly real, he knew. Grinning, he pushed his jacket aside and yanked his shirt out of his waistband, on the side where he had been 'pinched'. Scully stood to his left and bent slightly at the waist, tilting her head to the side. This placed her just inches from his groin, which had him biting his tongue on a much cruder comment. He crossed many lines with her all the time, but hadn't yet gone that far. Cool fingers touched his skin then as she tucked them inside, and he startled. She pulled the waistband of his pants down further and took his boxers along for the ride. "Ticklish?" she queried semi-absently, now much closer to him. So close that her breath rose a rash of goosebumps over his skin. "Uh...yeah," he answered, fighting a shiver. Let her think that was the reason, it was safer that way. "Damn it!" she exclaimed suddenly. One finger lightly traced a spot just above his hip, and he sucked in his next breath in reaction. "That's definitely an injection site." Straightening, she matter-of-factly untucked her shirt on her right side and pulled the band of her pants down. Baring her shapely hip and the spaghetti-thin strap of her panties. Thong, if he was not mistaken. Swallowing noisily, he managed to quip, "Frohike's gonna be soooo jealous." "No, he isn't," she stated in a warning tone of voice, eyebrow arched high. "Just kidding, Scully." He stepped closer and bent as she had, peering at her smooth, soft-looking skin. With the afternoon shadows, it was hard to make out any imperfections, and he had to lean in even closer. A faint redness caught his eye, and he brought his hand up, index finger touching lightly. And there it was -- a small white dot in the midst of a slightly larger reddened circle of flesh. Mulder let his thumb rub the spot briefly, before straightening and moving back, meeting her gaze. "Why aren't I surprised, Scully?" There was no need for her to reply. After she had righted her clothes, he suggested that they check the perimeter of the building. Doing so confirmed that the structure, almost certainly a warehouse, was indeed abandoned, and actually falling down in some places. They had also discovered that there was no sign of any other buildings for as far as their eyes could see. It looked like they had quite the hike in front of them. And a good portion of it downhill, as the warehouse was located atop a significant rise in the landscape. Amidst other hills. "Hope you wore your hikin' shoes, partner," he remarked with mock-enthusiasm. Standing a few feet from the torn-up blacktop they were about to follow, Mulder frowned as he scanned the area. Rough terrain, neither of them were in top form, and the sun would be setting in a few short hours. Not to mention the fact that his partner was wearing two-inch heels. "We'd better start out, Scully." He turned and watched Scully heave herself off of the wood pile she had sat down on for a brief rest. After brushing her pants off, she met his gaze, her face calm, but her eyes showed her disquiet. "We can do it, Scully," he said quietly, and wrangled a very small smile from her. Her chin lifted as she moved to stand beside him, shoulders squared. "Piece of cake," she replied staunchly, attempting to match his confidence. Those were two of the many traits he had always admired about Scully -- her stoicism and her determination. He depended on those traits, had been bolstered by them on countless occasions. Rubbing his belly, he playfully groaned, "Why did you have to go and mention food?" Now that the effects of the gas seemed to have worn off, he was feeling rather hungry. Though his head had yet to clear. Her smile widened, seemed more natural. "Come on, Mulder, let's move." With that, she started off. Smiling himself, he followed her. They hiked roughly a mile or so in silence, until Scully nearly turned an ankle when she stepped on a loose piece of road. Cursing, his partner hobbled to the side, sitting down on a convenient boulder. Mulder hustled to her side and crouched in front of her, watching her rub her ankle. "You okay, Scully?" he asked anxiously. "It's not broken, is it?" In his mind he was running through their options if her ankle was broken -- her staying behind while he continued on to get help or him carrying her the whole way. Neither was appealing, but there was no chance he would leave her alone. "No," she sighed, looking at him woefully. "It's not broken. I just turned it on a chunk of pavement." Stretching her leg out in front of her, she rotated her foot, wincing a little. "Give me a couple minutes." "Sure, Scully," Mulder said, and got to his feet. Turning, he surveyed the brush to their left, hoping to spot a suitable-sized branch she might be able to use as a walking stick. Nothing. He crossed the road, looking down into the small gully on the right side, and spied a couple of likely candidates. "Be right back, Scully," he called, and made his way down into the depression. Picking up the first branch, he found looks could definitely be deceiving. After testing it by leaning his weight on it and having it snap, he discarded it and moved on. A few minutes later he found one that was a good four inches thick, and cautiously leaned into it. When it held firm, he quickly stripped the tiny off-shoots from the branch and brushed away the dirt and leaves that had been clinging to it. He used it to climb the small hill back to the road. Glancing at Scully he saw she was putting her shoe back on, a grimace on her face. Nearly slipping on a patch of loose gravel, he looked down as he caught his balance. <> At the top, and on reasonably solid terra firma in the shape of pavement, he glanced at Scully again. He hadn't caught all of her last statement. "What did you say, Scully?" he asked as he walked across the road to her boulder. "Hmmm?" she murmured, looking up at him, a puzzled look on her face. "I didn't say anything." Mulder frowned. "You said something about blisters," he stated semi-confidently. She blinked and her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. After a few seconds she spoke. "I didn't say anything, Mulder," she repeated. "I had been thinking to myself that I wished I hadn't worn my new shoes this morning because they're giving me blisters." He would swear she had said it out loud and that he just hadn't been paying attention. Scully had that obstinate look on her face, the one that said there was no way in hell she was changing her mind. Rather than start an argument -- as it would be a very long walk in silence if he did -- he acquiesced, shrugging his shoulders. Still, he couldn't resist mumbling, "Maybe you didn't realize you said it out loud." "Mulder-" "Never mind," he said quickly, thrusting the improvised walking stick at her. "Here. You can use this branch to help you navigate." The perturbed look faded away, to be replaced by one of gratitude. "Thank-you, Mulder," she said softly. "No sweat," he told her, and held out his hand to help her up. He didn't let go until he was sure she was steady on her feet, wincing at her frown when she first put weight on her injured foot. "Set?" he asked. "Set," she confirmed, and they resumed their hike, Scully using her walking stick. *** End Part 2 of 12 *** Part 3 of 12 Unknown Location Monday 4:30 PM Over an hour had passed since their impromptu stop due to her misstep, and Scully was ready for another break. She had not lied to Mulder; her injury *was* only a turned ankle, but it throbbed painfully each time she put weight on it. And then there were her newly formed blisters, on the heels of both feet. Thinking about the blisters had her recalling their little exchange about whether or not she had told him about them. She frowned -- she *knew* she had not said a word, mumbled or otherwise. And Mulder, the stubborn goat that he was, had to argue about it. Ahead of her, Mulder stumbled suddenly, muttering an epithet. He waited until she was abreast of him, and then turned to look at her, gritting, "I am not a stubborn goat!" What the hell? Scully blinked, and nearly stumbled herself. My God, had she said that out loud? "Well?" he demanded, his hands now on his hips. He was glowering at her, tension in every line of his body. "Mulder, I--" she began, and stopped. She didn't know what to say. It was entirely possible she had said it out loud. Sighing, she made her apology. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm tired and hungry, my ankle hurts, and my head..." her voice trailed off momentarily as she tried to find the words to describe how she felt. Finally she went with, "My head feels funny. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you." Some of the tension eased from him, and his glare disappeared. His brow was wrinkled though, and he looked distracted and contemplative. Inwardly focused. "No problem, Scully," he said after several long seconds. "We ready to go on?" Feeling uncomfortable despite his acceptance of her apology, she nodded and started onward again, instead of suggesting a break. Conversation was minimal -- limited to pointing out possible pitfalls along their path and the odd comment about the other's welfare. As the afternoon shadows grew longer, and her blisters passed into the near-excruciating stage, Scully found herself recalling the two strange incidents between Mulder and herself. Him insisting she had said something when she was sure she hadn't, and then not long after, it again seemed as if she had spoken when she thought she hadn't. Almost as if Mulder had-- "Read your mind?" Mulder's voice, repeating her thoughts. Out loud. This time she did stumble, arms pin-wheeling before she fell on her rear end with an undignified grunt. Mulder hurried to her, kneeling in the dusty, rocky excuse for a road, concern written all over his features. "Scully? You all right?" She smiled ruefully at him, knowing her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. "I'm fine," she told him. "I'm not too sure about my pride, though." Smiling back at her briefly, Mulder sank back until he too was sitting on his hind quarters, long legs sprawling. Cocking his head, he eyed her speculatively. Her stomach twisted in a knot. She had a bad feeling about what he was going to say. "I heard you, Scully. Clear as day." Shaking her head rather emphatically, she protested, "Mulder, I didn't--" "Say it out loud," he finished for her. "I know, Scully. But you thought it." Could she call them or what? Her stomach twisted again. "Mulder--" Again he interrupted her, repeating his first statement, with emphasis on one word. "I *heard* you, Scully." Bringing one hand up, he tapped his temple. "In my head," he clarified. He was not suggesting what she thought he was suggesting. He couldn't be. "My head feels funny, too," Mulder stated. "Not a headache, but something else. Like a buzzing. I first noticed it when we were trapped in that storage room. I thought it was a side-effect of the gas." Scully frowned. That's exactly how her head felt. Like it was buzzing. His words clicked then. "You don't think that anymore?" "No. I think it has something to do with whatever Kushov injected into us." "Mind control." She stated it flatly. "Mind *reading*," he corrected, excitement coloring his tones, his facial features. His body language screamed it. "Telepathy." "Mulder--" "No, no. Hear me out, Scully. Psychic phenomenon have been reported for millennia. You and I have certainly seen evidence of clairvoyance and precognition in our years on the X-Files. Even mind control, Scully. Remember Robert Modell and Linda Bowman?" "How could I forget?" she said lowly. She still had the rare dream about one or the other. Sometimes Mulder shot her, sometimes he shot himself. Pushing those dark thoughts away, she rallied her argument. "Mulder, Robert Modell was an anomaly. His tumor--" Mulder stood abruptly, halting her in mid-sentence. His frustration with her was clear. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he stalked several feet away, his back to her. Scully eyed him for a moment, and then slowly got to her feet, testing her ankle carefully. Sore, but holding steady. It was as she was brushing her pants off that Mulder spun around suddenly. He spoke only two words. A name. "Gibson Praise." Tension sang in her body, and she had to fight not to grimace in reaction. Thinking of the unknown fate of the young boy was a bitter blow, and always brought up memories of Diana Fowley. Unpleasant memories. God, she'd never liked that bitch. "Scully?" Mulder asked, a deep frown on his face. His shock was clear. Taking a few steps towards her, he continued, "I never knew...I never realized you felt that strongly about Diana." Scully looked at him in disbelief. He hadn't known? Had he been so blinded by all that Diana Fowley had once been to him that he hadn't seen his partner's pain? Then again, he hadn't seen Fowley's duplicitous nature either. "I guess I didn't realize a lot of things," he said then, echoing her thoughts. She looked away from the intensity of his gaze, staring down at her feet for a moment as she composed herself. "It's in the past now, Mulder," she said quietly, meeting his gaze once again. Hoping he would let the matter drop. He did, but brought up another confusing time, one not so far in the past. His own experience with the alien artifact rubbings. Scully tensed anew, unsure of how to respond. She did not want to get into a discussion about all that time had engendered -- her trip to the Ivory Coast, Mulder's stay in a neuropsych ward, the interference again of Diana Fowley -- and held her tongue. Looking away from the intensity of his eyes yet again, she studied the terrain instead. Mulder made a sound she interpreted to be borne of frustration and then sighed harshly. She chanced a glance at him, and saw that he was pinching the bridge of his nose, his head tilted so that he was looking skyward. After a very long moment, he straightened and met her gaze again, appearing calmer. His mercurial moods had always amazed her. "We need to test this out, Scully," he said. "Excuse me?" *** Mulder held back the laughter that threatened to erupt. Scully's lips were pursed mutinously and she wore her skepticism like a suit of armor. Now perched on another convenient boulder, she was eying him balefully. He was across from her, straddling a log he had dragged over, with no more than a foot between them. She had adamantly vetoed the idea that they sit cross- legged on the ground facing each other, knees touching. "Relax, Scully," he told her. "You're stiffer than a board." Actually, she looked like she was about to face a firing squad. The look she shot him was not pretty. But this time he did laugh, surprisingly coaxing a tiny smile from her in the process. "I'll try," she said, and semi-theatrically took a deep breath, straightening up as she inhaled and slumping as she exhaled. "Okay," he began in a carefully modulated voice. "Close your eyes, breathe slowly and deeply, and try to empty your mind." Scully snorted softly, her eyebrow arching briefly, but complied with his instructions, eyes slipping shut. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Even with her eyes closed she looked skeptical. Closing his own eyes, Mulder adjusted his breathing rate to match hers. He was aware of so many things -- the faint chirping of birds in the distance, the rustle of dead leaves stirred by the slight wind that had arisen in the last hour, the feel of the late afternoon sun on his cheeks. But most of all, he was aware of Scully. Long moments passed by, and nothing happened. Finally, a clearly irritated Scully remarked, "Mulder, this is not going to work." "Not with your negativity, no it won't!" he snapped back, and then sucked in a sharp breath in regret. "Sorry," he said more quietly, opening his eyes to see her regarding him impassively, her lips tightly pursed. "Look, just...give it another shot, okay? Close your eyes and breathe slowly." Without waiting to see if she would or not, he shut his own eyes again and did as he had preached. Scully let out a little huff, but said nothing, so he assumed she had agreed to give it that other shot. This time it was he who called it quits. Whether they were trying too hard, or *he* was, or it was something else like Scully's disbelief, nothing was happening. Sighing, he opened his eyes and studied his partner for a few seconds before saying, "I'm not hearing anything Scully, and it's going to be getting darker soon. We can try again later after we make it back to civilization and get something to eat and some rest." Scully's eyes popped open and she nodded, though her body language said she thought the effort wasn't worth it. "Okay," she said simply, and rose to her feet. He followed suit, brushing the bark from the seat of his pants, and started off once more, Scully a few steps behind him. They had not gone far, perhaps thirty feet or so, when Mulder heard Scully's cynical thought loud and clear. <> He wasn't offended; his partner was just being true to her nature. "Actually, Scully, I always wanted to fly," he remarked out loud. Turning his head to the side, he sent a smirk her way. "What are you talking about now, Mulder?" she asked, somewhat crabbily. The frown lines were deep on her face, and though she continued walking, she was holding her body very stiffly, arms crossed defensively over her chest. "While levitation is certainly an interesting feat, I always wished for the ability to fly," he explained, feeling strangely light-hearted and suddenly energized. A grin broke free, curved his lips wide. He was reading her mind. *Reading* Scully's mind. That knowledge was almost enough to blow *his* mind. Scully made a choked sound, and Mulder glanced at her again. Saw that she was gaping at him like a fish, mouth hanging open. It wasn't a flattering description, but it was apt -- her eyes were huge and her face pale as well, completing the image. Stopping dead in her tracks, his stunned partner murmured dazedly, "You just..." her voice faded, then grew stronger again. "Mulder, you really can read my mind, can't you?" "Yup." He couldn't help feeling smug. Not because he had been right and she was wrong, exactly, though that was certainly an important factor. Well, maybe that was the only factor. "Gloating doesn't become you, Mulder," Scully put in then, and he wondered if she had merely read him because she knew him, or if she had *read* him. Again she echoed his thoughts, rather eerily. "And I'm not reading your mind, Mulder. I just know you. Besides, you've got that look on your face." Guilty as charged -- what could he say? Yet like a child who cannot sit still, Mulder could not remain quiet about their amazing discovery. "It's incredible, isn't it, Scully?" he asked, going up to her to lay his hands on her shoulders. "Yes. Yes, it is," she replied, voice still reflecting her shock. She blinked slowly, brilliant blue eyes now showing her growing wonder. "It's more than incredible, Mulder, it's...well, it's scientifically amazing!" Nodding, he said, "We've got to get back to D.C., Scully. Get this tested somehow." The circumstances leading up to their miraculous discovery occurred to him, and he added, "We need to find Dr. Kushov. Urgently." "Then let's get going," she said. *** End Part 3 of 12 *** Part 4 of 12 Unknown Location Monday 5:45 PM Still reeling from the knowledge that Mulder could indeed read her mind, Scully walked several feet forward in a semi-daze. When Mulder called out from behind her, telling her to be careful, she realized she was close to the drop-off into the small gully at the side of the road. With a shake of her head, she moved herself over to the center of the tarmac. <> She had stepped forward on her bad ankle just as she heard Mulder's thought in her head, like a voice speaking into a headset. In her shock, she pressed quite heavily on that foot instead of carefully as she had been, sending an arrow of pain up her calf. An expletive slipped past her lips. "Shit!" "Scully?" Mulder queried worriedly, loping to her side. One of his hands came down on her shoulder as he leaned slightly to look into her face. "You okay?" Shifting her weight onto her good leg, she lifted the injured foot and slowly rotated her ankle. She nodded. "Yeah, just stepped wrong on the bad foot." Taking a deep and somewhat shaky breath, she met his gaze evenly and stated her next words matter-of-factly. "Mulder, I heard you." He nodded slowly, as if he had been waiting for such an admittance. Still, he murmured a need for clarification, "In your head?" "In my head," she confirmed. "I heard you say 'shell- shocked'. I assume you were talk...thinking about me?" His hand was rubbing up and down her upper arm, and she wasn't sure if he was even aware of the action. Smiling a bit ruefully, he replied, "The way you were walking like you weren't even aware of your surroundings, I thought to myself that you were acting shell-shocked." Her lips curved a little in response. "I guess I am a little shell-shocked, Mulder." "Understandable, Scully," he returned in a gentle voice. One last squeeze of her arm, and then his hand slid away, dropping to his side for a moment before he lifted it to gesture down the road. "You okay to go on, or do I have to carry you the rest of the way?" She laughed, appreciating once again Mulder's attempt to lift their moods. "As if you could!" Lightening fast, he sobered. "I'd do my best, Scully." So did she, sad that she had been the one to put a downer on their newfound lightheartedness after a somewhat tense time. "I know, Mulder." His hand came up and palmed her back briefly as they started forward yet again. This time they walked side-by-side, in a companionable silence, their pace slightly quicker than before. Her ankle gave the occasional protest, but she ignored it. They had delayed too often already. Sometime later, she read Mulder again. <> Her stomach rumbled and she swung her head to the side to shoot a look at him. "Mulder, were you just thinking about pizza?" His eyes met hers briefly. "I'm hungry," he said plaintively, his hand lifting to rub his belly briefly, before patting the front pocket of his pants. Next he tried his inner jacket pocket, fingers coming out empty. "You sure you don't have anything in your pockets, Scully?" Sighing wistfully, she responded glumly, "No, nothing. Not even a breath mint or a stick of gum." Stepping carefully to the side to avoid a large pothole in her path, she paused before continuing. "Thinking and talking about it will only make you hungrier. Not to mention me." "I know," he replied, dodging his own pothole. "I can't help it though. I didn't even really have breakfast this morning and that was..." he lifted his arm to consult his watch, "...about 11 hours ago, Scully. The tree bark's starting to look good." She had to agree with him -- she'd started imagining a salad of twigs and grass. Her own breakfast many hours ago had been insubstantial as well. "Try and think of something else, Mulder. Please." Another ten or fifteen minutes passed, with still no change in scenery, or glimpse of a town. She found herself walking a bit faster, pulling ahead of Mulder as they followed a long, slow curve in the road. Hoping there would be some sort of evidence of civilization once they passed the latest thick stand of trees. Mulder had been fairly quiet since she had asked him not to think about food, sometimes whistling softly, sometimes mumbling snatches of songs. She had not read any stray thoughts from him at all, and it was as she was musing the whys and why nots that the clearest thought yet filled her mind. His choice of topic startled her and embarrassed her. She refused to admit that it also sent a little thrill through her as well. <> Was he wondering if she was wearing a thong, or was he replaying some favorite porn movie? She wasn't sure if she should be angry or flattered that he wondered about her underwear, if that were indeed the case. Right now she was leaning towards angry. "Mulder?" she called out with a slight snap to her voice, stopping and turning to face her slowly approaching partner. Who was currently staring at her mid-section. Perfect viewing she supposed, for carrying out a debate on whether one's partner wore a thong or not, if said partner were facing the other way. "Huh?" he responded, sounding preoccupied. His eyes finally meandered up to her face. Blinking, he added, "Is something wrong, Scully?" "Yes, it's a thong." At another startled blink from him, she modified her statement, hands going to her hips, stance shifting to lean more on her uninjured foot. "You were wondering if I was wearing a thong. Well, I am." His ears turned red, normally something she found to be rather endearing. "I...Scully...I, uh." He stopped, clearing his throat, and tried again, throwing her a cheesy grin. "Scully, I'm a guy. We think those kinds of thoughts all the time. It's harmless." "Harmless?" She hated the fact that her voice came out as a squeak, fought not to sputter. "Mulder, you were staring at my ass!" <> She scowled at him. "Mulder!" Though his ears darkened further, he fought back, his eyes narrowing a little. "Scully, if you're going to get angry at me for every stray thought that floats through my mind, we might as well call it quits right now. I can't control my thoughts all the time, and neither can you. Can anyone?" Sighing deeply, he relaxed the tense pose he had taken, and continued. "Scully, you are a beautiful, desirable woman. I am a healthy, heterosexual man, and I am only human. Of course I notice, and it is natural that I might think about your attributes. Maybe you don't want to hear these thoughts, but until we know more about whatever Kushov injected us with, there is nothing I can do about it." Scully's own thoughts were whirling. He thought she was beautiful and desirable? She felt flushed, her cheeks stained pink, and tried to think clinically, brushing personal thoughts aside. Mulder was right -- a person could not be held responsible for the random thoughts that their brain might produce. If not for this drug of Kushov's, she'd never be witness to any of Mulder's, nor he to any of hers. He piped up again, an irascible grin on his face now. "Besides Scully, you did tell me to think about something else." "Touche, Mulder," she remarked, smiling slightly. Giving his arm a light pat, she added, "I'm sorry for over- reacting." "No sweat, Scully." *** It was cooler than it had been, and the sun was steadily dropping in the sky, leaving them walking in shadows for long stretches of time. Another hour had passed since the 'thong incident' as he had decided to call it. Since then, Mulder had kept his eyes front and center at all times, ensuring that his gaze never entered thong territory. He had also kept his mind from straying into other equally danger-filled territories -- not an easy task -- by resorting to singing songs in his head. Therefore things had been quiet - both verbally and mentally. By mutual silent agreement, he and Scully had decided to expend all their energy towards locating help. Though as of yet, they had not spotted any signs of life or habitation. Had to be an X-File, he thought, and snickered. "Mulder?" Scully asked. "You okay?" She probably wouldn't see the humor, so he simply replied, "Just dandy, Scully." Deciding it was time to sing again, Mulder ran through his repertoire. Though it was blasphemy, he had to admit he was a little tired of the King, and thus started a rousing round of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. Hitting the 77th bottle, he was rudely startled by Scully crying out his name. Stumbling to a halt he looked around frantically, certain she had seen something. When he spied nothing, he turned to her and barked, "What was that for?" "You're driving me insane!" she barked back, nose wrinkled and brows drawn down. "Me?" he blustered. "What did I do now?" "Seventy-seven bottles of beer on the wall," she spit out in reply. Realizing with sudden clarity that his partner's anger masked her discomfort and unease with their newfound ability, he let go of his own anger. "Classic song, Scully," he told her. Surprisingly she chuffed out a laugh, her frown lines smoothing away, shoulders relaxing. "If we were at a frat party, sure." "Scully!" he teased, dragging out both syllables, glad to see her more at ease again. "A frat party, huh?" "Yes, Mulder," she replied dryly, eyebrow arching just slightly. "I did do more than just study in college, you know." His mind instantly supplied a picture of a college-aged Scully, perky and bright, with longish hair back in a pony-tail. He remembered himself as a young man at Oxford, and imagined the sharks that had circled the young Scully as if she were prey. Would she have caught his eye back then? Her words clicked in then, and he pursed his lips, saying, "Oooooh...do tell, Scully." As if she had just realized the double-entendre in her statement, her cheeks flushed pink. Still, she rallied, giving him a droll look and throwing back, "Read my mind now, Mulder." He laughed, then tilted his head in the direction they had been headed. "Daylight's a'wastin', partner." Waiting until they were in step with each other, he asked, "So, any requests?" Sending him a look under her lashes, Scully replied, "Anything but '99 Bottles'." A fond memory of Scully singing to him in a Florida forest came to mind, and flicking her a look of his own, he teased, "How about 'Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog?'" She groaned, reaching out to give him a little punch on his upper arm. "May I remind you that was under duress." He'd been working on a theory regarding their mind-reading, and decided to test it out. Instead of replying with his voice, he used his mind to send the message. <> Scully jolted beside him, it was the only way to describe her reaction. He could feel her gaze on him, intense and heavy. She drew in a somewhat shaky breath, then released it noisily. A moment later he read her response, a tease for his tease. <> Sucking in his own gulp of air, he held it for long seconds before slowly releasing it. Noting their footsteps had unconsciously slowed, he picked up the pace, his partner naturally following suit. Time for test number two. <> Again that little jolt from her, followed by her mind reply. <> "Holy shit." Her sudden snort of laughter made him realize he had spoken those last words out loud. He flashed her a grin, unrepentant. They continued on for a stretch of thirty or forty feet before Scully asked, "Mulder, I don't understand why I couldn't...*hear* you at first, when you could hear me." Now to explain his theory. "Well, Scully," he began. "I've been pondering that myself for the last little while and I came to the conclusion that because you were," he paused and changed the words he had started to say, "closed to extreme possibilities that you blocked everything out." Scully sniffed, shooting him a haughty look, and then said in a mock-offended tone, "Mulder, are you implying that I'm uptight?" His voice said, "Who me?" while his mind supplied another response. <> She actually giggled, if somewhat mournfully, before saying, "Unfortunately, these shoes don't fit. Hence my damn blisters!" Having lifted one foot to look at the shoe being discussed while still walking on, she stumbled a little, knocking into him. Mulder grabbed her, swinging his arm up around her shoulders and hugging her to his body, slowing them both. "Easy there, partner." Giving her a little squeeze and then releasing her, he asked, "You okay?" Nodding her head and shrugging her shoulders at the same time, she mumbled her reply. Sounding suddenly so weary. "I feel punch-drunk, Mulder." Concern flowed through him, though he tried to hide it. "I think that's normal, Scully. You haven't eaten or had anything to drink in several hours. Coupled with whatever knock-out gas we were given and all this walking..." "You too, Mulder," she put in. "But you don't seem as affected as me. At his shrug, she added, "I suppose you have a theory as to why?" "I'm a big manly man, Scully." "Mulder!" Her eyes rolled in reaction. "I just calls them likes I sees them, partner," Mulder returned. About to throw her a teasing grin, his attention was caught by a glimmer of light through the next stand of trees. "And I think the manly man might have just seen our salvation. Come on, move those little legs, Scully." *** End Part 4 of 12 *** Part 5 of 12 Unknown Location Monday 7:10 PM The gas station attendant's name was Bob, or so said the name patch on his faded blue, grease-stained coveralls. He was a tall, reed-thin, unshaven man with thinning hair and lecherous eyes. <> And an equally lecherous mind. The initial shock of hearing another voice in her mind almost overshadowed the crudity of the man's statement. Almost. Scully bit back the scathing retort on her lips and forced herself to relax. They would deal with this new discovery and its implications later. The first order of business was getting back to D.C. Laying her hand on Mulder's tense arm, she squeezed just slightly. Her partner had started towards Bob with righteous indignation, clearly having also heard the man's less then savory thought. "Mulder," she murmured. "Let it go. I've heard worse." Ignoring the sympathy and lingering anger that swam in Mulder's eyes, she cleared her throat and aimed a polite smile at Bob. "Sir, we're Special Agents with the FBI, in need of a telephone." Hopefully the man would not insist on seeing their identification, the whereabouts of which were currently unknown. The attendant's gaze slid down to her chest, lingered for long and obvious seconds, before flicking quickly to Mulder and then back to her. Meeting her eyes this time. "Payphone's there," he grunted finally, nodding his chin at the west side of the station. Maintaining her civility with effort, she said, "Actually, Sir, I was referring to your telephone. Could you take us to it, please?" On their approach to the station, they had both noted that the phone in the booth had been minus a receiver. Another glance at her chest before he finally nodded and turned to amble towards the rickety screen door of the ramshackle, one-level building. Scully shared a brief, commiserate look with Mulder, gritted her teeth, and followed the attendant, with her partner at her heels. Inside the small office area, if one could call it that, the smell of gasoline and old coffee pervaded. The room was hot and stale, and as filthy as the man who staffed it. Bob slipped behind the counter and reached down. A second later he was setting a black, rotary-style telephone down on the cracked linoleum countertop with a thunk. Shoving it towards Scully, he muttered, "Here. I'll be 'round back." Before the man could shuffle off, Mulder spoke. "Excuse me, but we didn't see a town marker on the way in." Despite the confusion and curiosity evident in his eyes, Bob asked no questions. Nor did he broadcast any thoughts, unpleasant or otherwise. He replied, speaking slowly, "Town's up the road a ways. Cave Spring, just outside of Roanoke." Scully couldn't stop the startled look she shot at Mulder, seeing the comparable shock on his facial features before he schooled them into a blank mask. His thoughts however were not blank. <> The attendant hesitated, eyes flicking from Mulder to her and back, as if waiting for further questions. When none came, Bob turned away and went through the door in back. His uncomplimentary stray thought filtered back to them. <> Mulder waited several seconds before reaching for the phone, bringing the receiver to his ear. She watched as he dialed zero for the operator, and then tapped his fingers impatiently. His voice was brisk as he rattled of his FBI badge number and requested he be put through to the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, D.C. Her legs were starting to feel rubbery, an after-effect of all their walking, and her ankle was throbbing. The two battered chairs were not inviting, and she would not leave the room to sit outside until Mulder had completed his calls. Despite the filth on the counter, she leaned against it, shoulders slumping. Mulder did more finger tapping as his request was carried out, and then he was stating his name and asking for Assistant Director Walter Skinner. The flinch he gave seconds later told Scully he had been connected -- she could guess what Skinner was probably saying to Mulder, knew their boss had to be questioning their whereabouts. And why they had missed the departmental meeting that had been scheduled for that afternoon. "Sir," Mulder said, a little loudly. Clearly interrupting a tirade. He shot her a glance, a grimace on his face, and continued. "Scully and I need your help." Clipped, and blunt. He gave the AD their current location, briefly describing the events as they knew them, including the loss of their identification and guns. After listening for a long moment, he murmured, "Thank- you, Sir," and depressed the disconnect button in the receiver cradle with one index finger. He immediately began dialing again, meeting her eyes as the call was put through, mouthing 'Gunmen'. "Langly, turn off the tape." His eyes left her to stare at the phone and he paused, the same index finger now tapping the side of the phone base. "I need a favor, guys." Pause, more tapping. "Yeah, big time important. We need you to pull anything and everything you can find on our friend Dr. Kushov and on the address I gave you this morning. Scully and I should be there in a few hours." He hung up after listening for a few more seconds, and pushed the phone away. Turning to her once more, his face creased with concern. She had wondered if she appeared as bad as she felt, and his look confirmed it. Straightening, she cocked an eyebrow at him, silently waving off his concern, waiting for him to share his news. When he cupped her elbow and indicated with a lift of his chin that they should go outside, she took the lead and headed out. The cool air was refreshing after the staleness of the little office, and she breathed deeply, hearing Mulder's noisy inhalation. Longingly eying the battered soda pop machine several feet away, she tried not to think about how dry her throat was and how empty her stomach felt. <> They shared a look of hungry misery at his stray thought, both of them smiling slightly. "Maybe our friendly gas station attendant's got a water cooler somewhere," Mulder said then. "We've probably got a wait of maybe an hour or so here. Skinner's arranging for a police escort to take us to Roanoke Regional Airport, where we'll catch a flight to D.C." She nodded wearily and moved over to the low, porch-like platform that ran partway along the front. Sitting down, she couldn't help the small groan that escaped her mouth. It was a relief to be off her legs, and her sore ankle. <> "It's not broken, Mulder," she replied softly, touched by his worry. "I think it was just twisted. I'm okay." Mulder eyed her with that same concern for a bit longer, standing with his hands on his hips a few feet away, and then nodded. "Be right back," he murmured, and headed inside again, the screen door banging shut loudly behind her. A few seconds later she heard his voice calling out, "Excuse me!" There followed an exchange between her partner and the attendant, which she only halfway concentrated on. Her eyes slipped shut, her head dipping down and mind going blank. Scully wasn't sure how long she stayed in that limbo between awareness and oblivion, but the next thing she knew, Mulder was nudging her gently, calling her name. Opening her eyes, she lifted her head to see him standing there, holding what looked like two bottled waters, dripping with condensation. Surging to her feet, she almost fell off the low porch in the process. Alarm flared on Mulder's face and he juggled the bottles into one arm, his now freed hand reaching out to curl around her biceps. Color stained her cheeks, embarrassed by her display of clumsiness. "Thanks," she mumbled, barely meeting his eyes. Taking several deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, she felt her heart rate, jump-started into double-time, begin to slow. "No problem, Scully," Mulder replied. "What are partners for?" Releasing her arm, he gestured down at the porch. "Sit," he told her, and sat himself down. Once she had resumed her seat on the slightly warped wood, Mulder handed her a bottled water. Without hesitation, and in unconscious tandem, they both quickly uncapped respective bottles and tipped their heads back to slake their thirst. Wisely, Scully drank only a third of the bottle, knowing her stomach would cramp if she drank too much too quickly. "Mulder, don't drink it all at once," she warned, and watched him lower his bottle after a few more swallows. Panting slightly, he murmured, "Thanks." Swiping his hand over his mouth, he turned to put his water down beside him before reaching into his suit coat pocket. "Wanna frisk me, Scully?" he teased. She knew he had to have food of some sort. "Share or face the dire consequences, partner," she told him, turning to give him a stern look. A look that was tempered by the smile playing about her lips. Angling his body to the other side so that she could not see what he was doing, he crooned, "Oooh, threats. Hurt me, Agent Scully." <> "Mulder!" "Sorry, Scully." He cleared his throat, his ears a bit red, and said, "Okay, Scully. Turns out friendly Bob has a sweet tooth. Three Musketeer's or O'Henry?" Her mouth immediately watered. Chocolate was really not advisable on an empty stomach, but God did it sound good. It was also far preferable to nothing at all. "I'll let the manly man have the Three Musketeers," she replied. "Hand me that O'Henry." The next sounds heard were the tearing of wrappers, noisy chewing, and their moans of momentarily appeased hunger. *** Part II JEH Building Washington, D.C. Monday 10:15 PM Mulder stifled a yawn behind his hand and surreptitiously turned his head from side-to-side to ease a kink. He was tired and hungry -- despite the two sandwiches he had grabbed at the airport and wolfed down in minutes -- and wanted to get the hell out of Skinner's office and over to the Gunmen's place. Needed to see what information they had managed to gather on Vladimir Kushov. If there had been any to gather. With Kushov's lab torched an hour after he and Scully had been there -- a startling revelation Skinner had tossed at them minutes into their arrival in his office -- Mulder did not hold much hope that the scientist would be located, nor information or evidence. Looking at Scully, he saw she appeared to be listening to Skinner's monologue with rapt interest as the AD reviewed the facts they had detailed to him upon their arrival. Her eyes were focused on Skinner's face and she nodded every so often. It was an act. Privy to her thoughts -- or the stray ones, at least -- he knew she was as eager to have this over as he. Though she was leaning more towards a bath and bed, not visiting the Gunmen. He found his own thoughts drifting. Recalling the events that had led them to their current location, which was sitting in front of Skinner's desk. The AD had apparently been a busy man after their phone call from the gas station in Cave Spring, Virginia. Once he and Scully had arrived at the Roanoke Airport, courtesy of an officer from the Roanoke Police Department, they had found tickets in their names for a non-stop flight to Dulles. At Dulles, they had been met by an Agent who had driven them directly to the Hoover Building, via a Bureau car. Moments after they were ensconced in Skinner's office, Kimberley had come in and they had been presented with temporary IDs and replacement weapons and cellular phones. <> Mulder startled, a little taken back by the AD's cynical thought, and focused his eyes on Skinner's face. Oftentimes the AD's expressions clearly revealed his anger and his exasperation, but he had never been outright condescending or derogatory. Their superior looked his usual stern, commanding self, if somewhat tired. He was concentrating on Scully, but his eyes flicked to Mulder then, as if the AD had sensed Mulder's study. "Anything to add, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked, turning his full attention to Mulder. One eyebrow lifted in a credible Scully impersonation as he leaned back in his seat, letting it tilt slightly. "No, Sir," Mulder replied evenly, straightening from his unconsciously affected slouch. "I think we've covered everything." The thought he sent to Scully was less agreeable, and highlighted his impatience. <> Beside him Scully shifted in her chair, and when Mulder glanced at her again, he found she was eying him warningly. Her chiding thought came through clearly. <> Nodding infinitesimally, he heeded her mental caution. The AD had a few options at this point; if angered, Skinner could put Scully and him under FBI protection. Which would severely hamper their investigation, besides being a royal pain in the ass. Skinner was regarding him with an intensely scrutinizing look, his jaw tense. After a moment the AD looked to Scully and back to Mulder again, and then sat forward once more, reaching for a folder on his blotter and pulling it closer. It appeared as if he had come to a decision on some internal battle and was satisfied with his conclusion. "That will be all, Agents." Mulder hurriedly stood, relieved with their dismissal, aware of Scully doing the same. "Thank-you, Sir." He fell into step with her as she headed for the door, their bodies not quite touching. Both of them stopped at the threshold when Skinner spoke again. "Report to me tomorrow by eight a.m. sharp, Agents." Mulder's hand had come up automatically to Scully's back, to guide her through the door. He felt her muscles shift as she turned slightly to reply in the affirmative to Skinner, and angled his own head back. He merely nodded confirmation, and it was as they exited into the outer office that he stumbled. From hearing another Skinner thought. One of a very personal nature. <> Shooting a quick glance at Scully, Mulder saw that her cheeks were pink, and that she was avoiding his gaze. So he said nothing, merely steered her out into the hallway, letting his hand fall away as they moved towards the elevator, Scully favoring her ankle just slightly. She had managed to ice it during their flight, and had dismissed the need to have x-rays or be examined by a doctor. "Mulder," Scully said suddenly, stopping abruptly. "I need to draw our blood. Maybe I can identify some of the compounds in whatever Kushov injected into us." "Lab?" was all he said, nodding towards the elevator, and putting his hand on her back once more, started them walking again. Once in the relatively quiet lab, Scully directed them to a far corner, indicating he should take a seat on a stool. "Roll up your sleeve," she told him, turning to locate a pair of latex gloves, which she donned. More out of habit, Mulder knew, than because she thought it was unsafe -- she knew his medical history better than he did. Shrugging out of his jacket and laying it down on the counter beside him, he unbuttoned his cuff and quickly rolled up the sleeve past his elbow. Scully was waiting for him by the time he rested his arm on the same counter, holding the tourniquet to wrap around his arm, just under his biceps. A needle and two red-topped tubes were close at hand. His partner wrapped the elastic band around him quickly, semi- tying it efficiently. She murmured instructions. "Make a fist." As he complied she was already tapping at the flesh just below his inner elbow, followed by a couple swipes with an alcohol swab. Holding his arm with one hand, she twisted her body and picked up the needle with the other, carefully and gently inserting it into his vein. The two vials were filled with his blood in moments. After placing them aside and discarding the needle in the hazardous waste disposal unit, Scully took a cotton ball to press onto the needle site. "Hold this," she told him, and when his fingers had replaced hers, she quickly opened up a bandaid and taped it over the cotton. Mulder knew the drill, bending his arm to apply a pressure of sorts. "Drawing my own blood would be too awkward," Scully told him next, slipping out of her own jacket and rolling up the sleeve of her blouse. Her eyes flicked to one of the techs that had said a quiet hello when they had entered the Lab. "I need to get Terri over there to do it for me." Within minutes, Terri had joined them and taken two vials of Scully's blood. Once the technician had pressed a bandaid over the puncture mark, Scully handed her the four vials of blood. "Terri," she said. "I need you to run a tox screen and Chem20 on these for me, as soon as you can." Turning to the station, Scully found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted down two numbers, handing the information to Terri. "Here's my new cell number and our office fax number, if you could call me with the results, and fax them to us." "Certainly, Agent Scully," the quiet-voiced technician replied. Although her face was placid, features bland and unquestioning, her thoughts revealed her curiosity. <> After giving them a quick nod goodbye, Terri returned to her work station, the vials of their blood in her gloved hand. Scully exchanged a glance with Mulder, who shook his head slightly and then stood. He unrolled his shirt sleeve, and re-did the cuff before shrugging into his jacket. A foot away, Scully finally did the same, smoothing her hands down the front in an attempt to rid the material of creases. There was no point worrying about the technician's unspoken comment -- he and Scully were most likely fodder for the Hoover Building's gossip chain on a regular basis. "Let's get to the Gunmen's," Mulder said quietly then, drawing her attention to him. "Hopefully they were able to find something." *** End Part 5 of 12 *** Part 6 of 12 Lone Gunmen's Headquarters Monday 11:10 PM They had not been inside more than a minute when Scully heard the first of Frohike's thoughts. Vaguely sexual in nature, of course. <> Torn between amusement and embarrassment, she avoided the little man's gaze, and Mulder's as well, moving away from them both. Her partner had not reacted outwardly or mentally, thus she could not tell if he had picked up Frohike's thought or not. Mulder's greeting to the Gunmen revised her musings. "I'd be careful with my thoughts, boys," Mulder said with unnecessary and exaggerated exuberance. "Especially you, Frohike." At their puzzled expressions, he expanded with, "Scully's armed and dangerous." More confusion, from all three. Stuttered words, glances exchanged. <> Byers thought came through, his concern evident. Scully hoped her flinch at receiving the comment had not been noticed by anyone. Despite the fact that both she and Mulder had been 'hearing' people off and on since the discovery of their newfound ability, she was still not used to being witness to the thoughts of others. The cacophony of voices in her mind at the two airports, and during their flight into Dulles had been overwhelming -- both she and Mulder had felt bombarded. Vague thoughts from every walk of life, from excited children to bored employees, had continually flitted through her mind. The worst experience had been the rather harmless appearing man who had begun cataloging the attributes of any female in the vicinity -- in rather lewd terms -- as they waited to board the plane. Despite his own wandering, appreciative eye, Mulder's thoughts in reaction had run similar to hers, if slightly more aggressive in nature. Shutting everyone out had been difficult, but she had managed with effort. It was exhausting, and had left her tense and irritable. Unfortunately, a headache of epic proportions had resulted, and continued to build as she strained not to eavesdrop on others. She was finding it a greater challenge with those she knew, the Gunmen in particular it seemed, as she continued to pick up stray thoughts from all three men. Her exhaustion certainly did not help either. She wanted nothing more than to go home, ice her ankle again, and get some much needed sleep. Childish as it seemed to procrastinate, she would worry tomorrow about how they were going to deal with it all. "Strange doesn't even begin to cover it, Byers," Mulder remarked, startling her from her reverie. He moved deeper into the room, to where Byers and Langly were standing near the computer stations. She saw Byers blink, clearly startled, and felt a rush of sympathy as he stuttered, "But...but I didn't--" "Say anything out loud," Mulder finished for him. "I know." He flashed the dapper Gunman a wry grin. "Sit down, guys," he said briskly, the smile gone as quickly as it had come, gesturing for Frohike to join them. Once the third Gunman had taken a seat like the other two, he said, "Have we got a story for you." Scully followed and climbed onto a vacant stool, propping her elbow on the long counter, her chin in her palm. This was going to be interesting. They hadn't really discussed exactly how they were going to tell the Gunmen about their mind-reading capabilities, only that they would. It was the one thing they had kept from the story they had related to Skinner. Mulder glanced at her then, cocking his head to the side. Silently asking permission to continue on. Her raised eyebrow granted it; this was his show. <> Scully's gaze flicked to Frohike briefly at his thought, and found the little man staring at her with a somewhat lascivious glint in his eyes. She felt her cheeks go warm, and instinctively brought her hand up to her forehead, looking down at the countertop. Unsure as to whether she should say anything or remain quiet. Her partner had no qualms about commenting. "Two strikes, Frohike," Mulder warned, a half-smile playing about his mouth. "You don't want to get Scully angry, she just might shoot you." He paused, then added, "Trust me. I know." His tone was evidence of his amusement, the words teasing. She had looked up when he spoke, and he met her gaze, sending her a thought. <> Damn her fair skin, she blushed again, shifting her eyes away once more. She could feel the weight of his gaze, still upon her. "All right!" Frohike exclaimed then, breaking the awkward spell between her and Mulder. "What is with you two?" The little man's jaw was thrust forward pugnaciously as he looked from Mulder to her and back again. "You gonna share this so-called story with us or what?" Mulder sent her a knowing smirk, and then turned to face Frohike, one hand going to his hip as he leaned against the counter. "First let me ask if you guys have anything on Vladimir Kushov." "Dude must have lain low," Langly responded to the query, pushing his glasses up his nose with a quick stab of one finger. "Wasn't much for us to find." Byers took over then, clearing his throat softly to gain their attention. "As you know, Vladimir Anatoli Kushov is Russian, born in Moscow in 1949. He immigrated here to the U.S. in the late 80's, just before the independent republics emerged. Already a highly regarded neurologist, he pursued his Ph.D. in Molecular and Cellular Biology at Harvard, graduating Magna Cum Laude." Pausing momentarily, Byers stroked his beard, perhaps formulating his next thoughts. "It appears Dr. Kushov's research was primarily on electrochemical patterns of the human brain. He published several papers, the last in late 1999, but has been very quiet this last year." The dapper Gunmen completed the polished narration with a rueful twist of his lips and a quick nod of his head. It was Frohike's turn then. "That address you gave us?" he said, head swiveling to look from her to Mulder. "Nothing funky there. Medical building leased to the same corporation for twenty years. And before you ask, the corporation checks out." The little man shrugged, and continued. "Kushov rents the lab space, has for the last six months. No problems with rent, et cetera, et cetera." Another shrug, this one apologetic. "He seems clean, Mulder." Scully had been watching Mulder during the Gunmen's recitations, and noted her partner did not seem overly surprised at the information they had disclosed. His lower lip jutted out as he stroked his index finger along it, a pose he affected when deep in thought. None that she was reading, however. After another moment or so, her partner cleared his throat and straightened up. Slipping into lecturer's mode, he began with a recap. "After Dr. Kushov's call to the X-Files office this morning, I called you guys and had you run a check on him." All three Gunmen nodded, and Mulder continued. "Scully and I went to the medical building just before nine a.m. and were met in the lobby by the good doctor. The rather nervous good doctor, I might add. We had only been inside the lab a few minutes when the door was kicked in and black-clad commandos entered. Both Scully and I were incapacitated by a gas they sprayed, but not before we were both injected by Kushov." Frohike bristled plainly, his eyebrows knit together. "Injected with what?" "That we don't know, Frohike," Mulder replied. "Hopefully we'll be able to find out with the blood tests Scully ordered." He paused, shrugged his shoulders slightly, then resumed. "We woke up several hours later in an abandoned warehouse outside of Roanoke, Virginia." He met her gaze, one eyebrow cocking upward. <> Mulder's thought caught her off-guard, and she startled visibly, searching his eyes. Which shone with humor and mischief. "Mulder?" <> Unsure, Scully shot a quick glance at the three Gunmen. Byers had a pensively curious look on his face as he watched them, his gaze moving from Mulder to her and back again. Langly and Frohike appeared equally puzzled. On the spot, uncomfortably so, her voice was faint at first. "We made our way--" Stopping, she cleared her throat before starting again. "We made our way to a gas station on the outskirts of Cave Springs, and called Skinner and then the three of you." Her eyes flicked to Mulder, saw that he was regarding her expectantly. She felt a tiny surge of annoyance at him for wanting her to finish the story, and mentally sent him a terse question. <> He shrugged, and answered her aloud. "It will be more real, more believable, if it's from you. More proof for them." "What will be more believable?" Frohike exclaimed in an exasperated tone. "Proof of what?" Belligerence sang in the set of his shoulders, the jut of his chin. In every line of his body. "Will you just spill it, for Chrissakes?" Mulder waved his hand at her in a 'do it' sort of gesture and she frowned at him. Clearing her throat once more, she said, "While making our way to the gas station, Mulder and I made a discovery. A discovery about an amazing ability we now share." Stopping, she tried to formulate her next words. <> "Mulder, stop it!" Scully snapped crossly, glaring at him. "This isn't easy, and you're making it harder on me." She didn't understand her own reluctance to inform the Gunmen of the miraculous discovery -- she knew they would believe unquestionably, would not doubt her. Yet it was difficult, and Mulder's pushing was not helping at all. After shooting a last, quelling look at Mulder, she returned her gaze to the Gunmen, and saw that Frohike's eyes were impossibly wide behind the lenses of his glasses. She was fairly certain he, if not all three of them, had figured out what she was trying to tell them. Their next words confirmed it. "You guys can--" Frohike, his voice stunned. "Read each other's--" Langly interjected excitedly. He was twitching, his fingers dancing on his knees as his stool moved back and forth from the tiny movements of his body. "Minds," Byers finished, his tone both sober and awed. Rising from his seat and walking slowly towards Mulder, he repeated the declaration. "You can read each other's minds." Scully opened her mouth to correct their conclusion, but Mulder beat her to it. "Not just each other's," he said quietly, an odd half-smile on his lips as he rocked infinitesimally on his heels. "Everyone's." Frohike fell off his stool. Unintentional comic relief, it broke the strange, tense silence that had immediately fallen over the room after Mulder's amending confirmation of their ability. Mulder barked out a laugh as Langly pointed and chortled, "Dude!" Scully could not help the snort that escaped, though she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling guilty. Sliding from her stool, she moved around the counter to check that he was all right. "Frohike?" In time to see the smaller man fighting off Byers' assistance, the dapper Gunmen more concerned than amused. "Back off, would you, Byers? I'm fine," Frohike grumbled, and struggled to his feet. Avoiding her gaze. "I'm touched by your concern," he said loudly, sending a dirty look in Mulder and Langly's direction. Frohike made a show of righting his clothes, still not looking at her at all. <> A sudden realization struck Scully. Frohike was concerned about any of his thoughts about her that she might have heard. She was again at a loss as to how to proceed -- how to make him see that she understood, was not angry. Feeling Mulder's gaze upon her, she turned her head to see him regarding her with sympathy. He shrugged and shook his head slightly. <> She nodded and returned to her stool, though she did not sit down, careful to keep her expression blank. It didn't help that Frohike was now broadcasting the same thought over and over. <> "Sorry, dude," Langly said then, coming over to slap Frohike on one shoulder. The male version of a commiserative hug. The other Gunman waved it off, muttering a half-hearted, "Punkass." All was forgiven. Byers spoke up. "Can we test this...this ability? We should document it." Moving to one of the terminals, he sat down and began tapping at the keyboard. "We have associates with a set-up the Rhine Institute would envy." Scully groaned mentally, taking her seat after all. Weary in body and spirit. She pictured herself and Mulder with the electrodes of an electroencephalograph attached to their temples, wires trailing. Testing each other with flash cards. Eying the counter askance, she wondered if the guys would be offended if she just rested her head on it and took a brief nap... "Contact them, Byers," Mulder said. "Make arrangements for first thing tomorrow morning." Her partner's response surprised her, as she had assumed he would be eager to immediately document the evidence of their mind-reading capabilities. She was as well, but just not at that moment. "You can reach me at Scully's, either on her landline, or on my new cell." He rattled the number off from memory. Scully raised an eyebrow at him, sent a silent query. <> He cocked his own eyebrow, and replied in her mind. <> "I'm on it, Mulder," the Gunman replied. "Appreciate it, guys," Mulder said, coming over to rest his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Come on, Scully. I think we need to call it a day." She rose slowly and followed him to the door, Langly at their heels to lock up behind them. "Good night, guys," she said, and heard Byers mumbled response. Langly nodded, and Frohike called out his good night, not yet able or willing to meet her eyes. His thought reached her as she stepped over the threshold. <> The shutting of the door most likely muffled Mulder's shouted, "Frohike, watch your mind!" Guiding her down the metal staircase, he flashed her a grin at the bottom. "So, can I tuck you in, Scully?" She had no chance to formulate a response. Something hard jabbed into her neck as a steely arm wrapped around her upper chest, hauling her up on her toes, tight against an equally hard form. A figure, clad in armor of some sort. Holding her nearly motionless, unable to turn her head or find any leverage. "Don't move," a voice hissed in her ear. Another jab punctuated the order. <> she cried mentally, and heard his panicked reply. <> *** Unknown Location Unknown Time The restraints were digging painfully into his wrists, and his right arm was nearly numb from the pressure of most of his body weight upon it. He was lying on his right side on the hard metal floor, with his ankles bound by some sort of cord or wire, similar to that which bound his hands, and his legs semi-bent, knees towards his chest. After being relieved of his cell phone and gun -- *again* -- he had been shoved into what he had determined was either a panel or a small cube van, and warned not to move. Or Scully would receive a jolt from a stun gun. The object that he assumed had also been pressed into his neck when they had been grabbed. His partner was in equal discomfort and pain -- her thoughts had been broadcasting those very facts to him for some time. She had also received a similar threat concerning his possible acquaintance with a stun gun. Apparently their comfort, or the lack thereof, was of no concern to their captors. His one attempt to speak to 'Them' had resulted in another sharp jab in his neck from the weapon, and a harshly uttered command, "No talking." The 'or else' had been implied, of course. Mulder was aware of Scully both physically and mentally. She had joined him in the van immediately following his less-than- gentle entry, and had rolled into his back with some force, confirming his assumption that she had been treated with equal roughness. He had attributed the movements she had then made to an attempt at easing her discomfort. Which had yielded only another terse warning not to move. They had both been still since. Very still, he realized. Too still. Concern had him tensing, sending a semi-frantic thought to his partner. <> She shifted against him, poking his lower back with either a knee or an elbow -- which elicited a grunt in reaction -- and responded with an answering thought. <> <> <> <> An unintended pun. Even as they were carrying on their silent conversation, he was musing at how easy it had become to do so. Earlier, it had seemed that if Scully were tense or uncomfortable, she unintentionally or naturally blocked his incoming thoughts and her own outgoing ones. Yet it was not the case now, though the conditions were certainly far from relaxed or comfortable. Oddly enough, he had not picked up any thoughts at all from the commandos who had just kidnapped them. Nothing. It was very puzzling. He wondered if they had somehow been trained to block themselves from transmitting any thoughts. To not think. Scully thought-spoke again. <> Always suspicious by nature, the Gunmen had several strategically placed video cameras around their building. There was a good chance he and Scully's abduction had been witnessed by the three, and that they had already contacted Skinner. <> The motion of the van changed then, as if the vehicle had taken a long, slow left turn, and their bodies shifted to one side before resettling. He cocked his head, straining to hear something, anything, but could only make out the sounds of Scully's quickened, nervous breathing. That matched his own. A moment later the van braked sharply, shooting them both forward several inches. He bumped into hard metal, and imagined it was either the side of the van, or perhaps a divider between the front and back. His shoulder twinged from the contact, and his bound arms protested, and he grunted again. Scully made a similar noise beside him, and he realized she had been bounced about as well. Strange voices filled his mind suddenly. Thoughts that came like rapid-fire and made his head ache. <> <> <> The sliding door of the van was yanked open with a grinding bang, and weak light filtered in, making him blink rapidly. Scully's weight left him, and he heard scuffling noises, followed by a voice barking, "Struggling will only get one or both of you hurt." An iron grip on his biceps came then, pulling him across and out of the van, where another hand grabbed his other arm. In a way, Mulder was thankful for the hands that held him, for with the blood now rushing to his feet, he would not have been able to stand on his own. Off to his left he thought, that same voice barked, "You were warned." More scuffling, and then a choked off sound that he *knew* was Scully. Her panicked thought came next. <> "Scu--" he tried to call out to her, but a black-clad arm descended over his face from behind, encircling his neck and yanking him tightly upright. Nearly choking him in the process. Still, he tried to find Scully, tried to move his head, his eyes darting frantically about. <> <> No response. Unable to see or hear anything, and knowing only that something was very wrong, he began to fight in earnest, even though bound hand and foot. Doing so earned him a jolt from the stun gun. An excruciating tingling began in the place where he had been hit -- where shoulder became neck -- and every single muscle in his body spasmed. Rising to his toes, his back arching, he tried to cry out through involuntarily clenched teeth as an indescribable pain coursed through him. He could manage only a strangled, "Shhhi..." The surge of electricity finally ended, and he collapsed, his legs like water. The arms that had been holding him upright released their hold, and he was callously allowed to fall, hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Sprawled in a heap of twitching limbs, he managed to turn his head, finding Scully lying similarly just a few feet away. Her eyes were open, staring in his direction. Their normally brilliant blue was faded, her gaze vacant. For a heart-stopping second he thought she was dead. But her lips moved then, and she opened and closed her eyelids in a slow blink. Exhaling harshly in relief, Mulder blinked his own eyes at her in response, unable to do anything more. His limbs would not obey the commands to move, and his mind was a mass of jumbled thoughts, none of which made sense. A kind of pressure at his feet, like a tugging, confused him. It wasn't until he saw two black-clad figures lifting Scully to her feet did he realize they had removed the restraints from around both their ankles. Strong hands clasped his upper arms then, hauling him upwards. Disoriented and vaguely nauseous, he felt his knees wobble, and knew he was going to fall again. But as before, the commando's grasp held him upright. "Move," a gruff voice ordered, and he was propelled forward, legs trembling. He could see Scully several yards ahead of him. His partner was flanked by two black-clad men who gripped her arms tightly and half-walked/half-dragged her over the concrete floor towards a metal door held open by yet another black-clad figure. His two escorts followed suit, and in moments their strange group was moving along a bright white, empty hallway. Past unmarked after unmarked door, turning right around a corner once, to follow an identical hallway with identical unmarked doors, and then left for yet more of the same. Ahead, Scully was suddenly thrust through a doorway. Mulder struggled slightly, panicking at the thought that they might be separated, and felt the threatening press of the stun gun in his neck. Settling once again, he opened his mouth to cry out, to protest, and was yanked to a stumbling halt at the same door before any sound emerged. Facing into the room, the contents of which he could make out very little, he spied Scully in the rectangle of light from the doorway. His partner was on her hands and knees on the floor, her head hanging down. Rough movements behind him, and his hands were freed of their restraints, as he realized Scully's had been. His arms dropped heavily to his sides, and he groaned as the blood rushed through the already traumatized extremities. Before he could formulate a thought as to why the two of them had been freed from their bonds, he was pushed inside. As he fell to the ground, he heard the heavy door slam shut, leaving them in near-darkness. *** End Part 6 of 12 *** Part 7 of 12 Unknown Location Unknown Time The dull clang of the metal door closing made Scully flinch, which sent further discomfort through her body. Every muscle ached, like she had severely over-exerted herself, and her lungs were working double-time. It was a struggle to shake off the effects of the stun gun, and she had to fight the urge to just lay down on the cold floor and fade into temporary oblivion. But she had to confirm that Mulder was all right first. She had heard him groan, and knew he had been thrown into the room with her. Thankfully -- she had been afraid that they would be separated. Managing to twist her lower half, she sat down heavily and lifted her head, trying to breathe evenly and deeply. Mulder was lying prone on the floor, a mere foot away, legs and arms akimbo. His head was turned to one side, facing away from her, and he was breathing rapidly, each exhalation rough and loud. Before she could call to him, he slowly rose to his hands and knees, and then with a jerky motion, flipped himself over to sit on the floor, mirroring her pose. One shaky hand lifted and scrubbed over his face as he heaved out a groaning sigh. "Are you all right, Scully?" he asked, meeting her eyes at last. The weariness in his voice was echoed in the lines of stress on his forehead, bracketing his mouth. She knew it was also echoed on her features. "I'm okay," she answered simply. There was no need to elaborate -- he had been hit by the stun gun as well. "Yeah," was his agreeing reply. He sighed again, and then remarked, "It looks like we're up shit's creek, Scully." Aptly, if crudely, put. She nodded, and despite the fact he was as in the dark as she, asked, "Who the hell are these people, Mulder?" "Well, you know me, Scully," Mulder replied self-deprecatingly, his lips twisting briefly in a semblance of a mocking smile. "I'm guessing they are part of some Shadow Government agency that has been experimenting with mind-control and telepathy." His tone told her his statement was only half-jesting. But she had to admit the possibility seemed quite likely. Fear and anger and exhaustion getting the better of her, she quipped, somewhat sardonically, "Conspiracies-R-Us?" Mulder did not respond, and she sighed heavily. To soften that comment, she said, "I think you may be right, Mulder." "If I had the energy, Scully, I'd be marking this moment," he returned with little zest. His slow movement to look around the room was evidence of his discomfort and tiredness, mirroring her own. "As it is," he said next, "I think we should try and check out our accommodations." With that, he rose carefully to his feet, wavering just slightly. Scully nodded and followed suit, willing the trembling in her legs to subside, and turned in a slow circle. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the roughly 12x14 room, but there was very little to see. Four bare walls, bare floor, and a cot. One cot. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder raise one hand to his face and rub his chin as he regarded what was apparently their bed for the duration of their stay. He was either deliberately blocking his thoughts, or his mind was as scrambled as hers felt, for she read nothing from him. Not even a single flirtatious or sarcastic comment. "Well," she started, and then fell silent again. What could she say? "Well," Mulder parroted her. His gaze flicked to her and back to the cot, and then his shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Flip you for the good side!" he called with mock-cheer. She couldn't help snickering, gesturing at the single-sized cot which was shoved up against one wall. "There is no good side, Mulder," she pointed out. "Scully, you see the glass as half-empty, don't you?" He shot her a grin as he neared the cot, nudging it with one leg. The metal frame groaned in protest, but held steady. "Come on, you take the inside." Eying him askance, Scully wondered if his offer was one of chivalry, or out of his need to protect her -- a trait that was sometimes charmingly endearing, but more often misplaced. He said her name again, eyebrow crooked questioningly, and she finally responded. "Are you being a manly man again, Mulder? Protecting the little woman?" <> "Mulder!" she admonished out loud, not really angry. Amused and just slightly titillated, maybe. "Watch your thoughts," she continued. Right after the words left her mouth, she got this strange feeling that they both should be very careful with what they said. She realized chances were good that they were under audio and video surveillance, and had been since they had arrived. The look on Mulder's face, and his cautious eye scan of the ceiling told her he felt the same way. His next thought was a warning, with a hint of teasing. <> She nodded her understanding, and approached the cot with a hint of trepidation. They'd crashed in motel beds together on a few occasions, she had dozed off on his shoulder on countless flights and stakeouts, they'd slept on each other's couches. But they had never had to share such a confined sleeping space before. It would be very...intimate. "Scully?" he queried softly. The way he said it was full of understanding. She looked at him and he started, "I can sleep--" Mulder was offering to sleep on the floor, Scully knew, and was touched, deeply. Not to mention a little ashamed of her hesitation. Her swift head shake halted the rest of his sentence, and he jerked his own head in a brief nod of acquiescence. She turned back to the cot and was about to climb on it when it came to her that logically and logistically, it was better both space and comfort-wise for Mulder to be on the inside, facing forward, with her spooned into him. This position would also give them two pairs of eyes to look outward and watch the door. "Mulder," she said low-voiced, and proceeded to outline her idea about their sleeping arrangements. A few minutes later, they were lying on the thin, lumpy mattress, with Mulder's back against the wall, and her back to his chest. Their knees were bent, his legs snugly aligned along hers, and his outer arm lay chastely over her waist. Her head was pillowed on her bent right arm, while her left hand was curled under her chin. Scully could feel the tension in Mulder's body, and recognized that he was 'on guard'. A very good cautionary idea, with the unknown variables of their kidnapping. "Mulder," she whispered. "We'll share watch, okay?" "Get some sleep, Scully," was his reply, the exhalation with each word ruffling the hair by her ear. "I've got your back." Her lips twitched -- he certainly did have her back. Sighing, she closed her eyes and wiggled to get more comfortable. Unintentionally pushing her rear end into him. Mulder grunted softly and shifted, the arm on her flexing and moving back, his fingers pressing into her stomach for a brief moment. He then murmured, "Easy there, Scully." "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed, feeling the heat blossom in her cheeks. Her skin tingled where his hand had touched her, even with the barrier of the blouse she wore. "S'okay," he whispered. "Relax." His arm moved back over her waist, and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He seemed to be taking his own advice, his body no longer tense. "Go to sleep," he repeated his earlier instruction. "I'll wake you in a couple hours." Letting her eyes slip closed again, she listened to the sound of his breathing, deep and even. Matched the rhythm with her own breaths, eventually dozing off. Which was why she did not react some time later when he shifted against her, his groin pushing into her rear. <> Even on the hazy edge of full sleep, Mulder's thought registered, and her eyes popped open once more, a new wave of heat washing her cheeks -- this time of both embarrassment and pleasure at the content. More alert now, she couldn't help wondering if he had sent the thought to her deliberately, or if it had been a stray one in reaction to the contact between their bodies. Mulder did not move again, nor did he say or think another word, and she told herself to let it go, to get some much needed sleep. She also tried not to think about the fact that it did indeed feel nice. *** Mulder jolted out of the light doze he had not intended to fall into, his eyes snapping open in surprise and guilt. He held himself still, his breathing slightly accelerated from the abruptness of his waking, and concentrated. Heard and felt nothing but the soft breathing of his partner, and the warmth of her body pressed against his. Wondered if it had been merely his subconscious at work, pulling him from his sleep to get him back on track. Wide awake now, he carefully extricated his arm from beneath Scully's -- in her sleep she had been clutching his hand to her chest -- and rolled slightly away from her to bring his other arm down from its position as his makeshift pillow. Scully sighed and made an undecipherable sound, but did not wake. Depressing the Indiglo button on his Timex, Mulder saw that it was just after three a.m. They had been grabbed almost four hours ago, and other than the stun gun assault before they had been thrust into their present quarters, there had been no further contact with anyone. And as far as he knew, no one had checked on them either. Unconsciously, his eyes lifted and he peered up at the ceiling, despite the darkness. Searching in vain for the surveillance cameras he was positive were there. Scully shifted again, and he realized he had come up on one elbow, the mattress moving with his weight. "Mulder?" she murmured, turning her head towards him. Her voice was thick and raspy with sleep. "Whaz'wrong?" she asked next, slurring the words slightly. The sleepy, unintentionally sexy sound drew his attention -- though her voice in all its connotations always had, really. He briefly reflected on how effectively that voice could challenge him, calm and soothe him. And at the other end of the spectrum, how it could turn him on. Like it had just then. He willed the thought away, this was not the time or place. "Nothing's wrong, Scully," Mulder finally whispered, watching her fight to lift her eyelids. "Go back to sleep." Without thinking, he brought his hand to her brow, where a lock of her hair lay partially over one eye. He brushed the curl gently aside, and when she did not protest, combed his fingers through the tangled strands over her ear. <> The faint, hazy thought and its unintentional message made him smile, and he couldn't resist the urge to glide his fingers over her hair again. "Sleep," he repeated, hand lingering. Her head moved against his palm in a tiny nod of agreement as she sighed, and moments later her breathing became deep and even. It was very tempting to lay back down, to curl his body around hers and fall back into sleep, but he had sworn to himself earlier that he would stay on guard. And he had already shirked his duty once, albeit unintentionally. Not to mention that doing so could lead to being lulled into acting on those thoughts that had been spurred by the sound of her voice. So instead, he carefully and regretfully levered himself over Scully and off of the cot, straightening slowly -- his muscles were cramped, curled around his partner as he had been. After shaking out both legs, he bent at the waist to touch his toes, then did a few other body stretches. At home or in one of the many motels he and Scully stayed at while on cases, he would have gone for a run. Finding it necessary to move, he walked with quiet, cautious steps over to the door that kept them in their prison. It was cool to the touch as he rested his palms flat on the metal surface and leaned in, pressing his ear against it. He hadn't really expected to hear anything, and thus wasn't disappointed when that was the case. Straightening, he tapped his knuckles on the door gently. It felt solid. Thick. He stepped back a bit and eyed the entire door and its frame. Seamless and clean. Leaving him with the impression that apart from their kidnappers opening the door, they would need to blast their way through to get out. In other words, he and Scully were not leaving their cell unless someone wanted them to leave it. Frustration and anger, not to mention a healthy dose of curiosity, had him close to banging his fists on the metal door. Both as an outlet for those emotions, and as a test. If it had been only him in this dilemma, he probably would have risked the possible consequences of such an action. But he would not willfully and purposely put Scully at risk. As if he had spoken her name aloud, or perhaps thought-spoke it, his partner awoke, calling out to him aloud. "Mulder?" she said in that same sleep-husky voice. "Is something wrong?" Rustling sounds followed her query, telling him that Scully had shifted on the cot, and when he took the few scant steps back to her, he made out that she was now sitting up. Hesitating just briefly, he sat down, leaving a foot of space between their bodies. Even in the dark he was able to discern her next movement -- her arm lifting to smooth a hand over tousled hair. "Mulder?" she repeated then, her voice clearer. More awake, more alert. Concerned. "Did you hear something? Was someone here?" "I don't know," he replied honestly, feeling her gaze upon him. Shrugging despite the fact she might not be able to see the motion, he explained. "I fell asleep by mistake, and snapped awake a few minutes ago. I'm not sure if something woke me up, or I woke on my own." Scully was silent for a long moment, and he waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts. She was rubbing her hands up and down her arms rather roughly, and just as he realized she was trying to warm herself, she sent a thought. Though he did not think she had sent it deliberately. <> Now that he thought about it, the cell was distinctly less then room temperature. There were no blankets, and both of them were wearing only suits with a thin layer beneath. Another brief hesitation on his part, and then he was sliding over until his thigh touched hers, raising his arm to wrap around her shoulders. She startled, but quickly relaxed into his embrace, shivering just slightly. "Thanks," she murmured. He mind-sent a teasing reply even as he replied aloud, "You're welcome, Scully." <> Her elbow nudged him smartly in the ribs. But she did chuff out a laugh as well. She also sent a thought, but once again Mulder had the impression that she had not meant to do so, as it cut off abruptly and she then stiffened against him. <> His mind immediately traveled in several directions to try and complete her sentence, while his mouth blundered on ahead. "Wonder what, Scully?" he asked aloud. She tensed further beneath his arm, and when she replied, her voice was strangled. "Nothing, Mulder." He plowed forward despite the obvious warning that she wanted him to drop the matter. "But, Scully--" <> The thought came through loud and clear. Subsiding, though his mind continued to spin through the possibilities, he gave her shoulders a slight squeeze of apology. It took Scully a few minutes, but she gradually relaxed, and even leaned into him more. Somehow though, he sensed she was now on guard. He got this sudden image in his mind of her slamming the vault doors closed on her conscious thoughts so that she would not broadcast anything at all, and he was saddened by it. Hearing those unvoiced thoughts of hers, whether deliberately or unintentionally sent, was a heady, powerfully intimate experience that he enjoyed. But at the same time, he did not want their partnership jeopardized because of their ability to read each other's minds. The silence that followed was not entirely comfortable. Eventually he felt he had to break it, and brought up something he had been considering. Forgetting about the possible audio surveillance, he spoke aloud. "Have you noticed at all that when we're in close proximity to each other--" Again Scully interrupted him, this time by raising her hand to clasp it over his mouth. The action startled him, though he contained the instinctive reaction to pull away. Awareness clicked in, and he nodded his understanding at the reminder that they had to be careful with what they said. Her hand slid away, and he felt momentarily bereft -- the touch of her palm on his lips had been pleasant...definitely pleasant, and in a way, comforting. With vocal communication out of the question, he sent his words mentally. <> Her reply came back a long moment later, as if she had been weighing the evidence carefully before making a decision. An occasionally frustrating facet of her character. <> Unfortunately, that was a very valid point. There were tests that might have given credence to his conjecture -- tests that were to have been scheduled by Byers with the Gunmen's 'associates'. Tests that were not going to happen now. A faint hope stirred anew at the thought of the Gunmen -- that he and Scully's kidnapping had been caught on camera by the three, and a rescue plan was already in effect. Pushing the hope aside for now, he replied to Scully. <> Her response came after another lengthy pause. <> It was hard to feel victorious while sitting there in the dark with the unknown before them. So he said nothing further. Nor did Scully, for some time. When she did, her mind-voice nudged him out of the blank state he had fallen into. <> <> <> A subject they had not yet discussed, though it had never been far from his mind. Hers as well, he imagined. His thoughts on the matter were leaning heavily on the negative side. It seemed hers were too, for the fear and apprehension had rung through in her mind-question. He chose his words carefully. <> He felt a fine tremor run through her, and pulled her tighter into his side, rubbing his hand up and down her arm in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. After a moment, Scully shifted slightly and lay her cheek on his chest, her own arm coming up to wrap around his middle. Seeking and providing comfort. Minutes passed with no further conversation, and Mulder found himself recalling the events of the day once again. The fact that the Commandos had dumped them after the grab from Kushov's lab still confounded him. Why let them go only to take them again later? Scully mind-spoke then, and he marveled at how her thoughts paralleled his own. <> Before he could reply, she continued on, coming to the same conclusion that had just then occurred to him. <> <> She didn't respond except to rub her cheek against him a moment, and he let the conversation end. They passed the remainder of the night in silence, seated together on the cot, neither willing to leave the other. Waiting. *** End Part 7 of 12 *** Part 8 of 12 Unknown Location Tuesday The sound of the cell door crashing open pulled Scully from an uneasy sleep. Confused and disoriented, she was slow to react, separating herself from Mulder's embrace and struggling to her feet. Beside her Mulder did the same, his hand brushing her fingers in a warning of sorts. A quick glance at him showed that his face was drawn, his body tense. She gave him a barely perceptible nod before facing forward, cautiously alert. Her heart was thudding rapidly in her chest, fear-induced adrenaline beginning to course through her veins. Two things registered at once -- their cell was no longer dark, as if there were some kind of hidden lighting system in operation, and there were two black-clad figures entering the room. No words were spoken. One of the men raised his arm and gave them a 'come here' gesture with his hand, rather impatiently, while the other stood just behind and to his right, watching. The natural instinct was to resist, of course. Scully backed up a step, the backs of her knees hitting the cot. Her eyes darted from one figure to the other, noting first the visible lack of guns, and then their action-ready stance. Swallowing thickly, she flicked another glance at Mulder, sending him a silent question. <> His arm moved back a bit, fingers brushing hers once more as he answered. He kept his gaze locked on the commandos however. <> His reply didn't make sense, seemed cut in half, and Scully blinked in surprise. What did he mean? <> The commando who had gestured spoke then, his voice brusque and sharp. "Move, now." The sudden accompanying display of a stun gun, and its silent but implicit threat, accentuated the order. The sight of the stun gun brought her earlier experience with one vividly to mind, had her trembling in remembered pain and fear. When the commando had yanked her out of the van so many hours ago, she had panicked, believing she was being separated from Mulder. She had struggled, and received a jolt from the stun gun as punishment. She could have lived with that; she had been warned. Except she had caused Mulder to be jolted as well. She vowed silently to herself that she would not allow that to happen again. With jerky steps, she moved towards the commandos, feeling the heavy weight of their suspicious gaze upon her. A second later she heard Mulder shuffle forward as well. A black-clad arm reached out and grabbed her by the biceps as she neared the first man, and she was spun around, her arm twisted and yanked up behind her back. Unable to contain the tiny yelp that escaped, she quickly gritted her teeth to hold back any further sounds. She would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her distress. Before she was forced forward and out of the cell, she managed to look briefly at Mulder. Saw that he was held similarly by the other commando, a grimace on his face. In the hallway there were two more commandos, also clad in black. Standing on guard several feet from the door, their weapons -- automatic, she noted semi-dispassionately -- clearly visible and held at the ready. Obviously she and Mulder were considered a flight risk. Given half the chance, they damn well would be. Her escort turned her to the right and herded her down the hall, his grip on her arm easing only slightly. His booted feet thudded dully on the tiled floor, and though she could not see Mulder, the thuds from behind her partially assured her he was being helped along in the same direction. She sent a mind query for further affirmation. <> There was no reply, and Scully stumbled a little, dread increasing her heart rate. Wondering if he had in fact been taken elsewhere. The hold on her tightened in response to her misstep, yanking her up a little straighter. She sent the thought again, almost screaming his name in her head. <> This time he answered, and she exhaled heavily in relief, shoulders sagging. Which resulted in another jerk on her arm from her captor. <> Thusly reassured, or as much as one could be in this kind of situation, she tried her best to concentrate on their surroundings. Though she had not been fully cognizant the night before due to the stun gun jolt she had received, she did recall the blank-faced doors that had lined the white hallways she had been dragged along. There were more of the same now. After what felt like several minutes, and two turns -- one to the left and another to the right -- she was yanked to a halt in front of one such blank, white door. It opened silently without any action from the commando who held her, and she had a moment to muse about sensors before she was simultaneously released and shoved inside. Turning to face the door, she was forced back several steps by Mulder's body slamming into hers as he was also pushed into the room. The unexpectedness of his weight on her nearly caused her to fall. His hands grasped her forearms, held her steady. "Got you," he whispered, and then shoving her behind him, he spun around. Past his shoulder she could see that the doorway was empty, the door closed. Her partner rushed forward, hands swiping over its smooth surface, but the portal remained shut. His fingers got busy checking the seams, searching for a way to trigger the sensors. Believing it would not open unless They wanted it to, Scully turned in a slow circle to survey their newest location. Her gaze took in the rectangular-shaped room that appeared to be roughly the size of their previous cell, and the low bench that ran along one of the shorter walls. On said bench were two small stacks of what looked like clothing. Approaching, she nudged the closest pile and realized the items were scrubs of a pale, almost-white blue color. After taking in the two partitioned bathroom stalls on the opposite wall, and the two sinks just to the left of the stalls, understanding dawned. They were to make use of these facilities and change into the scrubs. Trepidation filled her, had her tensing, as she wondered why the scrubs were necessary. <> Her partner left his survey of the door at her mind-call, frustration clear in his eyes. His gaze followed her finger, which pointed at the scrubs, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. <> His eyes widened at the supposition she had mind-sent him, and a deep frown developed on his face. His reply echoed her feelings exactly. <> She nodded; no words were necessary. Picking up the first set of scrubs and checking the tag inside the collar of the shirt, she saw it was an extra large. She handed them to Mulder, and when he had taken them from her, reached down to pick up the other set. Size medium. Making her way to the two doorless stalls, she took the one on the right. Mulder followed a second later and entered the other stall. <> The wry comment brought the slightest of smiles to her lips, and she quickly made use of the facilities while pushing away her embarrassment about the situation. Then she stripped down to her undergarments, and dressed in the scrubs, pulling the cloth slippers on her feet. Gathering up her clothing and shoes, she exited, careful not to peer into Mulder's stall as she returned to the bench. By the time she had folded her own clothes and placed them on the bench, Mulder had joined her. His gaze raked her from head to toe, and an irreverent grin curled his lips. <> Several responses, none of them appropriate, sprang to mind, but she merely shook her head chidingly at him. Still, his teasing statement, one she knew he had said to ease her tension, brought a small smile to her lips. His grin widened, and he gave her a bolstering look. After dumping his own unfolded clothes unceremoniously next to hers, he went over to the pair of sinks and began to wash up. The sound of the water, and the sight of her partner repeatedly cupping it in his hands and splashing it on his face had her realizing how grubby she felt, and she hastened over to make use of the other sink. Just seconds after they had returned to the bench, having cleaned up as best they could and slaked their thirst with the cold water, the cell door slid open. Confirming her thought that they had been under surveillance in this room as well. Not wanting to give the commandos a reason to stun them, or use other force, Scully immediately stepped over to the first man when he motioned to her. Despite her compliance, her arm was grabbed as before, and she was yanked out of the room. Down those same hallways, past those same doors with two other commandos as back-up for the first pair. To another white door that opened soundlessly and effortlessly. This time she and Mulder were not thrust inside the room, they were escorted in by the commandos. *** The first thing his sight registered when he and Scully were taken none too gently into the room were the two dentist-like chairs placed dead-center, facing each other. Those, and the straps that dangled from both chairs. Straps meant to hold a body down. Fight or flight instinct had Mulder struggling against the iron grip on his biceps. The element of surprise and adrenalin- fueled strength on his side, he actually succeeded in breaking the hold. Had even twisted partially free, when he heard Scully's choked off gasp. "Muld-" Still fighting, he craned his head to the left, found his partner a few feet away. Saw the arm tight around her neck, her chin held in a bruising grip, and the stun gun shoved into the soft flesh just below her ear. He subsided, his body and spirit sagging in defeat, and was rewarded by a strong punch to his kidneys. Weakly sucking in air, he arched his back before curling in on the pain spreading through his midsection, bringing his arms up to encircle his waist. He barely registered Scully's panicked thought, mind-heard it as if through a haze. <> Hands gripped both his upper arms then, and he was dragged over to one of the chairs. Manhandled into it, still wheezing from the blow, he saw that there were two commandos standing on either side of the chair he now occupied. They held him down while a third busily strapped him into place, starting at his feet. Twisting slightly, Mulder managed to find Scully again. She was standing in the same spot, up on her tiptoes due to the commando's brutal grasp, the stun gun still pressed into her neck. Despite the fact that the commando's hold on her chin forced her head upwards, her gaze was focused on him. Fear and pain were clear in her eyes, causing him worry. He sent a frantic message. <> She blinked her eyes at him, but then her gaze seemed to take in what was happening to him. A panicked sound emerged from her lips, and he quickly sent another thought. <> Finished restraining him -- quite effectively, he discovered after a futile attempt to pull away with both arms and legs -- the commandos turned away from his chair. And towards Scully. Regardless of his warning, Scully did struggle somewhat as she was brought to the other chair and forcibly put on it. Mulder frowned and gritted his teeth, there was nothing he could do but watch. Watch and try to mind-speak to her again, to get her to stop expending her energy uselessly. To not anger them. <> She didn't even look in his direction -- she was staring with apprehension at the set of straps around her ankles and calves the commandos were busy putting in place. He wasn't getting any actual coherent thoughts from her, but rather impressions -- fear, worry. Memories of past experiences, where she had previously been restrained. He tried to speak to her again, concerned they would use the stun gun on her, or worse. <> Whether his previous warning had not registered, he did not know, but Scully finally responded. <> He gave her an infinitesimal nod and watched as she seemed to settle down. A grimace crossed his face briefly as he realized then that he had unintentionally been leaning forward against the straps. As if he could get up and go to her, all his muscles tensed. He forced himself to relax and took several deep breaths until his racing heart rate slowed. The commandos adjusted the last of Scully's restraints, did an about-face, and marched towards the door. Craning his neck, Mulder was able to watch as two of them exited, and the other two took up their posts -- one on either side of the door. When neither guard moved, and no other activity became apparent, he began to examine their newest prison more closely. Aside from the chairs he and Scully were strapped into, and equipment whose use was unknown to him in one corner, the room was empty. Three of the white-painted walls were bare, but the fourth had a large, mirror-like window, like those found in police station interrogation rooms. Rooms with one-way viewing. A tickling sense at the back of his mind told him that there were people on the other side of that window, observing him and Scully. As surreptitiously as possible, he glanced at her, and it appeared that she was checking the room out as well. With her interest focused on the machines in the corner, Mulder didn't think she had noticed the observation window, so he mind-called to get her attention. <> Nothing. <> Still no response. He tried harder, 'shouting' her name. <> She visibly startled, her head whipping around so she could stare at him, eyebrows high. Her message came quickly, and he heard the surprise and the ire in it. <> Angling his head just slightly, so that it faced away from the one-way mirror, he shot his gaze towards it and back quickly. Sent a mind-warning as well. <> She frowned, tilting her head a little, reminding him of a reaction people made when they couldn't quite hear. <> Frowning as well, he shot another look towards the window and re-sent his thought. Once again tensing in his seat, his hands tightly clenched. <> Comprehension dawned, and she instinctively glanced at the one-way mirror. Mulder had only a few seconds to contemplate why it had taken Scully so long to respond, to attempt to assess and analyze the situation, because the door opened then and a white-coated, bespectacled man entered the room. A technician of sorts, Mulder surmised. The man did not acknowledge the commandos in any way that Mulder could detect, and immediately walked over to the grouping of machines. He did, however, look at the window for a moment as he passed by it. There was a compact laptop with stylus and a blood pressure cuff in the man's hands when he went to Scully's side, items Mulder assumed had been retrieved while he had checked on the machines. Mulder watched tensely as the man, who did not speak to Scully, proceeded to check her blood pressure and take her pulse, apparently entering the results on the laptop immediately after. Next the man checked the straps around her wrists and ankles, and then walked over to Mulder's chair. The technician repeated the same examination of Mulder's restraints, still not uttering a word. Mulder briefly considered making it difficult for the man to take his readings, but remembering the commandos still in the room, and their stun guns, decided to speak to the man instead. In as non-confrontational a tone as he could manage, he asked, "What are you going to do to us?" He was not graced with an answer. The technician did not even spare him a glance, merely busied himself wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Mulder's upper arm. Mulder tried again, in a much stronger voice. "What the hell is going on here?" <> Scully's admonishment came through loud and clear, but he ignored it, his gaze boring a hole in the man's forehead, willing the technician to look at him. To respond. But the only response was to finish taking Mulder's blood pressure and pulse, which the technician made note of on his laptop. Finished with that, he met Mulder's eyes briefly, his face expressionless, before turning and going back to the machines in the corner. *** End Part 8 of 12 *** Part 9 of 12 Unknown Location Tuesday Scully was not surprised when Mulder's questions were ignored, her eyes darting from the man now in the corner, and the two guards by the door. Neither commando had moved, as she had feared they might in order to silence Mulder, and both still stared straight ahead. She exhaled a tiny sigh of relief. Her partner wore a look she had seen often -- one that alerted her to the fact that he was perilously close to getting himself or them both into even more serious trouble. Fists clenched tight, his eyes were focused raptor-like on the technician's back. She was desperate to derail him from his dangerous path. A path she herself had nearly taken minutes ago, she recalled with some embarrassment. Panicking like a rookie, endangering both herself and her partner. Pushing that thought aside, she mind-called to him. <> And again when his gaze did not waver from the technician. <> She could not tell if he was deliberately ignoring her, or too caught up in his anger to hear. There was a third alternative, one that had just occurred to her and worried her greatly -- that their mind-reading abilities were fading, thereby rendering them of no use to their captors. For she was slowly coming to the realization that those abilities were the reason they had been brought to this facility. Hoping her ploy was not too obvious, Scully coughed. Whether it was or not, it worked. Mulder's head swiveled in her direction, his concern clear. His mouth opened as if he were about to speak, and she shook her head just slightly. With his focus now on her, she tried mind-speaking again. <> Awareness flickered in his eyes, followed by acknowledgment, and Scully was further relieved. More so when he sent a reply, his first words somewhat contrite. <> Scully nodded slightly, her eyes flicking from Mulder to the guards and then to the occupied technician. They did not appear to be under any additional observation, barring the possible watchers behind the one-way glass. So she decided to ask him a question about the situation that was plaguing her now. <> She gleaned the answer from his eyes before he sent his response. <> Her worry about the fact that their 'powers' might be disappearing intensified, seemed highly likely. By the sudden deadening of his expression, she knew Mulder had come to the same conclusion, and was equally apprehensive. She stated her concern baldly in her next mind-thought. <> <> Another thought occurred to her then -- she had not heard anyone but Mulder since leaving the Gunmen's the night before. Nor had Mulder, as far as she knew. <> A moment passed, and then he blinked, as if startled by her question, or perhaps his own realization about the subject. His lips tightened, and Scully once again knew what he was going to say, saw it in his eyes, before he replied. <> Their silent communication was abruptly severed by the opening of the door. Both she and Mulder turned their heads at the same time, and watched the latest arrival, another white-coated man. This one was tall and thin and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He immediately joined the other man, the one she had determined must be a technician. The two men conferred briefly, their low voices inaudible, most likely a deliberate action, before each one took the handles of a machine and rolled them over to the space between her and Mulder's chairs. Scully believed she recognized both pieces of equipment, though each was definitely state of the art, and appeared to be of the newest technology, highly advanced. The first was an electroencephalographic or EEG machine, and its purpose was to monitor brain waves. The second was a polygraph machine, which was used to monitor physiological functions such as breathing, pulse and the galvanic skin responses. Their presence compounded her growing suspicion that she and Mulder were to be tested. Whether it was at an unspoken signal or a predetermined response, the two commandos left their post and moved to stand at an alert position near the chairs as the technicians began to set up the equipment. Scully took their proximity as a subtle reminder to Mulder and her that any misconduct would be dealt with swiftly. Despite the abhorrent and frightening nature of the situation, her scientifically-trained mind could not help but be fascinated and intrigued by the evidence that the machines were indeed technically advanced. Instead of many electrodes attached to their scalps as was usually the norm for EEGs, there were only four each -- two at their temples, close to the scalp, and two at the base of their necks. For the polygraph machine, gone were the cumbersome leather straps around chest and abdomen -- one electrode over each of their hearts seemed to suffice. As well, there was the rather surprising fact that they both were hooked up to the same units at the same time. Once the blood pressure cuffs, one for each of them, had been affixed, and finger-clip electrodes were attached to their index fingers, the first technician returned to the corner to retrieve another piece of apparatus. He subsequently deposited it on top of the EEG machine and set about making the proper connections. This unit was easily portable, a little larger than a laptop, and completely foreign to Scully. By the questioning look in Mulder's eyes, it was equally foreign to her partner. The placement of this third piece of equipment was such that Scully had only a limited view. She was just barely able to make out a corner of the screen, similar to that of a computer, and the neon-green glow of data streams. Data concerning her and Mulder, she felt it safe to presume. Her gaze flicked from that view to the two technicians, who seemed to be paying her no mind, busy with their assorted tasks. Next she glanced at Mulder, who was watching the proceedings with evident curiosity and perhaps a healthy dose of apprehension. Leery of attempting to mind-talk now, Scully shifted slightly in the chair. The motion was enough to attract his attention; he turned his head in her direction. Their gazes met, and in his eyes she saw the same feelings that she was experiencing -- confusion, regret, anxiety. And a whirl of emotions flowing so quickly they were not easily identifiable. Adding to, and fueling her uncertainty. She did recognize his self-recrimination however, and was saddened by it. Despite her hesitancy of a moment ago, she deemed it worth the risk to try mind-speaking to him. She could not let him go on blaming himself for their situation. <> He gritted his teeth, shook his head minutely. Refusing her attempt to absolve him. He signed then, and looked away briefly before returning his gaze to her. <> Again their conversation was cut off by the door opening. A third man walked in, far older than any of the men in the room. He was very distinguished-looking, with a rigid bearing that called to mind service in the military and suited him well. Though neither guard moved at his entrance, both technicians reacted with deference, immediately leaving their posts and hurrying over to the third man. Their posture and demeanor were subservient, and Scully deduced that this man was their superior, perhaps a doctor. She received confirmation at the first technician's statement. Words spoken softly, spoken with deference. Words that made her heart start pounding. "Subjects are ready for you, Doctor." *** Ominous. Mulder decided that was an apt descriptor for the words the technician spoke. A sense of foreboding had washed through him upon hearing them, and he had been unable to contain a slight shiver of dread. Looking at Scully, it was clear she shared the same or similar feelings. Hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, the knuckles showing white, her already pale face had further blanched. Seeing her thusly only compounded his guilt for getting them into this situation. He knew Scully would say that she had chosen to come with him, that he had not forced her, but he couldn't accept that. Couldn't accept her shouldering any blame. He had placed her in harm's way far too many times. If only he had ignored the phone call from Dr. Kushov; had not listened to that tingle of excitement that had filled him as the good doctor had told his tale of mind control and experimental drugs. Yet would he have been true to himself, true to the X-Files, if he had not? Gritting his teeth, he pushed the thought aside. It would do no good to dwell on the past. Not now, when it appeared there might not be a future. That bleak possibility reminded Mulder of his missed chance to tell Scully just how much she meant to him. On some level, he was certain she was already aware of his feelings -- through their natural bond and their closeness as friends and partners, and also because of their now fading mind-reading ability. When the Doctor appeared at Mulder's side and took hold of his arm -- the one not encumbered by the blood pressure cuff -- and turned it outwards, Mulder realized he must have missed something during his musings, the Doctor's instructions perhaps. A glance at Scully revealed she was watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes and teeth biting her lower lip. He risked a thought towards her. <> Her head jerked up, gaze meeting his briefly before darting back to the doctor and the technician who had joined him. The reply she sent was terse. <> His arm was quickly prepped, and a second later he felt the sharp prick of a needle, inserted into one of the veins on the inside of his elbow. So much for the gentle touch. He was tempted to comment, but refrained, knowing his sardonic humor would be far from appreciated. Two tubes of blood were taken and handed off to one of the technicians, who promptly left the room with them, and the Doctor moved over to Scully. Mulder's gaze flicked from the door through which the technician had taken the blood, and to his partner. He watched as the procedure was repeated on Scully, and her blood was also taken out of the room. The Doctor left Scully's side without a word to either of them, and began tapping at the keypad of what looked like an extremely advanced, high-tech laptop. He did so until the two technicians returned. One of them carried a long, slim black leather case, which he took immediately to the Doctor. Handing it over almost ceremoniously, he murmured, "The injections are ready, Doctor." Mulder was once again suffused with dread, his body going cold. A clammy sweat broke out at his temples, where the electrodes were stuck to his skin, right at his scalp. At the same time, he was bombarded with waves of emotion from Scully. It was very similar to that instance of not long ago when they had been brought to their current location and she had started to panic. When she had begun to remember or have flashbacks to any one of her previous abductions. Or perhaps she was even now reliving that period of missing time, as a result of her abduction by Duane Barry. Thinking of that only worsened his feeling of dread. His breathing had quickened, and his body was tense. Glancing at his partner, he saw that her gaze was fixated on the Doctor's hands, holding the black case. Mulder knew he had to risk mind-calling to her, to try and calm her down, to stop the torrent of her emotions. <> Thankfully, she looked to him immediately, surprise coloring her features -- his worry must have rang through loud and clear. A part of his brain still had the clarity to muse about the fact that although their ability was fading, extreme emotion seemed to be the one thing strong enough to surpass their weakening link. Scully responded, giving him a tiny, affirmative nod of her head. Despite this, he noted that her eyes were still a little wild, and like him, her breathing had altered, to a hurried, almost panting. His attention was diverted from Scully by the sudden activity at the grouping of machines between their two chairs. The Doctor and both technicians appeared quite interested in something on the screens. This interest also seemed to be focused on Scully, as they repeatedly looked from her to the those screens, with the Doctor making furious notations on the keypad of the laptop. Though he too had been the recipient of a rather pointed glance when he had mind-spoken to Scully. Mulder could only assume, but inwardly be certain, that They had the capability and technology to monitor brainwaves. Or more specifically, brainwaves produced by the transmission of thoughts and feelings. The Doctor murmured something then, something Mulder could not make out. Apparently it had been instructions of some sort, for the two technicians broke into further action. One took the Doctor's place at the laptop as the Doctor made his way to Mulder's side, while the other unzipped the leather case. Removing a syringe from a fitted slot inside the case, he carried it to the Doctor with a noted caution and placed it into the Doctor's waiting hand. The two guards moved to stand directly beside his chair, one on either side. Another clear warning, one that held him still despite the desperate urge to fight for his freedom. A surprisingly steely grip clamped around his wrist, held his arm immobile. He felt a cold swipe near his inner elbow, and watched with revulsion as the needle slowly punctured his vein with precision, and the plunger was depressed. Releasing its toxins into his body. He couldn't accurately say what pulled his gaze from the needle in his arm and made him look at Scully -- perhaps she mind-cried to him, or perhaps the force of her emotions called to him. Perhaps it was because she was the lure to which he would always be drawn. His partner was staring at the syringe with the same revulsion, her eyes dark and her features tight. Revulsion mixed with empathy and fear and anger. Lassitude was beginning to roll through his body, and he knew it was from the injection. His eyes were suddenly heavy-lidded, and though he fought it, they slid closed. He forced them open again immediately, only to see Scully blur before him. Blinking rapidly, he opened his mouth to cry out, to call to her. Soundlessly. *** End Part 9 of 12 *** Part 10 of 12 Unknown Location Tuesday Scully watched helplessly as Mulder succumbed to the effects of the injection. Saw his eyes go blank and unfocused, saw his mouth open in a fruitless effort to speak. Knew that he was trying to say her name. When his head listed to the side as he slipped into unconsciousness, it was she who cried out his name. "Mulder!" Her heart was pounding, a fast furious beat that she could feel in her throat, and her clenched hands were cramped to the point of pain. Yet she could not release them. Mulder's eyes remained shut, his body limp. What the hell was in that injection? When the Doctor turned to her, an eyebrow arching, and the guards visibly stiffened, she realized she had actually voiced the question out loud. It did not matter; her query was ignored as Mulder's earlier queries had been. The Doctor merely shifted to stand at her side, and held out his hand for the next syringe. Which was quickly given to him by his attentive assistant. Her gaze flicked to the machines -- to the EEG and the polygraph, or the advanced versions thereof. In order to test her and Mulder's ability, their cooperation, while not guaranteed, was somewhat necessary. The injection was most likely for the purpose of ensuring or even enhancing this cooperation. Mind whirling with the possibilities, one such drug that leapt to the forefront was thiopental sodium. Or as it was better known, sodium pentathol. Truth serum. Often used as a sedative or anesthetic, depressing the central nervous system and both slowing the heart rate and lowering the blood pressure, it explained why Mulder was unconscious -- an effect that usually only lasted minutes. It also made the recipient lose inhibition and become quite talkative, though many scientists and researchers disputed the usage of thiopental sodium for the gathering of information. With the unknown advanced technology their captors seemed possessed of, They might well have created their own hybridized version of a truth serum. Scully winced when her wrist was grabbed as Mulder's had been, and shivered when her arm was prepped for the injection, biting her lip to hold back an instinctive cry of protest. A sharp stab, and the needle was in. Unable to lift her eyes from the sight, she imagined the liquid serum flowing through her veins, every beat of her heart pumping it to her organs. Having watched Mulder fall under in less than a minute after his injection, and having medical knowledge of the protocol of a dosage of thiopental sodium, she knew what was going to happen. Still, she tried not to go down without a fight, struggling to keep her eyes open, straining her neck to lift her head up from the cushioned chair, every muscle in her body coiled tight. Despite her efforts, her eyes rolled back in her head and slowly closed, and her body sagged back as weakness infused her limbs. "Noooooo--" she mumbled through lips that felt too thick for speech. With the last of her strength, she attempted to open her eyes again, but her eyelids felt so... ...heavy... She was drifting... Moaning slightly, Scully turned her head to the side a little, and tried again to open her eyes. This time she was successful, though she had to blink several times to clear her vision, and a small smile curled her lips at her triumph. Letting them slide closed again, she took stock. She felt loose and lazy, as if she were detached from her body. As well, her mouth was dry, and her limbs a bit heavy, not really in her control. Voices -- low, mumbled voices -- caught her attention, and now she had to struggle to focus her mind. Where was she? Rolling her head to the other side and opening her eyes, she saw Mulder. Strapped to a chair and staring at her, his face appearing slack for some reason. She heard his voice in her head, discerned the confusion and disorientation in that one word that was her name, and was startled, jolting in her seat. Arms and legs straining against restraints that held her strapped in, as Mulder was. <> Everything suddenly came back to her in a rush, and her head surged forward off the chair back, a gasp escaping her lips. Their mind-reading, being grabbed outside the Gunmen's. The injection, trying to fight the effects of whatever had been in the syringe -- the serum she had postulated was sodium pentathol of some kind. Searching the room to the best of her limited ability, she noted that the two guards were back in position at the door, while the technicians and Doctor were once again gathered around the machines. Watching her and Mulder. Scully realized then that some time had passed since she had been injected, though she had no way of determining how many minutes. She did not think it had been longer than a few. Easing back into the chair, she looked at Mulder once more. He was still watching her, his expression somber. She heard him call to her again, though the words seemed faint and far away, not clear as they had been. Another sign that their power was fading, she mused. <> She kept her response simple, even as she was remembering that they shouldn't be communicating through mind-talk now, that it was dangerous to do so. <> Though she wasn't really okay, all things considered. But she knew he'd understand, and that he felt the same way. There was no chance to further their 'conversation', or to try and warn him not to mind-call to her again, for the Doctor deemed it time to begin. At a brief command from the older man, one of the technicians retrieved yet another piece of equipment -- what appeared to be a laptop -- sitting on its own metal table with wheels. It was rolled into place over Mulder's chair and positioned such that her partner could see the screen, while she could not. Without preamble, the Doctor spoke. "Images will appear on the screen in front of you, Agent Mulder. You will transmit them to Agent Scully via your newly acquired skill, and she will verbalize each image as she receives it." His face had remained expressionless through his recital, but as he delivered his next words, it grew slightly sinister. "Failure to comply is not acceptable, and will be dealt with accordingly." An icy chill skated its way down her spine at the implicit threat, and she fought to hold back the resultant shiver. The Doctor's lips curled in the barest of smiles. "Perhaps a small demonstration of the result of your non-compliance." Scully barely registered the sharp nod he gave, as fire tingled its way up her arm and through her body, originating from her index finger, covered by the electrode. She gasped, her heart thundering in her chest once again, and instinctively tried to jerk away from the source. Uselessly, of course -- the restraints served their purpose well, as intended. Across from her, Mulder reacted similarly, though he voiced his pain and protest out loud. "Christ!" The pulse had lasted mere seconds, but it had left her feeling weak and nauseous. And frightened out of her mind. Eyes fluttering closed, she struggled to regulate her breathing, and barely heard the Doctor's next words. "Shall we begin?" *** Shaking off the effects of the surge of electricity he had been subjected to -- similar to that of the stun gun, yet not quite the same intensity -- Mulder's concerned gaze scanned his partner. Her eyes were closed, but as if she had felt his attention, they opened to meet his. In that unique way they had always had of communicating silently, long before the blessing, or curse, of their mind- reading ability, Scully assured him she was all right. He nodded once, a barely-there gesture of his head, telling her the same. And then in another startling moment of clarity, he mused about the nature of the drug they had been given. Having assumed it was to aid in the testing procedure, perhaps a truth serum of sorts, he was somewhat surprised at how unaffected his ability to reason seemed. Which led him to consider their choices regarding the tests. Chancing a mind-send, Mulder asked her what they should do. <> Her gaze flicked to the machines and back. A message of its own. Still, she sent a reply. <> It *was* a risk. He gave her a tiny nod in agreement, signaling that they should comply. For he realized that he and Scully had no idea of the possible consequences of failing to cooperate, no assurances they would walk out of there alive. Or whether being successful during the tests would be beneficial or detrimental to their health or life expectancy. Then again, he had noted the use of the word 'small' in regards to the Doctor's demonstration, as the man had labeled the jolt they had each just received. Which meant the jolts could, and would, get stronger if they did not cooperate. And the time to cooperate, or not, was apparently now. The laptop that had been placed in front of him had been showing a bright blue screen, but at another signal from the Doctor, the first image appeared. Deliberate choice or ironic coincidence, it was a picture of a red fox. Fighting a smirk, Mulder fixed the image and the words in his mind, met Scully's gaze, and sent both. Scully blinked, and not surprisingly, the barest of smiles touched her lips. She hesitated briefly before uttering, "Fox. Red fox." Focusing on the screen again, he watched the next image appear, frowned slightly when it did, wondering if it had been chosen for its possible meaning to Scully. Jesus Christ on the Cross. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he did the same as before, and sent it to Scully. He heard her sharp inhalation, watched her eyes narrow a little. Her voice was tight when she spoke. "A crucifix." He could sense her unease, knew she was getting distracted by it. Holding her gaze for a few seconds, he tried to convey a message telling her to relax, without using their mind communication. After a moment, she blinked, and then closed her eyes as she took a slow, deep breath, held it, and released it with equal slowness. His empathy had been outwardly displayed by his unconscious mirroring of her tense pose; he allowed himself to settle back into the chair when he saw she had done the same. The next image was awaiting him on the screen. The Statue of Liberty. It took her a little bit longer with this one, and though they had agreed to cooperate, Mulder couldn't help wondering if she was hesitating on purpose. Her brow was crinkled slightly as she concentrated, but she stated it at last in her normal, clear tones. "Statue of Liberty." Glancing quickly at the Doctor, Mulder was unable to read the man's expression, or glean any impression whatsoever as to what the man was feeling or thinking. So far, their accuracy was 100 percent, but the testing was still in its very early stages, too soon to be of significance. The fourth picture was of a seashore. After sending it on, he watched as Scully hesitated yet again. And grew concerned as her silence continued on. Her frown lines were back, deeper than before, and she had her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes unfocused as she stared at him. Clearly concentrating. And not succeeding -- this was not an attempt at hindering the testing. Flicking his gaze to the screen and back to her, he fixed the image in his mind again and re-sent it. Come on, Scully, he willed silently. Her uncertainty was clear when she finally spoke, the words quiet and stumbling. "Water. Water...of some kind." Mulder tensed again, expecting to see her jolt from the shock, to *feel* her pain through the link. Or to be jolted himself as well. His gaze shot nervously from her to the Doctor, whose expression appeared merely contemplative. Neither of them were zapped however, and he breathed a shaky but quiet sigh of relief. That relief was soon wrenched from him when their link failed them completely. Image number five was that of a corn field -- again one that left Mulder wondering if it had been used deliberately, as a sardonic sneer at Scully and him. Because of her difficulty with the previous image, he took a moment to breathe slowly and deeply, to clear his mind, before sending the image on to her. Scully's carefully blank expression gave way to curiosity and impatience. Seconds later it bled into confusion and panic. He watched her breathing accelerate, watched her shake her head slightly from side to side, as if attempting to dislodge the confusion. Finally, she admitted with fearful defeat, "Nothing. I'm not...I don't see anything." There was no warning; he had not even formulated a thought as to the repercussions of this missed connection. A surge of electricity zinged along his arm, through his body. Had his mouth opening in a silent rictus of pain and his spine arching, lifting him up from the chair only to fall back with a weak groan when the pulse ended. For a moment, he felt like a gibbering fool -- his lips numb yet tingling, his tongue thick in his mouth. Head lying slackly to one side, chin touching a shoulder, slumped in the chair against his bonds. A quiet verbal warning from the Doctor had him opening his eyes and straightening up. Across from him, Scully slowly did the same. And they started once more. The next image was of a snowy mountain range. Though it in no way resembled the place where Duane Barry had taken Scully over five years ago, Skyland Mountain came to mind. Mulder frowned and pushed that bitter memory away, to concentrate on the picture before him. Lifting his head, he met Scully's gaze. From the blank yet frightened look in her eyes, Mulder knew their ability had failed them again. The Doctor gave Scully only seconds, prompting her with an impatient, "Agent Scully?" "I can't--" She barely got the words out when she was hit with another jolt of electricity, her back arching and lifting her partly from the chair. Mulder was not zapped. His punishment was to watch Scully suffer. He would have preferred the electricity, gladly taken on hers as well as his own. It seemed to last forever, but was in reality perhaps only five seconds. Scully slumped into the chair when it was over, her eyes closed and chest rising and falling with rapid pants for air. She was accorded little recovery time either. The Doctor's next words were as impatient as his last prodding. "Next image, Agent Mulder." A quick glance at the screen showed another image, which Mulder ignored. Glaring at the Doctor, he yelled, "She needs a moment, damn it!" This time he thought his brain would fry. The jolt of fire that began in his finger and raced through him had his body jerking like a marionette -- a hobbled marionette. *** End Part 10 of 12 *** Part 11 of 12 Unknown Location Tuesday She heard Mulder's angry protest through the haze of her mind, and tried to find the energy to tell him to stop before he was punished. But by the time Scully forced her eyes open, it was too late. Nerves thrumming unpleasantly and heart still pounding a furious beat, she watched in angry sympathy as he writhed and lurched against his restraints. The tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief, and his face was twisted in a grimace of pain. She fought the tremendous and instinctive urge to cry out, knowing it would do neither of them any good -- and in fact, could actually endanger them further. When the pulse ended -- Scully dazedly realized each one was no longer than a few seconds though they felt and appeared to be far longer -- Mulder collapsed back with a grunt, his face pale and his eyes squeezed shut. They opened quickly when the Doctor's voice once again demanded their attention. "If there are no further complaints, Agent Mulder...shall we proceed?" Fear coiled in her stomach, made her palms go damp and brought tears to her eyes, which she rapidly blinked away. Clenching her hands into fists to hide their trembling, she lifted her chin, her eyes clear. If she was going to go down, it would not be cowering and sniveling. With hands likewise fisted, Mulder looked down at the screen. Scully concentrated on his face as he studied the image before him, worked on keeping her breathing slow and steady, her mind focused only on him. Though several seconds soon passed, he still did not look up at her, the signal that he was sending his thought to her. He was taking much longer with this one, and she suddenly knew he was buying her time. Time she desperately needed. For her mind was completely blank. The fear magnified, grew in intensity, until she was close to hyperventilating. In her escalating panic, her eyes had slid shut, so she forced them open and found Mulder again -- the look in his eyes grounding her, helping her find the calm she needed. Sucking in a lungful of air, she held it for several seconds, and slowly released it. Repeated the action twice more, until her breathing had regulated and she felt ready to go on. "Agent Scully." The low-voiced warning from the Doctor had the fear fluttering anew in the background of her mind. She willed it away, concentrating only on Mulder. It was odd, but she no longer seemed able to 'hear' him. Instead, she was trying to 'see' what he saw. Whether intentionally or not, or perhaps because their ability was waning, she did not know. She wondered, given that the elements of the drug they had been injected with were completely unknown, if it could be possible that there was a property contained within that caused their ability to manifest itself differently, more literally, as in images rather than words? That it somehow altered their perceptions of their ability? It sounded fantastical, yet she had already been forced to suspend her beliefs when she and Mulder had discovered they could read minds. Mulder was staring at her quite intently, one eyebrow raised just slightly, and Scully abruptly realized she had completely lost her focus. Angry at herself for risking them both, she applied herself fully, trying desperately to 'hear' or 'see' the image. There was absolutely nothing. The flutter grew into a pounding, yet her voice was remarkably steady when she said, "Nothing. I'm not getting anything at all." Mulder flinched, a barely perceptible movement, and she cringed in apprehensive anticipation for the jolt. None came. The Doctor turned to one of the technicians and murmured in the man's ear. The technician bobbed his head in a nod and hurried from the room. "Proceed, Agent Mulder," was all the Doctor said. It took a moment for the message to be received by her brain -- her muscles relaxed gradually, and she let out a shaky sigh of relief. With nothing to do but try, she breathed in and out, deeply and slowly, and once again concentrated on Mulder, eyes losing focus as she desperately attempted to read him. Pessimistically she expected nothing, and that was exactly what she got. Lips parting to bitterly announce her latest failure, she was barely able to contain a startled gasp when she heard Mulder's voice faintly in her head. <> Despite the surprise she felt, her eyes quickly refocused, and she responded instinctively, mind-speaking his name in return. There was little time to marvel at the ease with which she did so. <> Gaze locked steadily on hers, the expression on his face was one of understanding, though there was an undercurrent of strain there. Despite this, and the brevity of their exchange, both were enough to bolster her. Her mind cleared, and an image immediately filled it. Irony at its best once again, she thought with a brief flare of anger, and struggled to keep that anger from her voice as she spoke. "The Hoover Building." Mulder's minute reactions -- the brief flash in his eyes, the barest tilt of his head, things no one else but she would pick up on -- told her that she had identified it accurately. His reactions had been her barometer or gauge for her success or failure throughout the testing. The tightening of his lips and a blank expression had told her when she was wrong. For some reason her eyes flicked from her relieved partner to the Doctor, though she quickly averted her gaze before her notice could be brought to his attention. If she were not mistaken, the man had been caught off-guard by her correct response. As if he had expected them to fail. With a flash of insight, Scully realized that They were fully aware of the limits of the mind-reading drug. It did not, however, explain the necessity of the testing. But it could explain why Their controls for the variables were rather limited -- normally in a testing situation such as this, she and Mulder would not have been able to see each other, thereby negating any visual cues. It was as if that variable had not mattered. Whether the revelation threw her off or not, she missed the next three images completely, drew complete blanks each time. Yet she was jolted only once, the first time she missed -- a brief stab of electricity that was over before it really began. Mulder was spared. There was no rhyme or reason, no discernible pattern to the punishment. It was an extremely unpredictable and therefore effective method. The return of the technician interrupted her musings. She noted with fear-heightened curiosity that he was carrying a black case, similar to the one that had borne the truth serum. As before, the case was brought immediately to the Doctor. He wasted little time unzipping it and unfolding the two sides, apparently to inspect the contents. Scully's glance at Mulder showed he was equally focused on the proceedings, his face wearing the blankness that denoted tension or fear. But her gaze seemed to pull his attention to her, and they shared a look, shared unvoiced sentiments and feelings for all too brief a moment. A moment that was ended when the Doctor removed a syringe from the case and stepped over to Mulder's right side. The technicians joined him, one beside the doctor, and the other at Mulder's feet, completely blocking her view of her partner. Sitting up as straight as she was able, fighting the bonds that held her at wrist, waist and ankle, she craned her head at an unnatural angle in an attempt to see Mulder. Desperation had her crying out hoarsely, "Damn it, what the hell are you giving him?" Ignorance was policy -- she did not receive a reply. She heard Mulder hiss in a breath, and knew he had been injected. And then it was her turn. She caught a glimpse of Mulder, his head once again lolling to one side, his eyes closed and mouth open slightly, when the trio came to stand by her chair. The only reassurance she could glean was the steady rise and fall of his chest. Arm prepped, Scully bit her lip to hold back another angry query. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched the needle bite into her skin with a tiny prick, and fluttered when the plunger was depressed. Her body immediately felt like a stone, and she was completely incapable of lifting even a finger. Eyes closing against her will, she surrendered to the effects of the unknown drug. But not before she hazily heard the Doctor's voice snap with anger, "We waited too long for the testing!" And then she was gone. *** End Part 11 of 12 *** Part 12 of 12 Epilogue Lynchburg General Hospital Lynchburg, VA Tuesday 4:30 PM His mouth was as dry as the Sahara, and tasted worse than anything he'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing. With a grimace of distaste, Mulder shifted uncomfortably, and pried open eyes that felt glued shut. He did not recognize his surroundings. As panic rushed in at full force and speed, he suddenly remembered everything -- meeting Dr. Kushov, the abandoned warehouse, mind-reading with Scully... Lunging upwards from his supine position, he cried out hoarsely. "Scully?" A face he recognized filled his vision as an equally familiar voice spoke. "Mulder, relax, you're okay." Byers. The dapper, bespectacled man patted Mulder's arm, the gesture somewhat awkward. Heart pounding like a racehorse, and eyes no doubt wild and unfocused, Mulder searched the countenances of the three friends ringed around the bed he lay upon. Belatedly he identified his location as a hospital, even as frantic fear had him demanding, "Where the hell is Scully?" "Easy, big fella," Frohike stepped closer and held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "She's here, Mulder. In a room just down the hall. Skinner's with her." Slightly mollified, though still unsettled, Mulder heaved out a huge breath, and fell back against the rough pillows. He was feeling somewhat light-headed and nauseous, but refrained from telling that to his companions. "She's okay?" he asked, staring intently at Frohike, demanding utter honesty. "You're both okay, Mulder," the little man replied, gaze straight and unwavering. "Little worse for wear, but as far as the docs can tell, there's no lasting damage." His face scrunched up suddenly, eyes shifting away and back nervously. "Can you still read our minds, Mulder?" he asked, curiosity and wariness both evident. Mulder hadn't given their mind-reading ability a single thought, and shrugged his shoulders, strangely unconcerned -- he was anxious to see his partner. "It's doubtful, Fro." Taking a slow, deep breath, he eased upright once more, pushing at the bedding that covered him to his waist. "I need to find Scully," he stated, and swung his now-bare legs over the side of the bed. "Whoa there, Mulder," Frohike exclaimed, backing away and shooting a look at the other two Gunmen. "You should let us get the doctor before you try anything." Mulder shook his head, already sliding his feet to the ground. "I can manage." The cold sweat that had broken over him was not evidence to the contrary, he tried to convince himself. Nor was the weakness of his limbs. Byers looked worried, and somewhat inclined to bolt. "Mulder, I have to concur with Frohike. Let me go get your doctor." "Byers." Mulder clipped the word out. The dapper man swallowed audibly. "A wheelchair, at least?" Byers turned his head, found Langly standing silently a foot away. "Find a wheelchair, Langly. Fast." Mulder had to admit he'd never seen Langly amble that quickly before. He would not admit that the wheelchair was a damn fine idea. Plastering an accepting look on his face, he leaned his butt on the edge of the mattress -- a move he hoped did not concede any weakness on his part, but more a sign of impatience. "Do I have any clothes?" "Um, you were brought in wearing hospital scrubs," Byers replied. "I think Assistant Director Skinner had them taken as evidence." He paused and then said, "I can go get you some after we take you to Agent Scully." Mulder nodded absently, his mind preoccupied with sudden memories of the testing procedure he and Scully had gone through. Langly returned then, entering the room backwards and towing a wheelchair with him. Clearing the door, he spun the chair around with a deadpan, "Somebody call for a taxi?" It took a few minutes, but at last Mulder was settled into the wheelchair with a blanket wrapped around his lower half for a modicum of dignity. Langly held the door while Byers had the honor of pushing the chair, and Frohike played look-out, peering both ways down the hall before signaling the all-clear. As they wheeled down the hallway, Mulder asked the question that had just occurred to him. "Where are we?" Byers answered. "Lynchburg General Hospital." Virginia again, Mulder mused. Before his subconscious could delve into the merits of Their operations in that state, Byers slowed the chair and then stopped at Room 122, where Frohike stood off to one side. Langly darted in front and without ceremony pushed the oversized wooden door open. The action revealed a suit-clad Skinner standing beside the hospital bed that contained an awake and apparently unharmed and alert Scully. Who was staring towards the door, staring at him, expectantly. Mulder got an uncanny feeling she had known he was there. Perhaps vestiges of their mind-reading were still lingering, he mused. Though as of yet, he himself had not caught a stray thought from a single soul. He wasn't sure yet if he was disappointed or not. Relief immediately washed over Scully's features -- relief that he knew had to be mirrored on his own face. "Mulder," she said, and there was a wealth of meanings behind that one word. Solace, empathy, comfort. "Hey, Scully," he replied nonchalantly, though that was the complete opposite of how he truly felt. Which was something he was uncomfortable expressing to her with the presence of their audience. He followed up with, "Fancy meeting you in a place like this," and a flashy grin. A moment later her lips quirked up in an answering and understanding smile, albeit a small one. Skinner snorted, shifting to stand with his hands on his hips. "Then I suppose you'll be happy to know that you two hold the record for most losses of cell phones and weapons," their boss shared sarcastically. Mulder aimed a mocking smile at Skinner before wheeling himself over to Scully's bed. Her right hand lay palm- down at her side, and he immediately covered it with his, secure with that kind of contact in front of Skinner and the Gunmen. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, meeting her gaze to murmur, "You okay?" She nodded once and quietly responded, "Just a little off, probably from whatever we were knocked out with. Skinner told me they haven't got the analysis of our blood work back yet." "Same," he told her, and they shared a moment of commiseration and togetherness. He then turned his head to take in the four men. "So how did we end up here?" Skinner's jaw muscles had started to tic, and he indicated the Gunmen with a jut of his chin and a somewhat disdainful wave of his arm. "I'll let these three...start." The deliberate pause had Frohike bristling, but the little man kept silent, while Byers turned pink-cheeked. Mulder wondered at the story behind their reactions and said, "Spill it, Frohike." Instead Langly began. "We happened to catch the grab on our cameras," he explained, his voice raising slightly as he warmed to his tale, his features animated. "We got ourselves together and followed you in the van for hours-" "Without immediately calling the police or myself," Skinner interjected, his tic more pronounced. This revelation did not surprise or bother Mulder. With the Gunmen's distrust of any government faction, it was SOP for them, and actually expected. Langly gulped, but did not reply. Stepping back to lean against the wall by the door, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, chastised. Byers took over from the lanky Gunman. "We were concerned about losing the panel van you two had been thrown into," he explained slowly, his voice apologetic, "and following it was our primary focus." Mulder nodded, the gesture slightly impatient. He was eager for the Gunmen or Skinner to get to the details of how he and Scully had gotten from the unknown facility to their current location in the hospital. Glancing quickly at his partner showed she wore an expression of similar sentiment. Thankfully Byers sped up his narration. "However, after we had been following the van for about two and a half hours, a decision was reached to contact Assistant Director Skinner." Mulder was able to decipher that Byers had wanted to call Skinner from the beginning, but his two cohorts had been against doing so. "The switchboard had difficulty reaching me," Skinner interjected then, and it was his turn to look embarrassed, and a little angry. "Contacting and marshalling the efforts and resources of the Richmond field office proved more difficult than expected. It seems they had several covert operations in progress." Mulder intuited that there was going to be some serious backlash from these occurrences. Byers spoke again. "The van finally reached its destination approximately four hours after you had been grabbed, a non-descript, unnamed building on the outskirts of Lynchburg. They entered through an underground garage, and we deemed it prudent to establish our post a block away. We kept the place under surveillance for some time before deciding to attempt a breach as there was no sign of the FBI." Here Byers paused, looking at Frohike, who was studiously staring at his feet. "We managed to get Frohike inside, and he was able to tap into Their surveillance system, enabling us to determine that you were both alive and apparently unharmed. But he was nearly caught and had to retreat." "Not long after that, we detected movement inside," Frohike stepped forward. "Serious movement. As in the rats were deserting the ship." Chin lifting pugnaciously, his stance became both defensive and indignantly proud. "With still no sign of the FBI, we decided we had to make a move." Langly left his place by the door to join Frohike, a bounce to his step. "In short, the cavalry arrived too late," the Gunmen said gleefully. He sobered though when he said, "We found you and Scully lying unconscious in an empty room, and called 9-1-1." Mulder experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach at Langly's last words, and his voice was tight when he asked, "The building?" "Completely empty, Mulder," Skinner replied. "Evidence Recovery teams are still sweeping, but it seems unlikely they'll find anything. It looks like your kidnappers cleaned house." Scully's voice was wry as she asked, "And I suppose They got clean away?" "Did you expect any less, Scully?" Mulder snapped in his frustration and anger, and was immediately remorseful for taking it out on her. He sent an apology with his eyes, which she accepted with an infinitesimal nod. Turning to Skinner, he asked, "When can we get out of here?" "I'll go get the Doctor," Byers said, before Skinner could reply. *** Two Days Later JEH Building Washington, D.C. Thursday 9:45 AM Scully could literally feel the tension radiating from Mulder's body as they rode the elevator down to the basement. They had both been silent since leaving Skinner's office, though she would categorize her silence as being contemplative, while Mulder's was more explosive in nature. Her assessment was correct -- after he politely gestured her into the office, his anger erupted. Despite her expectation of such an action, the slam of the door still made her flinch. Without comment, she took her seat, placing the file folder she had been carrying down on the blotter before her, and watched as Mulder proceeded to stalk to his desk and stand there with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. A moment later one of his feet lashed out and kicked the garbage can across the room, sending crumpled wads of paper skittering and spinning over the tiled floor. "Goddammit!" he roared, and cleared the surface of the desk with one sweep of his arm. Some sense of restraint had kept him from including his computer and keyboard with the remainder of the items that had graced his blotter and now lay scattered at his feet, and she was thankful. Having to explain the destruction of a PC would not have been the highlight of her day. She really wasn't sure if the day was going to have a highlight, to be honest. Tired, despite an enforced twenty-four hours of rest after being released from the hospital, she also was not quite fully recovered from their ordeal. It was tempting to just get up and go, to grab Mulder's hand and drag him out of the office. Mulder's burst of angry energy ended -- with a heavy sigh, he dropped into his seat and met her gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, waving his hand in the air to indicate the results of his explosion. But a second later he was bouncing up out of his chair to start pacing. "Nothing, Scully," he gritted out on the first return pass. "Again we're left with nothing." He kicked at the balled up papers in his path, hands raking repeatedly through his now spiked hair. "Not one damn shred of evidence." His anger and frustration were starting to stir hers anew -- she had tamped her feelings down before they could do much damage back in Skinner's office, after reviewing the report from the Evidence Retrieval team in Lynchburg. The team that had found zero evidence at the location where she and Mulder had been found. She had to bite back the words he had flung at her in her hospital room. His sarcastic, "Did you expect any less, Scully?" still grated, even though she knew he hadn't meant to direct them at her. Taking a deep breath, she held it for several seconds and then exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself. Despite that effort, there was just the slightest snap in her voice when she paraphrased, "Mulder, it's happened before, and as you so eloquently put it the other day, we shouldn't expect any less." Her words stopped him in his tracks. Or perhaps more accurately, they deflated him like a popped balloon. And the look on his face was priceless -- a combination of startlement, confusion and annoyance. Making his way to the desk, he sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. This time his apology was genuine, the tone colored with his embarrassment at his behavior. "I didn't mean to take my frustration out on you, Scully." "I know, Mulder," she told him. "And believe me, I understand and share in that frustration." She put a slight emphasis on the word 'share', to remind him that they had both been affected. The wry quirk of his lips told her he'd caught the intentional rebuke. She smiled back, and that particular matter was over. But Mulder wasn't ready to let the whole thing go just yet. Leaning forward, he snatched up the file folder that lay in front of her. The one they had gone through in Skinner's office, that contained their hospital reports, including the results of their blood work. Paging through it, his index finger stabbed down on one particular report. "Unidentifiable substances," he read out loud, and then shoved the file towards her. Understanding that he needed to talk everything through, she acquiesced to his silent request, and picked up both of their blood reports. Perused them again, despite the fact she had gone over them, and the reports from their blood work taken at the FBI lab, several times each. "Hemoglobin, hematocrit, platelet counts all normal," she murmured, scanning the test names. "Both our leukocyte counts -- the number of white blood cells -- were slightly elevated, but not alarmingly." Scully paused to glance at Mulder, who had a questioning look on his face, and explained, "Leukocytes aid in the neutralization or destruction of invading microorganisms. It's possible the leukocytes were trying to fight off whatever we were injected with -- the unidentified substances found in our blood." Looking at her partner again, she tacked on, "Which were quite minimal." "Proof of a sort," he mumbled, swiveling his chair to one side and staring off into space. "Proof that in the end means nothing." Scully nodded, though he could not see the gesture, and returned the reports to the file, closing the folder. Mirroring his pose somewhat, she leaned back in her own chair and contemplated the ceiling. Getting the hell out of the office right then was sounding like a better and better idea. No destination in mind, just out. "Scully," Mulder said suddenly, and rather loudly in the quiet office. "Let's get the hell out of here. Go somewhere...anywhere, I don't care. Just away from the office." Her chair snapped forward, the sound like a firecracker, and she was sure she had paled to the color of parchment. "What?" he said semi-defensively. Blinking rapidly, Scully continued to stare at him, mouth agape. Faint worry lines creased his face, and she tried to explain. "I was just...I..." "What, Scully, what?" Mulder rose to his feet, clearly uncertain and a little shaken. "I was just...thinking the exact same thing." Mulder sat down again and they studied each other intently for several tension-filled seconds before shaking their heads and laughing nervously. "Just a coincidence," they muttered together a moment later, and they both blinked in surprise before shrugging it off, physically and mentally. At least a minute passed before Mulder spoke, his voice musing. "Scully, despite what happened, you and I have always had a rather intense partnership, wouldn't you say?" She didn't respond, knowing it was more a rhetorical question, and he continued. "We've somehow attuned ourselves to know what the other is thinking, to be able to predict each other's moves and responses, to anticipate each other's needs." His smile to her was a little crooked, his gaze warm. "It's pretty amazing when you think about it, really. Almost like we were somehow linked, that we're..." Scully finished the sentence with him. "Connected." *** THE END Feedback appreciated at lovesfox@rogers.com