Date: Mon, 01 Dec 1997 16:26:18 -0600 From: TwoSpooky Subject: CORRECTED: A Covenant of the Will (1/5) TITLE: A Covenant of the Will AUTHOR: Birgit Mueller EMAIL ADDRESS: rm12908@navix.net (ALERT! bg50001@navix.net NO LONGER WORKS.) DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Feel free to archive everywhere. SPOILER WARNING: One Breath arc (minor), Pusher RATING: PG with an "f-word" warning (just once or twice, I think) CONTENT WARNING: MSR CLASSIFICATION: S, R, A (I had some trouble categorizing this one. It's MSR, yep, but it does have a plot... So judge for yourself. ) KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance SUMMARY: A sequel to "Will to Power". Scully begins to recover from her injuries -- but her doctor makes a discovery that puts them all in danger. DISCLAIMER: Of course they don't belong to me. If they did, the M&S relationship would have taken a different turn after "Pusher" ...and I'd be rich, of course... They do belong to Chris Carter, and 1013, and all that. This is fanfiction, folks, and we all know the drill. I make no money -- lawyers please take no money! Thanks are definitely due to Jill Selby from the Beta Reader's Circle (THANK YOU!! :), and also to Freida, Kat, and Fay for the comments and reassurance . Also, a special thanks to Holly Alexander -- Holly, I'm sorry we lost touch. If you're still out there -- looky, I finished it!! This is a sequel to "Will to Power", which I originally posted in March 1996. This one picks up immediately where WTP left off, so (SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT!!! ) you might want to read that one before reading this one . This one will make enough sense as a standalone story, but it does just jump into things... ================= A Covenant of the Will Part 1 of 5 by Birgit Mueller (rm12908@navix.net) ================= Fox Mulder blinked in the bright fluorescent light that flowed outward onto the dark pavement. Oblivious to the large red letters spelling out "Ambulance Arrivals Only," he stumbled through the double glass doors. He was clutching Scully as if his own life depended on the contact. She was ash-pale, unconscious and utterly limp. Her flesh was so hot that it burned him where he touched her, and her breath crackled in erratic liquid gasps, as if being forced from her chest by a leaky compressor that was no longer doing its job. Instantly, there was yelling and scrambling, and the efficient chaos of the emergency room flooded over him in a bright, unintelligible wave. His ears roared. Someone plucked her from him deftly, as if it were a step in a relay race. He moved to follow them. "Someone have a look at him, too," a voice near him shouted. "Looks like a head injury." He felt dizzy. A hand fell, grasping his shoulder and making him wince in pain. He shrugged it off, panicking when he lost sight of Scully. He took a step, intent on finding her... And the floor, cold and blindingly white, introduced itself with a sound and utterly unexpected *smack*. For what felt like one long moment, the world was a blanket of mist, quiet and still. Brief snatches of awareness hovered around him, graceful spectres that couldn't quite make themselves heard. He didn't feel but still knew that he was being hoisted up; then he understood that he was being rolled away, away from Scully, but he was powerless to stop it. Then everything faded to black. ********************************* Mulder regained consciousness slowly, first hearing the steady, pulsing *whir* of the machine, then feeling the cold steel of the bench beneath his bare shoulders. He wondered vaguely where he was and why he was there. A thousand jumbled memories abruptly flooded him. The realization that he'd lost his cell-phone in the fire... Confused and frustrated, the knowledge that his head injury was worse than he'd thought, and then swerving off the road to throw up in the snow... How had they gotten to the hospital?... *I love you too...for a long time*... Scully slumped, unmoving, against the passenger window, her breathing, loud and rattling, overpowering even the whine of the engine... Scully... Scully. His eyes flew open at the sound of his voice whispering her name, and all he could see was the expanse of a concave silver sky suspended above him. "Sir," a voice crackled in his ear. "Sir, you need to remain quiet, please." *What the hell?* "Hey," he said, the word a disoriented mutter. There was no response. He reached up and whacked the curved metal above him with the heel of his hand. He felt a sharp pain, noticed absently that it was bandaged. "Hey!" he said again, louder. The voice was back again, coolly professional. "Sir, please, try to remain still for the remainder of the scan." *Scan?* He suddenly realized he was inside the giant metal hollow of an MRI machine, his head immobilized by a single strap. "Let me out," he demanded, ignoring the technician's directives. "I want to know where my partner is." No answer. He felt abruptly like he was alone inside a bubble; chillingly alone. He needed her with a sudden, confused, childlike urgency. "Hey!" he repeated, reaching up to give the metal ceiling above him another solid *thump*. "Dana Scully. Where is she?" Still, there was no response. His voice fell ominously in pitch, becoming a dazed growl. "Answer me! *Where's my partner?*" Finally, the technician responded. "I don't have that information, sir," she said crisply, a hint of irritation tinging her voice. "*Please* remain still for the duration of the scan." A swift, dazed terror rushed up at him from somewhere very, very dark. He couldn't clear the strange film that seemed to encircle his thoughts, and all he could see was her blood on the snow, bright red on pristine white, and why wouldn't they tell him where she was? "I don't *need* any *fucking* tests!" he shouted suddenly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was disoriented and irrational, and he regarded himself with a cool, powerless amazement. She was dead, that was it. After all they'd survived together, she was dead. He slammed his hand powerfully against the smooth metal, punctuating his words. "*I* -- *need* -- *to* -- *know* -- *where* -- *she* -- *is*!" he roared. As if responding to his frustrated blows, the machine whirred to a stop. Taken aback, Mulder lay abruptly still and listened to the sound of his breathing, heavy and fast. Panic was fast giving way to controlled rage. She had to be dead. He felt sick. Suddenly, he was sliding out, away from the metal cylinder. He blinked as fluorescent light bled downward into his eyes. A shape in a white lab coat loomed over him. "I'm Dr. Hessman," the shape said, as it lay a hand on his forehead. Not the lab tech...good. A penlight shone in his left eye. He squinted and pushed it away. "I see you took quite a blow there," the doctor continued, soothingly, as the penlight snuck up on him and blinded his right eye for an instant. Mulder recognized -- and resented, despite himself -- the even and careful bedside manner so often reserved for the traumatized and the unstable. "You really need to have this test performed," he continued, just as gently. Mulder clenched his teeth for an instant. He wanted to scream. In lieu of that, a tightly contained "Get me out of this thing" was all he could manage. He reached up and began, on his own, to fumble with the strap. The doctor shooed his hands away and regarded him uncertainly. Head injury patients were always some of the worst. Combative. "Only if you promise not to pummel anything," he said, trying to dispel the tension. Trying to earn Mulder's attention. "Yeah," Mulder grunted, unaffected, "sure. Whatever." The doctor reached up and carefully unbuckled the strap, then helped Mulder slowly to a sitting position. Pain fired through his body -- his head, his taped shoulder, his bruised ribs, his arms and legs, his hands. The room swam as his eyes swept the scene. Dr. Hessman was an average-looking man in his early fifties, with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning greyish hair. The room would've been an average room, if it hadn't been for the other shapes -- two orderlies. Two *large* orderlies. And behind them, lurking in the doorway, a uniformed police officer. *Great,* he thought sourly. *We're famous.* Dr. Hessman looked him in the eyes. "Now. What can I do for you?" Mulder, suddenly calmer, hesitated uncertainly. Much more softly than he'd intended, he asked, "Where is she?" He steeled himself. He feared the answer. Dr. Hessman glanced at the chart in his hand. "I'm assuming you're referring to the woman you brought in earlier?" Mulder nodded slowly, then closed his eyes as the suddenness of the movement made him sway. "Now, there's no need to be alarmed," the doctor said carefully. "She's in surgery." *Surgery*, he repeated silently. Not the morgue. A powerful wave of relief rippled through him, making the tips of his fingers tingle. For an instant, his entire body slumped, and he deflated like a spent balloon. The doctor caught him as he started to pitch forward. "Whoa there," Dr. Hessman chided, steadying him on the bench. "Thank you," Mulder whispered, his eyes closed. The doctor got the feeling the words hadn't been aimed at him. He cleared his throat, then continued, "She was taken to surgery several hours ago." That got Mulder's attention. *Hours?* he thought, shocked. How long had he been unconscious? "She'll be transferred to intensive care after she leaves the OR." Mulder's too-vivid imagination pictured Scully on an operating table, and panic stabbed at him again. The panic brought on more dizziness, and he wobbled again, then it ebbed and the sharp edge of sudden fear was replaced by the dull, sick feeling of anxiety settling in for the long haul. "Is she..." he began, but trailed off. He knew better than to ask the naive question that had been poised there like a line from a bad soap-opera. For now, at least, she was alive. He swallowed hard, feeling a sudden spike of nausea. "When will I be able see her?" The doctor glanced briefly toward the doorway, and Mulder noticed the police officer edge closer to them. "Well," he replied, "I'm not sure just yet." He looked down at Mulder and tried his best to appear sympathetic and concerned. "Are you her husband?" Mulder's eyes snapped sharply upward, and he gave the doctor a sudden, startling glare. It wasn't a new question, but this time it jarred him. "I'm her partner," he grunted. "Her name is Dana Scully. I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI." He was gratified to note the abrupt glimmer of respect and empathy that suddenly graced the expression of the lurking local policeman as he took the names quickly down. Still, the officer spoke with a note of skepticism in his voice. "You two both came in without ID," he reminded Mulder. Mulder sighed heavily, feeling his anger return, feeling his impatience rising. "I know. We were investigating a possible kidnaping along the national trail when Scully was assaulted. We lost everything we were carrying." "What exactly -- " the policeman began, pen in hand. "Look," Mulder interrupted him, waving his fingers tersely in the man's general direction. "Officer..." he squinted at the man's badge. "Simms," the officer supplied. "Officer Simms," Mulder continued. He took a deep breath, fighting to keep his head clear, fighting to keep from ripping the man's face off in a totally unwarranted fit of irrational rage. "I understand your need for the details of this incident, and I -- " *and my partner,* he silently added, the closest he would ever get to a prayer " -- will be glad to supply you with it *later*." He steadied himself again. Scully's face intruded into his thoughts, followed by the feeling of an oppressive, gaping vacuum in the center of his chest. It almost took his breath away. *Concentrate,* he urged himself. *Do your job.* "Call Assistant Director Walter Skinner in D.C.," he heard himself saying. He paused, watching as the officer scribbled hastily onto his notepad. "He'll certainly be able to fax you any verification you need." Mulder suddenly felt detached, pulled away from himself. He hovered numbly in the background as his mind worked, focusing on the details, dragging forth the absolute minimum that had to be said. The burned building. The bodies. He chose to ignore the raised eyebrows and the strange look on the policeman's face as he slipped out. Winded, amazed at how much that little monologue had taken out of him, he turned toward the doctor. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Suddenly very woozy, he collected the pieces of his psyche and said simply, "When can I see my partner?" The doctor still looked unsure, but he consulted the indecipherable scribblings on Scully's chart and replied, "I'll have someone inform you when she comes out of recovery." He juggled the charts in his grasp, wrote quickly in Mulder's. "*You*, we're going to want to keep here overnight. You've had a substantial con -- " Mulder cut him off. "No," he snapped, standing. *************************** Mulder blinked. He was standing in the doorway to Scully's ICU alcove. He'd gotten his way in the end, but he was almost dizzy enough to regret it. Almost. He peered into the small room. There were tubes everywhere, but he saw Scully's face clearly, her eyes closed, her chest moving rhythmically in time with the respirator's gentle hiss, the bright scarlet of her hair making her face seem that much paler, almost indistinguishable from the white of the sheets covering her body. His heart contracted painfully, and for an instant he couldn't move. She was in there, alive, and he felt...what? A nurse's voice startled him. "Looks like you both got banged up pretty good." Mulder, unable to wrench his eyes from Scully, didn't answer. The voice softened, sympathetic. "Are you her husband?" That question again; Mulder cringed, but exhaustion denied him his earlier venom. "I'm her partner," he breathed softly. He heard a soft chuckle and felt a pat on his unbandaged shoulder; the unsolicited familiarity made him vaguely uncomfortable. "Whatever they're calling it these days, hon." He didn't correct her. "She's pretty heavily sedated, sweetie," the nurse continued, "but I'll bet she wants to hear your voice." For an instant, Mulder hesitated. The nurse sensed it. "It's okay," she said, nudging him gently. "You can go on in." *Can I?* he thought ruefully. But he found himself moving and took the few painful, limping steps to her bedside. Careful of his battered body, he slowly lowered himself into the chair next to her. He glanced up and saw that the nurse had disappeared, and then there was silence, punctuated only by the rhythm of the respirator and the steady beeping of Scully's heart monitor. The cold, crisp air of the ICU flowed against his bare back, and he shivered. Memory washed over him, waves of flashbulb images of the last time she'd come so close to death; that, and even more vividly, the feeling. The feeling of losing her; the one that was so overwhelming... He suddenly felt the drowning pull of an impending emotional shutdown. How could he face the prospect of doing this again? How could he do this at all, now, any of it? *Christ,* he thought suddenly. *What have I done?* Panicked, he reached out blindly for her hand, covered it possessively with his own. His eyes ranged over her -- she was as bruised as he was, the dark results of Modell's rage standing out in stark contrast to her pale skin. Without thinking, he released her hand and moved to smooth the hair back from her face, then his fingers, just brushing the respirator's intrusive plastic tubing, hovered and came finally to rest against her cheek. She was still so hot. Why did everything he touched and everyone he loved somehow wind up suffering for it? She had been such an unexpected left turn in his life, an unbelievable gift greater than anything he ever thought himself capable of protecting, or capable of keeping...Was that why he had fought it so? How was it possible that she also loved him? His heart splintered a little further, and her image reflected back at him along the surface of every tiny shard. The only thing more frightening than being with her was being without her. And the promise that she would never lose him -- the one he wasn't sure he could keep -- had nonetheless been made long before it had finally, yesterday, been uttered. He finally found his voice. "Scully," he murmured softly. "Scully, I'm here." ***************************** END PART ONE................ ================= A Covenant of the Will Part 2 of 5 by Birgit Mueller (rm12908@navix.net) ================= Mulder awoke to the sound of a hushed, familiar voice drifting past him. "I...I don't know. No, no...not that I remember." Slowly, awareness returned. He was slumped in his chair, the chair he'd pulled close to Scully's bedside, and his hand was still wrapped protectively around hers. He shifted slightly, felt pain radiating from numerous locations, and noticed with annoyance that now, to top it all off, he also had a crick in his neck. "She never..." the voice continued, then paused. It was a woman's voice, with an anguished edge that made it sound as if she were holding back tears. Mulder forced his eyes open and sat up. "I can only think of the time she was missing...she -- " How long had it been since he'd called her? How could she already be here? "Mrs. Scully?" She turned when she heard Mulder's voice. "Fox?" She moved into the ICU alcove from the doorway, and he could see that she'd been crying. "Oh, Fox, I didn't want to wake you. The nurses said you'd been here for hours. You look terrible." He grunted indecipherably, vaguely hating the disorienting loss of a sense of the passage of time. He clenched his teeth against the pain and stood. His attention was distracted by the figure in the doorway and the apparent conversation, but he tried half-heartedly to smile at Mrs. Scully. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still a hoarse rasp. "What's going on?" Mrs. Scully tried to look composed, but Mulder could see the tears that threatened to spill over. "Dr. Hessman was just asking me a...a few questions about Dana." Despite his best efforts, Mulder's face darkened and he took a large, sudden step forward, toward the doctor. "What questions?" he grunted. "What's wrong?" The combination of Mulder's tone and his expression pushed the doctor back an involuntary step, but even as he moved back, out of Mulder's reach, his face reflected a genuine concern. "Mr. Mulder," he said, "someone needs to be checking on that head injury of yours periodically. I still wish you'd let us admit you." Mulder glowered at him. "What's wrong with Scully?" he demanded, as if the doctor hadn't spoken. Hessman sighed and dropped the subject. "Why don't we step into the consultation room?" he offered, gesturing quickly. With a black look, Mulder stalked toward him. He led them to a small room beside the nurse's station. As he moved to close the door, Mulder heard him mutter to the nearest nurse, "See that someone checks on his head injury occasionally, ok?" The door swung closed then, and the doctor turned to face them. Then he pulled a small glass vial from the pocket of his lab coat. Mulder's sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room, then he closed his eyes against what he didn't have to see to know. He sank and landed heavily on the tabletop. "Fox?" Mrs. Scully whispered. He heard it in her voice -- panic, mostly at his reaction. *Dammit*. He couldn't look at her. His throat constricted unexpectedly, and all he could manage was one word, aimed at the doctor. "Where?" "In her thoracic cavity. It was recovered during her surgery." "What is it?" Mrs. Scully asked, sounding strangely calm. "Originally," the doctor continued, "considering her -- " he eyed Mulder " --*your* -- profession, I assumed it was some kind of shrapnel." Dr. Hessman paused, and Mulder took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to rid himself of the ugly visions his imagination had begun to generate. "...And now?" The doctor sighed. "And now I'm no longer certain of that. X-rays have indicated another metallic object of some kind, this one lodged in her left ovary. It's...considerably larger." He paused, looked pointedly at Mulder, then said, "I can find no discernable entrance wound." Her ovary. *Jesus.* Despite his best efforts, the visions became sudden, dark suspicions too horrifying to find a conscious voice in his thoughts. He swallowed hard. Mrs. Scully's eyes were wide. "Is she in any danger?" Dr. Hessman's expression was suddenly sympathetic. "Until we can run some further tests, I just can't be sure," he admitted. "It's some kind of electronic device, isn't it?" Mulder blurted. Dr. Hessman's eyes pierced him; the nature of the question let the man know Mulder knew more than he was telling. He cleared his throat. "I don't know, Agent Mulder." Mulder gave no indication that he had noticed the doctor's reaction. He pressed onward. "Can you remove it?" Dr. Hessman flashed him an accusing look. Mulder tried to keep his expression as blank as possible and wondered if he was succeeding. "Well," the doctor said carefully, "we won't be certain until she's sufficiently recovered from her current illness and we can have a good look, but I believe we can." He turned the vial over absently in his fingers, and Mulder's eyes recorded every tiny movement. "She may lose the ovary, though." For a few long seconds, there was silence, then Dr. Hessman's said simply, pointedly, "Mr. Mulder, what the hell is happening here?" Caught on the thin edge of what he knew was a dangerous juncture, Mulder hesitated. He scrutinized the doctor -- tense, angry...genuine. And still, he -- *they*, he and Scully -- could trust no one. The sudden pressure of Mrs. Scully's shaking fingers against his arm moved him finally to action. "Fox..." He faced her, and the expression in her eyes, a mixture of bewilderment and fear for her daughter, pushed the air from his lungs. "Fox, what do you know about this?" His stomach clenched. He hopelessly wished he could somehow make it right, somehow rid Dana of the bitter overspill of his life and his demons that had long ago seeped irretrievably into her life as well. But all he could do was control the damage. Mrs. Scully had a right to know, but he didn't know how he could possibly begin to tell her. He took a deep breath. "Mrs. Scully," he said gently, "has Dana...has she ever really spoken to you about her..." that word again, 'abduction'. He just couldn't use it. "...about the time she was missing?" Mrs. Scully's eyes grew even wider, and the confusion in them was plain. She shook her head slowly. "No...well...no, not really. She just said she couldn't remember." "Did she ever tell you anything about -- " he inclined his head toward the doctor's hands " -- finding one of those?" Mrs. Scully's hand shot to her mouth. "No," she whispered through her fingers. Tears appeared suddenly in the corners of her eyes. Why hadn't Dana come to her with this? "This has happened before?" the doctor interjected tersely. Mulder nodded. He faced Dr. Hessman again. He knew he had to prepare his words carefully. "Once, that I know of." Dr. Hessman held the vial up to the light and scrutinized the small metal object clinking against the glass. "Agent Mulder, do you know what this thing is?" Weighing his options, Mulder shook his head slowly. Dr. Hessman looked back toward him, and his eyes narrowed. "Then do you have any *suspicions*?" *Nothing you'd believe,* he thought dryly. *Nothing Mrs. Scully ought to hear right now.* "I..." he began, then his words trailed off. At one time, the glee of discovery would've sent him into a state of giddy excitement...if it were anyone else... He glanced quickly at Mrs. Scully, then looked away and fixed his eyes blankly on a vague point beyond the doctor's head. "I suspect...I think it might be some kind of device." His bandaged hand ran quickly through his hair. "Beyond that, I don't know." The doctor eyed him critically. For a tiny second, he seemed to have an internal debate, then he said, "Agent Mulder, I have never seen anything like this." He held the vial up to the light once again. "What are you not telling me? Do you know who's responsible?" Still unwilling to look the doctor in the eyes, Mulder nodded. It was a forlorn gesture. "I *do* have my suspicions about that." His gaze fell to focus on the vial in the doctor's hands. "But that's all they are," he murmured. "Suspicions." The doctor pursed his lips. "Is there anything *at all* you can tell me that might be helpful to Agent Scully?" Mulder turned and looked at Mrs. Scully, then took a long, deep breath and let it slowly escape his lips. In the cabin, he had watched his wounded partner as she slept and was anxious for the coming of every breath and every movement. In a particularly black moment, he'd wondered again, as he so often did alone, in the dark, what he would ever say to Dana's mother if... Christ, they'd discussed Dana's headstone, but this was somehow worse. He slumped, shoulders hunched, and fixed his gaze on his hands. Finally, in a hushed voice, he murmured, "I think she might be part of an...experiment. Some kind of medical experiment. Without her consent." He forced himself to straighten, to look the doctor in the eyes. "When she was returned after her -- " he forced the word out, his voice breaking almost imperceptibly " -- *abduction*, there was branched DNA in her bloodstream." The doctor's eyebrows abruptly shot up. "Branched DNA?" he repeated. Mulder nodded, and he didn't wait for the doctor to offer up any further reaction. "Beyond that," he finished, "I just don't know." For an interminable second, there was silence in the room, then the doctor simply nodded and said curtly, "All right." Then, almost seamlessly, the face Mulder guessed belonged with his usual bedside manner -- the face he'd been greeted with earlier -- fell into place. The doctor placed his hand comfortingly on Mrs. Scully's forearm. The contact startled her. "Mrs. Scully," he said, sounding suddenly, strangely cheerful, "your daughter's wounds are healing, and she appears to be responding to the intravenous antibiotics. Her fever is beginning to come down. She isn't out of the woods yet, but her odds are improving. I'd say she's doing as well as we could expect under the circumstances." Mrs. Scully, looking shell-shocked, simply nodded and managed an unsteady, "Thank you." Mulder hung back as the two of them exited the consultation room. He fingered the small glass vial now in his own pocket and watched as the doctor guided Mrs. Scully gently through the doorway. Another implant, another job for Pendrell. All in a day's work, after all. A day in the life of the FBI. He'd hoped -- wanted to believe -- that the worst was over. He was shaking. He felt it coming, the familiar, unwelcome intrusions, the dark, inky stirrings of his too-oft abused imagination. That *thing* inside Scully now, that wasn't the kind of thing you would just leave. The kind of thing you wouldn't come back for. It was too large, too conspicuous, and he feared because of this that it had some purpose vastly different from the others. For just an instant, Scully's face filled him; terrified, motionless, watching in silent horror as the distorted features of those small, grey figures hovered over her in preparation for...for... Whoever They were, They weren't finished. He reached out blindly and slammed the door shut with unexpectedly brutal force. The consultation room began to spin lazily around him, and he felt nauseous again. And then, soundlessly, he simply began to cry. They were still taking her. ***************************************** Mercifully, Margaret Scully asked him nothing, though Mulder was unsure if it the lack of interrogation was motivated more by compassion or by simple shock. Hours passed. She finally slept, curled up awkwardly on the cot the hospital had offered her. Mulder, numb with frustration, chewed his thumbnail and paced Scully's alcove with the energy of impotent rage. Modell had been bad enough, but now to know the bastards were still... And here, wherever that was, another implant in his pocket, he could do nothing to find Them, nothing to stop Them. He felt trapped, contained by the intensity of what wouldn't let him leave her. What the doctor had discovered had put them all in danger, Scully most of all. And every time he glanced over and saw her, he knew she'd been right then, in the cabin, waiting for the Pusher; he would quite willingly lay down his life to protect her. It would be so easy, as easy as drawing another breath. For the very first time, he realized what that really meant. And for the very first time, it truly frightened him. ***************************************** END PART TWO............ ================= A Covenant of the Will Part 3 of 5 by Birgit Mueller (rm12908@navix.net) ================= It wasn't until many, many hours later -- Mulder had ceased to count the time in days -- after Dana had been taken off the respirator and the sedatives and transferred to an empty semi-private room, that he left Mrs. Scully alone with her and dared to take the time to shower. He did so in the hospital, his sore body reveling in the feel of something as simple as hot water and soap against his skin. Then he dressed, tearing the tags from brand new clothes and braving a brief fit of embarrassment at the thought of Margaret Scully's rather accurate guess of his underwear size. Finally, he tore open the nondescript FedEx package from Regional Headquarters and revealed his replacement badge, along with a handwritten, sour-toned fax from Skinner about two bodies and a minor forest fire. He shook his head, dropped the crumpled package in the trash in a deliberate disregard for protocol, and shoved the badge into his back pocket. Feeling vaguely human again, he swept through the door and into Scully's room. Mrs. Scully was as he'd left her, sitting in a chair on the far side of Dana's bed. Eyebrows raised, he dropped gingerly into his own chair. "The same," Mrs. Scully responded, answering the unspoken question. Mulder nodded and regarded Scully quietly. Her face was still so pale, the light dusting of brown freckles standing out even more against the whiteness of her skin. The respirator had been replaced with an oxygen tube. The bed was tilted upward, inclined to take the pressure off her injured lung, and the pillows behind her seemed to dwarf her small body. He watched her breathe. The continual, regular beeps of her heart monitor lulled him into an exhausted daze... The first sensation Scully remembered was the feeling, a kind of feeling she couldn't explain, that Mulder was there. It was simply the feeling of his *presence*, an awareness that resonated through her like a hum. It cut through the darkness; it pulled her up, lifting her toward him, toward the bright cacophony of light and sound that was calling her. He was what she saw when she opened her eyes. "Mulder?" she whispered. The sound of her voice almost stopped his heart. His eyes snapped up and he saw her looking at him with bewilderment. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His expression blossomed into a wide grin. "Scully," he replied gently. "Scully, it's ok." Unconsciously, he reached out to touch her, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. . Mulder watched, captivated, as memory and realization poured into her, as the life and the vibrance, the essence of her, returned to her crystal blue eyes in a great rush. That, and something else; something meant only for him. Mrs. Scully shifted, breaking the spell. Mulder pulled his hand away suddenly, sheepishly. She felt the strength of something new and powerful, something she didn't quite understand, passing between them. She patted her daughter on the hand. "Dana, honey?" she said. Scully wrenched her gaze away from Mulder. "Mom," she murmured, looking equally embarrassed. Bemused, Mrs. Scully sensed she'd abruptly become an intrusion. "I'll let you two have some time," she said simply, and then she quietly slipped out. Scully watched her go until the door fell shut behind her, then her eyes came to rest again on Mulder's face as he pulled himself closer to her. She took him in as if seeing him for the first time -- the fading black eye and the bare stitches along his temple, the lines beneath his eyes, the growth of stubble dusting his jawline. "Hi," he murmured, suddenly tentative. "Hi," she answered, cutting her eyes up at him through dark lashes in a gesture he could've sworn was almost shy. Her voice was hoarse and weak, but it was steady. For an instant, they both groped for words. So much had happened, but through the cloud of pain and morphine that shrouded her thoughts, all she could manage was a husky inside-joke. "I guess I'm not dead." Mulder chuckled. "Or we both are." Scully chuckled too, faintly, carefully. "No," she said, her eyes twinkling unexpectedly at him. "The accommodations would be better." Mulder felt an abrupt pang of joy at the look in her eyes. "Or worse," he quipped. Scully let out the tiniest of amused grunts and said, "Speak for yourself." He grinned, feeling another sudden surge of happiness at the normalcy, the ease of things between them. Scully chose that instant to shatter that sense of normalcy with the touch of her fingers. He took in a sharp breath as she reached out delicately, tracing his the line of his jaw with her thumb, feeling the roughness of the days of stubble that dusted his unshaven skin. She stopped short just below the stitches in his temple. "You should cover those," she whispered. Unexpectedly spellbound, he only nodded, once, feeling the palm of her hand glide gently against his cheek as he did. Then the air felt abruptly oppressive, too thick with unspoken words. The glass vial in his pocket clinked as he shifted. Sensing the change, her eyes clouded. He cleared his throat. "Scully," he murmured. "Scully, I -- " She interrupted him with two fingers against his lips. "Shh," she breathed. Already, she felt herself tiring. "Not now." Mulder, understanding, nodded in earnest. Scully studied his face again, the small details she knew so well she could see them when she closed her eyes. They had almost lost one another, and they had said things, and they could never go back. And she knew that scared him, but she was so tired, and all she wanted this very instant was to fall asleep to the sound of his heart beating. The barrier had been pierced, breached, shattered, and there was no need to run from him any longer, no reason to push him away. So why did it scare her too as she said, "Mulder, please just..." She looked away, shyly. "I just...I really need you next to me." Without a word, he rose from the chair and moved to sit beside her on the bed. There was an awkward moment as he swung his still-bare feet up beside her and she shifted gingerly to give him more room, then he reached around her as she leaned in against his chest. He shifted too, careful of his still-sore ribs and his shoulder. Finally, she was comfortable. She relaxed into him as he held her, really held her, for the first time. She heard the rhythm of his heart, strong and steady, and felt the muscular strength of his arms as he encircled her. It was like coming home. Mulder sank back against the pillows, the tension draining from him in a torrent as he felt the blissfully simple warmth of her body beside him. "God, I love you," he blurted sleepily, frightening himself with the sound of words he hadn't intended to speak again, so soon. But he felt a smile tug at him when her only response was to mumble inaudibly and burrow more tightly against him. Maybe, for just right now, he could forget about the uncertainty and the danger and simply let this quiet joy overtake him. And maybe, for just right now, he could sleep. An hour later, when Mrs. Scully's soft knock went unanswered, she cracked the door to find Mulder snoring softly and curled jealously around a soundly sleeping Scully, shielding her as if she belonged only to him. **************************************** Mulder awoke with a disoriented start to the feeling of a presence in the room. It was dark -- when had it gotten dark? -- and something was out of place. His eyes registered movement. The faintest, surreal whisper of a shadow stole away, dissolving with an oddly soundless grace into the pale glow spilling from the open doorway. Someone had been in there. Someone who didn't belong. Instinct yanked him to his feet and launched him into the narrowing swath of white light. He caught the door just before it fell closed completely and pulled it back hard, then found himself squinting painfully in the harsh hospital glare. He scanned in both directions, searching for the intruder's retreating form, but the hallway was empty, a blank expanse of white and gray tile. Directly facing him at the nurse's station, the RN, an older woman with wire- rimmed glasses and dark hair dusted with grey, looked up from her charts and eyed him with vague interest. "Who was just here?" he asked. The nurse's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?" In the back of his mind, a quiet siren began to sound. "Someone was in the room." The nurse shook her head. "I didn't see anyone." "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch. "What about her mother?" The woman nodded firmly. "I'm sure," she said, sounding faintly bemused. "I've been here for over an hour. I haven't seen Miss Scully's mother, or anyone else." The alarm surged forward, louder. Wordlessly, he turned back into the darkness of Scully's room. The door fell closed. Dazed, Mulder leaned back against it and scanned the shadows. Something was different. Wrong. What? He could barely make out what he assumed was Scully's form, unmoving, in the far bed. And the nearer bed was empty, as it had been before...but there was the rumpled blanket and the pillow, and the indentation where his head had been. The realization slammed hard into his sternum, knocking his breath away. Oh, God, he'd been moved. He stabbed at the wall switch, instantly flooding the room with flourescent light. Scully was still. Mulder was across the room in three huge steps. Her oxygen tube was gone, and she was a chalky white -- so white. Mulder's palms began to sweat. In the span of a heartbeat, his eyes swept over her body, and he saw it -- the tiny, ruby-red smudge across the back of her hand. Blood. Her blood. *Oh, Christ, no.* His legs went abruptly weak. "Scully!" he whispered sharply, the words a gravelly, visceral hiss. She remained silent, silent and so very still. Some dark intuition moved him. He reached out, snapping back the hospital blanket in one swift tug, and then he froze. She was simply bathing in blood. At that very instant, her eyes drifted briefly open, searching, groping desperately for him like a drowning swimmer going under for the last time. Crimson poured suddenly from one nostril and ran into the corner of her mouth. "Mulder?" she whispered, barely audible. There was confusion and terror in her voice. Paralyzed, speech betraying him, he was silent. "Mulder..." The coursing green of her heart monitor peaked a few times, erratically, then fell across the screen in a steady, glowing, horizontal line. For one dazed second, Mulder stood, frozen in disbelief, and then the code-blue alarm screamed through the room, and something inside him broke free, jerking him toward her with incredible force. "*Scully!*" The heel of his palm found her ribs, fumbled upward, and shoved down hard. The heart monitor, responding to the pressure, gave a weak *blip* and then was still. "*Goddamit*!" He bent over, covered her mouth with his own, pushed air into her lungs. She was limp beneath him. He covered her heart again with his hands and began the rhythm of CPR, hearing the frail bleats from the monitor as he did and silently begged her to breathe. Then chaos erupted around him. Two nurses, a doctor he didn't recognize, a crash cart. They had to pry him away, and he dimly realized he shouldn't be fighting them, but he just couldn't stop. He couldn't get his breath. Their lives, his and Dana's, were one as he felt the motion of her heart beneath his hands, beating for her, pushing death away. Then the burly arms of a huge orderly -- where had he come from? -- reached through and whipped him around, pinning him into the corner. Spent, the connection broken, he sagged helplessly against the wall. The man blocked him, and he couldn't see Scully, but he could hear. Someone shouted for whole blood, four units -- *God* -- then he heard *clear* and winced at the unmistakable *thump* of electricity jolting her body. The heart monitor *blipped* twice then fell again into a steady line. Murmured numbers, *clear* again, and again the telltale *thump* that made him flinch even before he heard it. Again the steady, unwavering line. He felt numbness creeping up his legs, sinking into his chest. *Clear* a third time, a third *thump*. The heart monitor squealed. Mulder held his breath. He felt the numbness moving, growing, sapping the strength from him. *Please.* Chaos settled into steady rhythm. Someone shouted that they had a pulse. Mulder's legs gave way and he sat down hard on the floor. Someone yelled for a gurney as someone else shouted something about surgery, *stat*. He clearly heard the word 'hemorrhage' surface from the cloud of noise around him; then there was only rustling and scrambling, a mass of frenzied sound. The sound faded away hurriedly, down the hallway. The orderly uncertainly backed away, the door fell shut with a sound- sapping *whump*, and the room was abruptly silent. It was a dark silence, thick, and it enveloped Mulder, still in the corner, his face buried in his hands. Above it, he could hear the orderly breathing. "Sir?" The orderly tentatively placed a hand on Mulder's shoulder. Mulder didn't move. "Sir? Are you okay?" The surge of anger he should've felt at the asinine question numbly missing, Mulder dug balled fists into his eyes. No, he was not okay. If he lost Scully, he would damn well never again be okay. "Where are they taking her?" he mumbled, sounding lost even to his own ears. "I don't know, sir," the orderly replied. Mulder looked up and blinked. His eyes burned. "You should ask the nurse. She -- " The orderly jumped as the door banged open. Unaffected by the sudden noise, Mulder slowly and deliberately swivelled his eyes upward into the stricken face of Simms, the young police officer from the MRI room. The man seemed only dimly aware of what had just transpired. "Agent Mulder, sir, I'm sorry, but I've been sent down here to get you. There's been some trouble." Mulder grunted and somehow dragged himself to his feet. There was a dead spot, cold and lifeless, in the center of his chest. It radiated outward, dulling everything, even the sense of alarm he should've felt at the desolate chill. *How 'bout that?* he mused morosely. *There's _trouble_. Isn't that a kick in the pants.* Still, he heard, "Trouble?" and realized the word had come from his own lips. He hovered and watched from a great distance, faintly amazed that his voice seemed to be working on its own, without him. "What kind of trouble?" "Dr. Hessman, sir. He was brought into the ER about a half an hour ago." Simms paused, looking seriously uncomfortable in his role as the bearer of bad tidings. "He's been shot, sir. He's dead." ************************ END PART THREE........... ================= A Covenant of the Will Part 4 of 5 by Birgit Mueller (rm12908@navix.net) ================= Dr. Hessman. Of course. The realization hit Mulder like a shock wave. Until now he'd had no time to think; he'd just been reacting. He grabbed at his waist and felt the smooth contour of his hip pocket. Empty, it was empty. The glass vial was gone. They had taken it, as easily as They had taken Scully from her hospital bed...from him. As easily as They had taken everything he'd ever had from him. A sudden anger burst forth, shattering the aching void in the center of his chest with blinding force. Simms watched, stunned, as Mulder seemed somehow to explode, to break apart from the inside. Mulder lurched forward, crashing past the police officer before he could react and yanking the door open with such power that it smashed against the wall and bounced. With amazing speed, he burst into the hallway and, slamming against the counter, reached over the elbows of a startled young nurse toward the charts in her hands. "Hey!" she squeaked, yanking the charts from his grasp just as his fingertips touched them. "Dana Scully's chart," he growled. "I have to see her chart." "I can't...I can't do that," she stammered. Her eyes were wide as Simms and the orderly appeared behind Mulder. A hand fell on Mulder's shoulder, but he shrugged it off angrily and yanked the badge from his back pocket. "Look, my name is Fox Mulder, I'm a special agent with the FBI, and I *need to see her chart*!" "Sir," the nurse began, her eyes vacillating nervously between Mulder's face and his badge, "if you're really an FBI agent, then you know I can't show you this chart without a warrant." Oblivious, Mulder lunged forward again, only to be grabbed by Simms and the orderly. He struggled, but this time he couldn't shake their grip on him; the orderly was just too big. "You don't understand!" he shouted, frustration boiling over into panic as the two men pulled him backward, away from the nurse's station. "It's been tampered with!" Simms glanced sidelong at the frightened nurse and, over Mulder's shrill, "Goddamit, check her records *now*!", murmured "Where have they taken Dana Scully?" Unsure whom she should obey, the young woman glanced down at the charts in her hand, then up again timidly. "OR 4," she replied, avoiding Mulder's eyes. Simms nodded his thanks. "Where is the nurse who was here a few minutes ago?" Mulder continued to shout, unwilling to acknowledge the pressure against his shoulders that was forcing him to stumble backward down the hallway. "Who was on duty? *Where is she?*" Simms, now more than a little alarmed, attempted to turn him around and tried to sound soothing. "Come on, Agent Mulder, you're upset. We'll take you to the waiting room and I'll get the Sheriff on the phone about what's happened with your partner." ************************ A moment later, Simms and the orderly forcibly deposited Mulder in a chair in the waiting room. He slumped immediately, head in his hands, vaguely realizing that he looked like a lunatic. He knew he was haggard, angry and frightened, exhausted and barely under control. He wondered how could he explain himself to someone like Simms, whose law enforcement experience consisted largely of ignored stop signs and drunken teenagers tipping cows. The forlorn question hovered there; how could he explain himself to anyone but Scully? Confused and uncomfortable, Simms hovered over him, waiting, Dr. Hessman's murder all but forgotten. Just as the officer opened his mouth to speak, a trembling voice from the doorway cut him off. "Fox, my God." It was Mrs. Scully, and she swept into the room and immediately sank down beside Mulder. Discreetly, Simms backed away. "I was in the cafeteria and I was paged," she said, breathless. "What's going on? What happened?" Mulder took in a ragged, shaking breath, let it out slowly. "I don't know," he mumbled finally, through his hands. "I don't know." "They said you were with her," she pressed him. Mulder looked up at her sharply, then his gaze slid downward to regard his trembling fingers. *I was there.* "I was... I was..." He shook his head miserably. He felt on the verge of completely unraveling. "I don't know." Mrs. Scully's hand fell gently on Mulder's shoulder. "Fox," she continued softly, "you *were* there." She caught his gaze, looked him in the eyes. "You were both asleep, but you were there. I checked on the two of you not half an hour ago. What happened?" His head snapped up sharply. "Are you certain?" he asked, suddenly urgent. "Are you absolutely sure of that time?" "Yes, I'm sure," she replied, confused by his abrupt animation. The urgency grew, flaring behind his eyes like a match just struck. "The nurse on duty -- did you see her? Did she say anything?" Mrs. Scully's puzzlement was plain. "Well, yes, I did see her. We smiled at each other, but no, I don't believe she spoke... Fox, what -- " Mulder cut her off; the matchlight erupted into fierce flames. "What did she look like?" he demanded, his voice growing louder. Mrs. Scully stammered, startled by Mulder's abrupt forcefulness. "I don't... I'm not sure." Realizing he was alarming her, Mulder made a conscious effort to lower his voice, but he couldn't contain the bonfire blazing now inside him. He reached out, gripping her forearm firmly. "Mrs. Scully, this is important. How old was she? How old was the nurse you saw?" Mrs. Scully hesitated, searching his face for an answer. "I... fifties, maybe. I'm not sure. She was older." "Glasses?" Swallowing hard, she nodded. Mulder shot from his seat as if spring-loaded. He turned toward Simms and barked, "See that she isn't left alone." "Agent Mulder," Simms sputtered, confused and taken aback at the swift, sudden energy with which Mulder was moving, "just what do you think is going on here?" It was as if he hadn't spoken. Mulder bolted past him and hit the hallway at a dead run. Simms stared after him, dumbfounded, and briefly considered pursuit, but finally allowed himself to give in to the vague sense of relief he felt at being free of the strange, intense FBI agent. ******************** The records area was dark, and the set of janitor's keys jangled too loudly as Mulder tried them, one by one, in rapid succession. Finally, with a satisfying click, the lock turned. Mulder twisted the doorknob and slipped inside. With quick, silent determination, he moved toward his goal, the X-ray racks at the back of the large room. His pen-light shone, a tiny bright spot running the length of the alphabet, as he searched. *Scully, Dana K.* Holding the light between his teeth, Mulder yanked the large brown envelope from its resting place and pulled the X-rays from it. The pen-light provided just enough illumination to make out the distinguishing features of the films. Mulder felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The films were clear, perfectly normal -- not Scully's. He was too late. *I should've known.* He felt suddenly, infinitely heavy, and his hands failed him. The penlight landed on the floor with a sharp clatter against the background flutter of falling X-rays. He pressed his forehead dismally against the cool metal of the X-ray rack and hovered over the feeble light seeping out against his still-bare feet. *I can't do this anymore.* He lifted his head slightly, just enough to give some force to the blow when he banged it forward against the metal rack. A bereft-sounding *thunk* echoed in his ears. It was like a sick joke, one of those deviant black comedies that kills them all in the end and mocks you for having cared. He picked his head up, slammed it back down again, harder. The pain was sharp and unexpectedly vicious. Somewhere, he thought, someone was laughing. He saw Scully's blood-soaked body and felt her heart against his hands. He had been stretched too tightly for too long, and the thin fabric of his self-control simply burst, rupturing like an overinflated balloon. He screamed. It was an ear-splitting, nonverbal howl from somewhere primitive and violent. Desperate for deliverance from the fury he could no longer keep at bay, he hurled himself blindly at the nearest thing he could find. The entire X-ray rack came crashing to the floor in a torrent of noise. The release was immense and immediate. Mulder wheeled around and caught the edge of a neighboring rack with his shoulder. It went down as well, smashing into the wall with an enormous crash. He stumbled, catching his toes against the edge of the fallen flashlight, and rasped, "*Fuck!*" as he grabbed at it. Wielding it like a weapon, he raised it high and bashed it against the fallen rack with all his strength. One blow, then two, and the light went out. Still, he continued to pound it blindly into the dented metal, wallowing in the sound and the feel as it struck, needing it like a drug. He was beyond thinking, beyond anything but the release of years of anguish and unfathomable rage. They had taken everything from him he'd ever cared about. They had done this to *her*, to the one person who didn't shy away from the maelstrom of conviction in his eyes. Scully *stayed*. For that simple crime of loyalty and love, she had been marked. And somehow, someday, They would pay. He closed his eyes against the darkness. They would pay. Suddenly, the lights snapped on, blinding him like a revelation. He froze, paralyzed, chest heaving, hair soaked with sweat, and blinked in the brilliant glare. Simms' voice boomed like the voice of God in his ears. "What in the *hell* are you doing?!?" He looked down at the splintered remains of the flashlight in his grasp as if waking from a vivid nightmare. For an instant, there was free-falling clarity, poignant and condemning. He was in trouble. *Oh, no.* He barely recognized his own hands as he buried his face in them and slumped mutely to the floor. ******************** Mulder pounded his forehead rhythmically against the cell bars. He felt empty, hollow and bottomless. He never should've left her, never should've let her out of his sight; he hadn't been thinking at all. She had been hurt so badly, and he was so angry and so frightened and so desperate for... *For what?* he thought blackly. *Evidence, answers...revenge?* Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head with a desolate shudder; did it matter now? He had lost himself, and if she died and he wasn't with her because of his own singular insanity, he felt sure that the suffocating, pulling hole in his chest would simply swallow him, drag him in and crush him to death with the weight of his own grief. He wanted just to touch her face so badly his fingers ached. A familiar staccato voice pulled him slowly out of his dismal musings. "Agent Mulder, where the hell are your shoes?" Mulder could only muster the will to move his eyes, swivelling them upward to fix their listless gaze firmly on that of the black man standing before him, on the other side of the bars, trenchcoat swirling around his calves. The mysterious Mr. X. It figured. "She could be dead," he replied tonelessly. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" "Strong words," X replied in clipped, even syllables. Then he produced a set of keys from the pocket of his coat. "I'm here to get you out." Wordlessly, Mulder rose and followed. He retrieved his belongings and allowed himself to be quietly escorted from the precinct station and out into the night. When his bare feet hit the frozen pavement of late winter in Colorado, the absurdity of the situation was not lost on him -- he just couldn't muster the mettle to care. X placed him firmly into the passenger seat of a rented sedan and pushed the door shut. X eased himself into the driver's seat, shut his own door, and turned the ignition switch with one easy, fluid movement. Mulder stared stonily ahead as the car pulled away from the station and turned out onto the city street. A moment passed in total silence. "I'm taking you back to the hospital," X announced finally. Suddenly, a swift, irrational anger bubbled up, filling the hollow in his chest with an unexpected, acrid rancor that seized him by the throat. "Why not just shoot me and dump me in the parking lot, like you did the doctor?" he shot back petulantly. X jabbed down on the brakes so hard their seat belts locked. He swerved abruptly into the empty, dark parking lot of an abandoned gas station, put the car in gear, and twisted violently in his seat. "Do you have any idea what a risk I've taken, saving your ass tonight?" he demanded viciously. "I had to call in several very large favors for this one, Agent Mulder. This has not gained you any allies." "*I* didn't call you!" Mulder shouted angrily. "I didn't ask you for anything! I don't *owe* you anything!" "Agent Mulder -- " X began, his tone an unmistakable warning. Mulder cut him off. "You've been here all along, haven't you? You're responsible for everything that's happened here!" "Everyone has orders," X responded through clenched teeth. There was no remorse in his flat dark eyes. "But your partner is the one variable in this equation with which I am *not* involved." Mulder felt his chest constrict at Scully's mention, and his eyes narrowed with sudden, venomous comprehension. *He knows.* In one startling, swift movement, Mulder leaned over, grabbed X brutally by the lapel, and gave it a sharp jerk. "Who is it?" he demanded. "*Who's* *doing* *this*?" X's body went rigid as he grabbed Mulder's hand pointedly and hard. One beat passed, two. Mulder finally released him with a disgusted push and hissed,"If she dies tonight, so help me I'll kill you myself, you bastard." X opened his mouth to speak. But then, surprisingly, he hesitated. He took a deep breath and placed both hands, palms down, atop the steering wheel as if to steady himself. Stunned, Mulder eased back in his seat. "Agent Mulder," X said, "whether or not you believe me, I can... *appreciate* your position in this matter. And your insistence." There was a pregnant pause. Mulder watched as X shifted in his seat and straightened the lapels of his jacket. He flexed his gloved hands in a gesture resembling frustration, but his voice was toneless and curt, his face unreadable. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder. I can't help you." Mulder felt himself falling once again. X knew; he knew, but he would not help. "You mean you *won't*," he grunted bitterly. In answer, X put the car back in gear and they started back out onto the street. For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the engine. Finally, X again broke the chilly silence between them. "Originally," he said, "they believed Agent Scully had been a mistake. She had been meant to distract you, to keep you on the defensive. And yet with her your work thrived. There was talk of removing her; the attempt was made." X paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Your... *attachment* to Agent Scully is clear," he finally added. He glanced briefly toward Mulder, caught his gaze for an instant before returning his attention to the road ahead. "*Clear*, Mulder. Surely you must know that." Mulder was rooted to his seat, startled into silence. "Not everyone agrees, either on your value, or hers, or on how to proceed. You and your partner have become an intractable problem. There will be other attempts at a solution, and they will be out of my hands." The sedan pulled into the hospital parking lot and rolled to a stop. X fixed Mulder with a piercing look. "You are valuable to me for reasons you may not understand," he finished. "But everyone has orders. And mine have been fulfilled here." For a long moment, Mulder held X's gaze, waiting; but there just wasn't anything to say. Finally, wordlessly, he just turned and stepped out of the car onto the black pavement. Without hesitation, the sedan sped off into the night. ********************* END PART FOUR........... ================= A Covenant of the Will Part 5 of 5 by Birgit Mueller (rm12908@navix.net) ================= She slept. Mulder stood again at the threshold of Scully's ICU room and stared open-mouthed at her heart monitor, at its steady, unwavering rhythm. She was alive, there in front of him, almost close enough to touch. He felt suddenly like a drowning man surfacing, exploding through the barrier between water and air and gasping thick, full breaths sweeter than any he had ever tasted. She was still alive, and he could breathe. "Fox?" Startled, Mulder swivelled abruptly on his heels to see Mrs. Scully approaching from the open door of the consultation room. He glanced around quickly and caught brief sight of the dimly-outlined shape of a lab coat disappearing out the door. He noticed then that she was alone, and he clenched his teeth in irritation. His histrionics must have finally cost him the last of whatever credibility he'd ever had with the local police. At least it no longer mattered. Simms and the sheriff would handle Hessman's murder, for what it was worth. The killer had disappeared into the darkness in a rented sedan and would never be caught, and it would all be forgotten soon in favor of more pleasant things. It was over, for the moment. Mrs. Scully touched his shoulder. "Where have you been?" Mulder grimaced. "I was... unavoidably detained," he murmured quickly, then moved on before she could question him further. He inclined his head toward the consultation room. "What did the doctor say?" Mrs. Scully hesitated for the most brief of instants before replying, "He said... he said she's going to be fine." She tried to smile for him. Mulder caught the hesitation in her voice. "What's wrong?" he demanded. Mrs. Scully fixed him with a discomfited look. "I..." Mulder's brow furrowed. "What?" he asked softly, suddenly apprehensive. "What is it?" "Fox," she said hurriedly, seeing the rising panic in his eyes, "no, it's ok." She placed a comforting hand on his forearm. "She's going to recover." Mulder was not to be comforted. "Then what? What is it?" Mrs. Scully shook her head. "They couldn't even... they don't know how it happened," she finally managed. She sounded drained; defeated. "What did the doctor say?" Mulder asked again, gently. Margaret moved away from him to claim a chair at the far end of the nurse's station, out of her daughter's potential earshot and line of vision. Mulder followed, sinking down next to her. For a moment, she was silent. Mulder searched her face. "They... they couldn't even find a wound," she murmured finally, so soft it was almost a whisper. Her eyes looked frightened, confused. "They couldn't find a *reason*, Fox." Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. "The doctor said they did something called a laparoscopy, and she looks as if she's never been touched." She wiped her eyes with the balled-up tissue that had been clenched tightly in one fist. "They're calling it a post-surgical complication, but even the doctor admitted it doesn't make sense. My baby girl almost died tonight, and no one can tell me *why*." Unsurprised, Mulder sighed, a deep and bone-weary sound, and fixed his gaze on the floor. He felt suddenly numb and powerless in the face of her bewilderment, and all he could say was, "I'm sorry." *I'm sorry,* he thought bitterly. *There's a lot of that going around lately.* "Fox..." Mrs. Scully hesitated uncomfortably, then finally continued. "Do you know what's happening? Did you find out who did this?" There was the shortest of pauses, then, never meeting her gaze, he simply said, "No." It was the only thing to say. "No, I don't know." Mrs. Scully shook her head. "But you suspect someone." Mulder shifted uneasily in his seat. What could he tell her that would make any sense? "Mrs. Scully, I..." he trailed off, thinking. Finally, he moved to meet her gaze with his own. "The answers you're asking me for... they're the same answers I want." She was silent for a moment. Then, with a small, wistful smile, she said, "Her father didn't approve of her career choice, you know. He wanted her to set up a practice somewhere. Do something safe." There was another pensive pause, and Mulder watched her as she stared at her hands. He felt vaguely queasy and so very, very tired, and he wondered if she blamed him. Unexpectedly, she broke the silence when her head swivelled upward to face him dead-on. "Fox Mulder, "she said with sudden forcefulness, "what are your intentions toward my daughter?" Stunned, Mulder blinked in a kind of jolted anxiety halfway between a sixteen-year-old schoolboy on his first car date and a guilty man being asked unforseen questions on the witness stand. He hadn't expected such a forthright question; she wasn't asking if he planned to make her daughter an honest woman. Seeing the panic in his eyes, Mrs. Scully immediately backpedaled. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "That wasn't a fair question." Mulder shook his head and chuffed a brief, bitter laugh. "Yes," he said, his voice thick and tangled with sudden, poignant emotion, "yes, it was." His voice caught on the last word, and he cleared his throat and fell again silent. He could not meet her eyes, and a long, awkward hush drew out between them. He could not explain himself. He didn't have the answers Mrs. Scully deserved, no promises of Dana's safety and happiness. He had only the apparent transparency of his feelings. That, and a covenant of the *will*, the private offering to die before she shed another drop of blood. That vow hung between mother and beloved, heard but unspoken. When he finally broke the silence, Mulder's only words were a quiet request. "It's over now," he murmured. He found the courage to face Dana's mother, to look her in the eyes. "They won't be back here. Let me take her home." ************************** The next days were singularly uneventful. Margaret Scully boarded a plane back to Baltimore, and Mulder watched it taxi down the runway as if its witnessing were of ritual importance, a parable of the comforting familiarity of the mundane. After he could no longer see the jumbo 757 from the window, his gaze wandered down toward his feet. Before she left, she had bought him some shoes. Scully asked no questions beyond the scribblings in her chart, and her doctors and nurses seemed only too happy to forget the entire incident, especially given the rumors that had begun to swirl around this strange patient from the FBI and the death of Dr. Hessman, a man they had all known and liked. They seemed civil, polite, but wary and vaguely blameful. Mulder knew they would be only too happy to see Scully leave. Mulder kept his experiences to himself, kept them from her. He reconciled his silence by deciding that she simply didn't know, about the implants, the visitation, any of it. They did not really talk. She slept, and he held her and kept a quiet vigil beside her, and he watched as the barely glowing embers of life and strength, color and breath, caught fire again and flared into the bright blaze that was her. He took her home. ************************** The air in Scully's apartment was stale and heavy as she elbowed the door open and stepped into the darkened living room, a stack of unopened mail landing on a table in the entranceway as she did so. Mulder followed, breaching the threshold as she fumbled for the light. Before she could flip the switch, he reached out, closing his hand over hers, and gingerly pulled her fingers away. He drew her against him, his arms wrapped protectively around her midriff, her back pressing into him. The front door swung closed behind them, suspending them alone together in sweet, dark silence. "Mulder?" she murmured, sounding bemused. "Shhhh," was his only reply, a gentle, whispered sound that ruffled her hair. He wanted desperately just to hold her neverending in the shadows. Her lips quirked upward, a tiny smile in the darkness. She turned in his embrace, and he caught her face with his hands and brushed his lips against hers in an unhurried, delicate kiss. He felt her arms surround him, felt her small hands pressing against his sides, and wondered at how he had been in the world before her arrival; lifeless, numb. He couldn't remember living before Scully. There had been no joy before her; nothing that had been real. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled away. "We have to talk," she whispered. He sighed, not willing to release the bliss of the moment. "I know," he murmured finally. Reluctantly, he stepped back and surrendered her to the inevitable. They did need to talk, and the need had been building for days. She drew away slowly, and warmth lingered everywhere she had touched him. She shrugged out of her new winter coat; he did the same with his own, and she took it self-consciously from his hands and hung them both on one hook beside the door. She left the overhead light off but clicked on the end-table lamp next to the sofa as she headed for the kitchen. The room became infused with a soft amber glow. "I'm getting something to drink," she tossed backward over her shoulder. "Do you want anything?" "Uh, yeah," he replied, moving toward the couch. He wanted a drink, all right; a strong drink, one that would calm the choppy, anxious brine churning in the pit of his stomach. "Sure." Mulder heard muffled kitchen noises and the clinking of glass, and Scully emerged from the kitchen a moment later with a bottle of wine in one hand and two thick tumblers in the other; no pretense there, no need for wine glasses, not for him. The thought filled him with unexpected happiness. She sat down to face him, one leg drawn beneath herself, and handed him a glass half-filled with the sweet red liquor. She took the other glass and placed the bottle on the coffee table. Mulder took a long, deep sip and regarded her pensively. She did the same, and for a moment no one spoke. There was too much between them now, and nowhere to begin. Mulder took comfort in her seeming lack of regret over the step they had taken in the cabin that night, the one that could not now be undone. He took a second sip, even larger than the first, and absently set his tumbler on the table beside him. They could not go back, only forward and through; but he wondered if she would hold him to his promise of partnership and fidelity when she really knew the price, all of what had happened in the hospital. He wondered if she would leave him; he wondered if she *should*. She was watching him, too, watching and wondering at the complexity of what went on in his mind. There were still questions. She had sensed it for days; something was wrong. He had been keeping something from her. She sighed, took a second large swallow, and set her glass on the coffee table beside his as she leaned in toward him. "What happened in the hospital?" she asked, giving voice to her fears. "What have you been leaving out?" He cringed, realizing then that she suspected more than he had offered. He should've known better, known not to sell her short. She was an FBI agent, after all, every bit his caliber, and she knew him better than anyone had ever known him; better than he knew himself. He *knew* he would have to tell her the truth ...and still, what came to his lips was an uneasy, dissembling smile and an effortful, "What? What makes you think I'm leaving something out?" Scully shook her head. He was usually so eager to fill her ears with his version of the truth, his theories, his experiences... but now, he was afraid. The realization of that was more disquieting than anything she imagined he could say. She leaned over to grasp his hand in both of hers. "Mulder," she said simply, pointedly, "whatever happened, *I need to know.*" He gazed down at the small, delicate hands clasped so firmly around one of his. How could he tell her this? How could he say it? He wrapped his other hand around hers, brought them both to his lips, kissed her fingers gently with half-closed eyes. "Mulder, what -- " "There were more implants, Scully," he blurted, forcing the words from his lips as he relinquished her hands. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't look at her. There was a second of stunned silence, then he heard her breathe an almost inaudible, "What?" "The surgeon took one out of your chest," he explained. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep the tremor from his voice. "It was a lot like the one you found." He steeled himself and opened his eyes in time to see the confusion in her expression transform into mute horror. It was almost too much to bear. He reached out for her shoulder and felt her trembling. "Scully, I -- " he began. She cut him off, shrugging his hand away. "You said *implants*, Mulder." He nodded. He was desperate not to tell her now, frantic to will away the truth. Yet still it demanded audience. It always did. "There was another one," he admitted. "They..." His voice broke; he cleared his throat. "They found it on your x-ray, in your..." He took a deep breath and focused hard on finishing the sentence. "In your ovary." She silently covered her mouth with one hand; the other moved in an involuntarily protective gesture toward her abdomen. She said nothing, merely stared at him with an expression of half- paralyzed shock in her wide blue eyes, an expression that he knew would haunt him for a long, long time. There was a question there, too, a question she wouldn't voice... a grim, harsh question he knew he would have to answer. He shook his head quickly, as much for his own benefit as for hers. "No, no, it's not there anymore." She did not move; the only change was the deepening of the furrow of her brow. He wasn't making sense; there had been no surgery to remove it, no mention at all of any of this in her chart. "I don't understand," she breathed through her hand. He took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "That's why you bled that night, Scully," he explained gently, as gently as he could. He felt bruised, his heart battered beyond anything it had the capacity to withstand. The rest came out in a sudden rush, as if keeping it unspoken were causing him physical pain. "They took them back, both of them. What's in your chart was a lie. They killed your surgeon, Scully, and They replaced your x-rays. You didn't hemorrhage that night because of your stab wound." He caught her eyes with his own and said pointedly, "You bled because of what They did." "Mulder..." she murmured softly, her expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Both hands drawn across her abdomen now in reflexive, unthinking self-protection, she leaned away from him with a look that was equal mixtures of defiance and terrible realization. She shook her head slowly. "Mulder, you're not making any sense," she insisted in a small, tenuous voice that belied the substance of her words. Carefully, he moved from his seat. He pushed the coffee table back slowly with his foot as he knelt in front of her. Gently, he took one hand, then the other, and uncoiled her, tugging her gingerly toward him. For an instant she resisted him, then she pulled her foot from beneath her body and shifted so that she faced him. But she hung her head and would not meet his eyes. He felt as if his heart were going to burst forth and flee the confines of his chest for greener pastures. "Yes," he insisted softly. He was shaking now, too. "I am." He pulled her hand to his face and placed her palm against his cheek, but still she would not look at him. "Scully, look at me," he implored. Silence. "*Dana*," he whispered. He sounded lost. "*Please.*" Hesitantly, she turned her face upward. There were unshed tears gleaming like bright gemstones in her eyes. "Oh, Scully," he murmured ruefully. He had no words that could take away what had to be said, and he felt as if nothing could possibly convey what he felt for her. He pulled her hand from his cheek and placed her palm over his heart. She could feel it beating fast beneath his shirt, could feel him breathing. "I'm telling you the truth," he finally murmured. "You know that." There was a beat of charged silence between them. Then, without warning, she jerked her hands away and shouted, "No!" Mulder jumped, startled at the unexpected anger, the shock and hurt showing in his eyes. She turned abruptly away from him on the couch and pulled her knees tightly beneath her chin. Gone was the dispassionate physician, the cerebral FBI agent. Mulder had never seen her like this; she emanated the contained fury and the sorrow of a wounded child. "You've got it wrong," she insisted sharply. There was nothing he could say. He was miserably bereft, out of comforting words, out of steam, out of gas. And overarching all of it, he was responsible. He was to blame. All he could do was plead. "Scully, please," he whispered softly, his hand on her shoulder. "Please believe me." Unthinking, she blurted angrily, "I don't *want* to believe you, okay?" She felt the tears spill over onto her cheeks and swiped violently at her eyes with the back of her hand. Mulder pulled back as if she'd struck him, and suddenly she realized the meaning of what she had said. She deflated, pressing her forehead against her knees, withdrawing that much more completely. She just couldn't face it, the truth or the hurt in his eyes. "I don't want to believe," she repeated softly, mumbling into her knees. For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Scully could hear Mulder breathing, could hear his watch ticking over a silence that was heavy and oppressive. Then, gradually, she became aware of another sound, soft and muffled and utterly disconsolate. The sound penetrated her, pulled her out of the desolate well of herself. She lifted her head to look at him and found him still kneeling before her, doubled over now, face buried in his hands. He was crying. She felt a sudden, sharp pang of remorse at the thought that she might have caused it. "Mulder?" she asked tentatively. She had seen him ill, wounded, delusional... but she had never seen him cry. Not like this. She unfolded her body and reached out to touch his shoulder. "Mulder, look at me." When he didn't respond, she reached down and pulled him up toward her. When he dropped his hands and looked at her, his glittering eyes held an expression that made her ache for him. "I'm sorry," he breathed. The words sounded as if they had been summoned from the very core of who he was. "I'm sorry. >From the beginning, I have done nothing but cause you pain." She cringed. "Mulder, that's not true." It was as if she hadn't spoken. "After all I've put you through, Scully. After everything that's happened and all that you've lost because of me. I don't understand why you stay." He looked at her pointedly, the statement not one of self-pity but of simple fact layered in pain and confusion. "I don't understand why you want me." She looked at him, incredulously, tenderly. "After everything we said in that cabin, Mulder, you still don't know?" She shook her head. "From the moment I met you, a part of me knew I couldn't walk away. Not from the work... and not from you." She reached out to take his face in both hands. "Never from you." "Maybe you should," he blurted unexpectedly, pulling back from her embrace, refusing to be comforted. Thoughts of being without her clamped down hard on his heart, seizing it so forcefully he almost choked on the words. "Maybe you deserve more." Alarmed, she watched as he rose abruptly from the floor and began to pace in a tight circle. "Mulder, what are you saying?" "I can't keep you safe," he insisted, swiping an agitated hand through his hair. "I *can't*, Scully. Don't you see that? It's because of me that you were abducted, that your sister was killed." He turned back to her and said flatly, "As long as you are with me, you're never going to be out of danger." Suddenly, Scully was angry, frustrated with his overdeveloped and misdirected sense of guilt... hurt at the thought that he might break his promise to her, even if it were out of loyalty and love. She exhaled loudly, thumped the arm of the couch with her fist. "How do you know this, Mulder?" she demanded. Her tone was biting. "How do you know? Why do you think it all revolves around *you*?" Her anger wounded him. He felt everything leave him in a rush, and he sank down on his knees before her. "I only know what I was told, Scully," he said softly. Surprised, she felt the anger leave her in one great, swift wave when she saw the raw pain in his eyes. What...? "Who told you this was your fault?" she whispered gently. "X. The man you met once, our source. I... I met with him in Colorado. He told me we were a problem." He hung his head. "He told me They thought you -- giving me your partnership -- had been a mistake, one that needed to be fixed." He looked up at her again; she thought he looked just then like an abandoned little boy. "They'll be back, Scully. They're not done." She studied his face and for a moment said nothing. His gaze was intense. She didn't know what to say to him, how to comfort him. But she did know the truth. "I remember now, you know," she murmured finally. Mulder's brow furrowed. "Remember what?" he asked, thrown by the shift in the conversation. She sighed. "My... my..." she began, but trailed off, unable to finish. She snagged his eyes with her own, and the expression there sent another wave of plaintive dread through him. He knew what she would say next. "When I was missing," she finally breathed. "I remember...*things*." Her face contorted into an ugly frown to punctuate the last word, and she cut her eyes quickly down at the hands in her lap. *Things,* Mulder echoed, and shuddered, wondering if his imagination could possibly be worse than the reality of what she had suffered; hoping it was. "I saw you that night," she continued. "I don't know why. I don't even know if it was *real*. But I remember it. There was all this...this *light*, and there you were in the middle of it, with Duane Barry. You were shouting at him; I couldn't hear what you were saying. But you were shouting. And then you looked up." She finally dared to look at him again, and what he saw in her crystal blue eyes caught him and held him helpless with the sheer force of its intensity. He was wide-eyed and silent, paralyzed for fear that if he spoke he would break the spell of her confession. "God, Mulder," she breathed, "I was *sure* you looked right *at* me." Suddenly self-conscious, she dropped her gaze to her hands once again. "I clung to you. I remember that now too. I clung to that last image of you, to the idea that you'd never stop looking for me. I held onto that through everything." For a brief instant there was only silence, and Mulder groped dumbly for the voice that it seemed had simply fled. "You're right," he finally replied, the words a throaty whisper. He reached across the space between them and covered her hands with his own. "I never would have stopped." She found the courage to look at him again and saw the ferocious, infinite honesty of that promise laid bare before her in his eyes. It seemed a lifetime since the night in the cabin. It had been so overwhelming then, the sudden knowledge of what he felt and what it meant...the knowledge that she returned it a hundredfold. It frightened her for so many reasons, yet here it was now, raw and true, and she could not run, even after knowing everything he knew. She could only love him with a bottomless depth that had been alien to her before him, before his life had enveloped her so completely. She could not walk away, and now she had the missing piece of the puzzle, the certainty that she was right. "Mulder, don't you see?" she said. "They're *afraid* of us. They want us apart. If I leave you, then They've won." She shifted, her hands gripping his now, tightly. "You made me a promise --" Abruptly, Mulder looked up at her, his eyes fierce with the strength of some sudden internal epiphany she couldn't quite decipher. "It's because you make me strong," he interrupted with the enigmatic conviction of sudden realization. "That's why they want us apart." He looked stunned. "You make me strong," he repeated, realizing what the words meant, needing to hear them aloud again. Scully reached out to run her fingers lightly along his jaw. That was it, wasn't it? Strength. "I think we make each other strong," she whispered in a voice full of emotion. He would keep his promise. He leaned into her and their lips met, coming together in a kiss that was this time anything but tentative. She moved her fingers through his dark hair as the kiss deepened. Mulder slid his hands around her waist, pulling her closer, drawing her against him. When they finally broke away from each other, he buried his face in her hair and whispered, "I don't think you know how much I love you." "Stay," she whispered in answer. "Stay with me." He turned to lay a gentle kiss upon her neck, then she felt his lips curl into a smile. "Why, Agent Scully," he mused quietly, "that's hardly standard procedure." She laughed then, a soft noise deep in her throat. "Mulder," she murmured softly, running a hand through his hair, "nothing you do is standard procedure." He chuckled, and she lost herself in the low, seductive sound and the feeling of his lips against her skin. **************************************** The streetlamps washed the stars from the sky, making it look to Mulder like nothing more than a lifeless, black abyss, endlessly empty, unimaginably cold. He was staring out the window, Scully's bedroom window, at the world outside the two of them. He glanced over at his sleeping partner, at her slow, rhythmic breathing, and knew they weren't a part of that world anymore. They were beyond it, apart from it, aliens in their own ways, strangers in the midst of backyard barbeques and baseball games and suburban routine. He had always been an outsider, living his own eerie life quite apart from the rest of humanity, and he had been singularly unprepared for the fireball from the heavens that had been Scully. She had haunted him from the beginning, and she had paid the price for it. Yet, she made the choice and she stayed, was somehow willing to walk with him along this strange, dark path that was his -- *their* -- life. She had become his partner in every sense of the word, and she had forsaken all others, all which embodied the prosaic and the secure. His quest and his grail had become hers as well. Somehow, she loved him. As he watched her shift in her sleep, a smile crept over his features at the thought of that one simple truth, the only constant in the universe. She made him strong. Alone he was just a man, but together they were a force of nature, powerful and fierce. And dangerous. His eyes clouded over and he returned his gaze to the window. He was watching the sky. ***END*** The development of our cerebral cortex has been the greatest achievement of the evolutionary processes. Big deal. -- Fox Mulder, FBI Verbum sapienti: quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt. Post nubila, Phoebus. -- Enya