CHAPTER 7:

THE X-FILES OFFICE
Friday Morning

Scully unlocked the office door and shoved it open with her 
shoulder. She juggled a stack of files someone had handed her 
in the elevator, two cups of Barney's coffee, and her 
briefcase. Pushing the door closed, she dumped her junk, 
setting the styrofoam cups of hot coffee down on her desk. 
Pulling the plastic cover off, she took a tentative swallow, 
assessing the coffee's temperature. 

Perfect.

She hung her black trench coat over the hook by the door and 
bent down to examine a snag in her hose. She had caught it on 
a file cabinet up on the third floor when she'd dropped off 
her report on the shooting. Another shooting review board, 
that was just great. At least she knew the ropes. So much for 
the concept that FBI agents rarely had to draw their weapons.
 
At least she knew this review was perfunctory, a rubber stamp 
for the file. No one doubted she had justifiable cause. 

Sighing, she booted up her computer, took another swallow of 
coffee, and looked at her watch. What was up with Mulder? 
He was running more late than usual this morning. She smiled 
in anticipation; she'd missed him last night. Except for those
few instances beyond their control, she and Mulder hadn't spent
a night apart in weeks.  Rolling over in bed last night
to find his side empty had been disconcerting, but not so 
troublesome as was his strange behavior. 

Scully heard the jangle of keys outside the office door. 
Pulling the plastic lid off his cup, she turned expecting to 
see her partner enter. Instead her ears bore witness to a 
string of oaths as Mulder dropped his keys and banged his 
head on the door while retrieving them. Finally realizing the 
door was already open, Mulder shoved his way inside. 
He stumbled, and his momentum carried him past the 
doorway smack into his desk. Clouting his shin on the 
desk's edge, he hopped his way into his chair -- a string
of curses followed him the whole way.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!"

Stifling a smart comment, Scully got a closer look at her clumsy 
partner. Mulder's suit jacket was wrinkled. His tie was crooked, 
pulled loose and off to one side, and his collar was unbuttoned. 
His hair was out of control, more so than usual; the weed wacker 
look had been replaced by spiky tufts where his fingers had 
haphazardly combed. His eyes were blood shot, rimmed red from 
lack of sleep and something else. If she didn't known better she 
would say he was struggling with one hell of a hangover.

Wait a minute? Wasn't that the same suit he'd been wearing 
yesterday?

"Mulder...?"

"Scully, I'd really prefer it if you wouldn't speak so loudly. 
I'm right next to you. There's no reason to shout, " Mulder 
whined, reaching for his cup of coffee.

"What's going on? And what's wrong with your hand?" Scully 
reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling the fingers
away from his coffee cup. 

Yanking it away from her curious eyes, Mulder stuffed his 
palm inside his trouser pocket. 

Totally confused, Scully took in his disheveled appearance, his 
unshaven face and unkempt comportment. 

"Mulder, you have a hangover."

"No, duh, Scully. What clued you in?"

"What's gotten into you? Getting drunk during a work week
is not something typical for you." I thought you were just 
going to play some poker with the guys. Why are 
you still in your suit from yesterday? It looks as though
you slept in it."

"Look, Scully ... my head hurts, my mouth feels as though
I've breathed in a Sahara desert sandstorm, and large copious 
quantities have collected in my tear ducts. I'm not in the 
mood for you to play mother hen. Unless you have some 
aspirin in your little black bag, Dr. Scully, I'd prefer 
saving the twenty questions for another time."

Rising from his desk, knocking the trash can over on the way 
out, Mulder headed for the door. "In case you'd like to 
keep tabs of my whereabouts, you can find me in the men's room. 
However, I'd enter with caution. It won't be pretty. I'll
be the one with my head shoved down a toilet."

With his last utterance Mulder stalked out, slamming 
the door behind him. 

Scully sat transfixed, her eyes focused on the closed 
door Mulder had slammed in her face.

            xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MENS ROOM

Mulder shoved open the mens room door. He walked to the sink and 
turned on the tap, watching the water swirl down the drain. 
After several seconds he placed his hands beneath 
the cold liquid, pooling it between his palms and raising it to 
his face. Thoroughly drenching his clammy skin, he barely
noticed the soothing balm the water offered.

Cupping his hands once more, he let the water collect. He 
opened his fingers slightly and watched transfixed as the 
pool dribbled between his digits. Finally, turning off the tap, 
he grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser. Mulder lowered
the paper towel, crushing it between his fingers. He stared
at his mirrored reflection, truly seeing the derelict 
appearance Scully had noted. Yet, he saw more than that ...
much more.

He leaned in toward the glass only to suddenly draw back.
He blinked, shaking his head yet unable to dismiss
the snapshot image of anguish that had fluttered
over his features, a tormented countenance that was
quickly cloaked, covered with a mask that
concealed the terror in his eyes and the exhaustion
of his spirit.

In that blink of an instant, lucidity had come upon him,
and he saw his face replaced once again by the hideous
countenace that had taken residence over his features.

In that stolen moment, Mulder knew what he was up
against, and knew he had become intimately acquainted
with the face of evil --  a face he now wore.

And in that secreted second he wasn't sure anything
could save him ... not even Scully's love.



AD Skinner's Office
One hour later

Scully sat primly in the chair in front of Skinner's desk. 
She was her normal, professional self, poised and ready. Mulder 
sat to her right. He had cleaned up somewhat in the last hour,
yet still wore the same suit. She noticed he had at least 
combed his hair and washed his face. His eyes, thankfully, 
didn't appear quite so bleary. But...his demeanor hadn't 
improved.

Mulder's posture coincided with his rotten attitude. He was 
slouched down in his chair, his body language already 
showing contempt. It was obvious from Skinner's 
corresponding body language that he was not in the mood for 
Mulder's particular brand of insolence. When Skinner finally 
spoke, he came right to the point.

"Agents, I called this meeting to clarify a few things. I 
expect...," he began, letting his eyes move from Scully and then 
to Mulder where he let them rest, "...your full cooperation." 

Mulder stared back at him blandly, almost bored. Skinner drew 
himself up in his chair, straight, stiff, and even less happy.

"Sir? Is anyone expressing doubt as to my judgment about 
using deadly force?" Scully voiced, slightly leaning forward 
in her chair. Skinner's head swiveled towards her. 

"No, Scully. No one doubts that this was a righteous 
shooting." 

"You're damn right it was righteous," Mulder chimed in from 
his slumped position in his chair. "That priest would have 
killed Meg, I mean, Ms. Michaels, if Scully hadn't 
taken him out." 

Skinner's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, before he turned 
towards Mulder. "Agent Mulder, is there a...problem here? Do 
you have some issues with these proceedings? Or are you not 
feeling well?" 

"Sir?" Mulder raised an eyebrow in answer.

"You seem...less than enthused to be here..." Skinner let 
his voice trail off slightly and fixed Mulder with an 
expectant look, waiting for his answer. The air practically 
sizzled with extra testosterone as the two men stared 
each other down.

"No, Sir. I'm not feeling well. I think I'm coming down with 
a touch of something." Mulder sat up straighter in 
his chair, daring Scully with his eyes to contradict him. 

"Fine. Let's get through this quickly so you can go home." 

"I'd appreciate that, Sir." 

"Agent Scully, I've read your report. By the way Mulder, your 
own report should have been on my desk this morning. I'm 
assuming your recent...illness...is sufficient cause for its 
tardiness." Skinner glared at Mulder from across his desk. 

"Yes, Sir. It's almost finished." 

"Good. I expect it on my desk before you leave today." 

"Yes, Sir," Mulder mumbled. 

Skinner gave him a brief nod and continued with his 
questioning.

"Agents, have we been able to determine why there was no one 
at the soup kitchen site in the middle of a workday?
Any indication of collusion on the part of the 
construction workers?" 

Scully, realizing her partner was not going to volunteer any 
information without great incentive, replied. "Apparently the 
only people on site yesterday were the indoor painting crew. 
When Father Jansen arrived, he informed the foreman that the 
dioceses felt they had been doing such an outstanding job 
staying ahead of schedule they could take the rest of the 
afternoon off." 

"And they believed him? What planet did they beam down 
from?" Mulder scoffed. 

Ignoring her partner Scully continued. "Apparently, Father 
Jansen did have the authority to grant this impromptu time 
off." 

Skinner made some notes on the pad in front of him. Then he 
looked up again, his pen poised over the paper.

"Anything else you'd like to add, Agent Mulder? Any insight 
into Jansen's background that might illuminate reasons 
for his psychotic behavior?" The AD's tone of voice 
clearly indicated he wanted Mulder to contribute 
something to the meeting.

Mulder arched an eyebrow and shrugged. Skinner sat up 
again, placing his thumb over the top end of the pen. Scully 
watched his thumb muscles flex and unflex in time with his 
jaw muscles.

"Everything pertinent will be in my report," Mulder replied. 
Turning towards Scully, he gave her an oily grin. "Anything in 
the autopsy, Agent Scully?" 

For a moment Scully stared at him in disbelief, then 
slightly flustered, began flipping through her notes. "The 
autopsy shows nothing clinically wrong with Jansen---"

"--other than the obvious fact that you put a bullet in 
his chest. And as I said...righteous shot it was, too." 

In shock Scully's mouth snapped shut. Skinner 
slammed his pen down, hitting the pad on his desk with a short, 
sharp 'twack.'

"Agent Mulder...that's enough. I understand you're not 
feeling well but your...sarcasm is way out of line and
unproductive. I'd suggest you either focus on the matter at 
hand...or go home. Now."

"Yes, Sir." Mulder stood up and walked lazily toward the door. 
"See you at home, Scully?" 

Fighting the mortification of knowing her pale complexion 
had probably just turned several shades of pink, Scully 
seethed, "Go home, Mulder. You need some sleep." 

"My thoughts exactly," Mulder said, sauntering by her chair. 
Just as he reached the door, pulling the handle to open 
it, Skinner's large hand slammed it shut. The door 
rattled with the intensity of the AD's anger. 

"Agent Mulder. I'd like a word with you. Alone. Agent 
Scully, you're dismissed." 

"Uh...sir...I--" 

With a compassionate gaze, Skinner softened his tone, but 
he was nonetheless emphatic.
 
"You're...dismissed, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder and I need 
to talk...privately." He tried to convey "trust me" with his 
eyes. He wasn't sure she read him. And even if she did, he 
wasn't sure she believed him. 

Scully gathered her notes and stood, heading for the door. 

"Yes, Sir." 

Closing the door to Skinner's office, Scully smiled wanly at 
Kimberly. She headed swiftly for the elevator, ignoring 
colleagues' stares as she stormed into the basement office. 

"So help me God, Mulder, I'm gonna tear--" she spoke aloud, 
the bitterness and exasperation in her voice breaking into the 
silence of the empty office. Then she stopped to consider 
again.

Ok....Maybe he was just not feeling well. Yeah, and maybe 
colonization was only a term used in defining manifest 
destiny. Something was seriously wrong. Scully reached
for the phone. She dialed and impatiently waited, snapping
the end of her pen just as the AD had done earlier in his
office. 

"Office of the Lone Gunmen."

"Frohike, it's Scully. We need to talk." 

"Ah...the enigmatic Agent Scully. And what can I do for you 
this fine day?" the grizzled Lone Gunmen replied. Scully 
listened to the forced pleasantry, and a small chill worked its 
way up the back of her neck.

"This is about---"

"It's about Mulder," Frohike interrupted, his 
voice abruptly more subdued and serious. 

"Yes, Frohike, it's about Mulder. I want to know anything you 
know, and I don't want to hear any bull about keeping a 
friend's confidence." 

She heard the intake of breath on the other end of the line 
followed by a decisive sigh of exhalation. 

"Yeah. We...we need to talk. I'll meet you anytime, 
anyplace. Just name it, and I'm there...Dana." 

Noting the hacker's uncharacteristic use of her first name, 
Scully felt that chill at the back of her neck snake its 
first tendrils of dread right into her soul. 
                       
              xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


AD SKINNER'S OFFICE
AFTER SCULLY LEAVES

"Agent Mulder, have a seat." Skinner directed Mulder back
to the chair he had just vacated. Skinner moved behind 
his desk, preparing to sit down.

"If it's all the same to you, SIR, I'd rather stand." 

Skinner stopped his movement and rose, facing Mulder. Removing
his glasses from his face and laying them gently on his desk 
blotter, Skinner walked around his desk to stand a few paces 
in front of an arrogantly defiant Mulder. 

He didn't invade his personal space...yet. No...right at the 
moment he was resisting the urge to throw Mulder's insubordinate 
ass through his office door. 

Skinner exhaled slowly. 

"Mulder, I don't know exactly what's gotten into you the 
last couple of days...but you'd better get over it. I have to 
tell you, your unprofessional remarks at the crime scene 
yesterday didn't go unnoticed by me. The only thing that 
kept me from calling you on the carpet then was Agent 
Scully's plea on your behalf. In fact, quite often it's
Scully's respect and loyalty to you that keeps me from 
coming down on you like the wrath of God."

Mulder's face reddened and his eyes narrowed in anger.

"I don't need her to fight my battles for me. I am 
quite capable of handling things on my own."

"Capable of what? Getting your sorry, insubordinate ass 
censured? Is that what you want Mulder...another OPR 
hearing? Because if that's your idea...please...do yourself 
a favor. Change your tune. If I have to go before OPR with you 
again...you're going to be twice as sorry. And Agent Scully's 
lobbying on your behalf isn't going to make a damn bit of 
difference." Skinner's voice was a low rumble as he delivered
his edicts.

"Is that right? And when did you become such an expert on 
Agent Scully, Sir? When did you suddenly become the 
authority on her motivations on my behalf?" 

"It's my job to evaluate her performance, Mulder. It's quite 
easy to see the integrity Agent Scully has. She's an asset 
to you, always has been even though you have a tendency to 
treat her as an afterthought." 

Skinner paused, trying to decide how to frame his next words. 
"As for that remark about your personal relationship...I'll 
chalk that up to how ill you must be feeling. I know Scully's a 
consummate professional and--" 

"Oh...I sure know what you'd like to be consummating..." Mulder 
murmured under his breath. 

Skinner froze. Slowly he moved forward. Standing toe to toe 
with Mulder, he stared intently at him. His eyes, 
without the masking effect of his lenses, were hard, the pupils 
like two chips of brown rock piercing through Mulder's bravado. 
His breathing was harsh; his anger was barely restrained. 

"What... did... you... say?" Skinner hissed into Mulder's face.

There was silence...silence except for the harsh breathing 
of two men and the ticking of the clock on Skinner's wall. 
Then Mulder's shoulders slightly sagged in apparent 
submission, his eyes sliding away from the AD's face. 

"Nothing, Sir. I didn't say anything of consequence or 
pertinent to this...discussion," he mumbled. 

Skinner's face tightened as he struggled to control his 
anger. He shifted, moving his body even closer to his
subordinate, and Mulder's eyes snapped back to the AD's 
face. The AD held Mulder's gaze, and then his voice, 
low and harsh, proceeded to dress him down. 

"If I... EVER... hear you speak in such a disrespectful way, 
to or about, Agent Scully or any other female agent, I will 
have you out of here so fast your head will spin. And if you 
continue this insubordinate behavior, I'll place a reprimand 
in your jacket. As it is, I'm going to give you a break. 
I want you to speak with the bureau psychologist, Mulder. I 
understand the stress of working with VCS, and I'm concerned 
you've reached your limit. I expect you to make an 
appointment today. In the meantime consider yourself on 
administrative leave until I receive a report from the 
doctor telling me you're fit for duty. Do I make 
myself clear!?" 

"As crystal, Sir."

Skinner nodded and stepped back. Mulder was practically 
vibrating with anger.

"Good. Then you're dismissed, Agent Mulder."

Mulder slammed the door on his way out, leaving the outer 
office and purposefully striding down the hall to the elevator. 



THE APARTMENT OF LES FRANKLYN 
AND MEG MICHAELS
FRIDAY AFTERNOON


"Agent Mulder?"

"Fox... I thought I told you to call me, Fox," Mulder corrected, 
stepping into Meg's apartment. It was dark. The drapes were 
pulled tightly; there was only one small lamp on. There wasn't
even a fire in the fireplace to warm the room. 

"Uh... Fox. Is there something we needed to discuss about the 
case? Something further...'cause if there's not, this is really 
not a good time. I'm trying to handle all the arrangements for 
Les' funeral." Meg sat down on the end of her couch, her
bewilderment evidence in her face.
 
"Les and funeral in the same sentence just sounds too 
ludicrous."

"I can imagine. You must be in shock." Mulder sat on
the couch next to her.

"It's just...it was so sudden. One minute Les was calling me 
the love of his life, the next minute he was gone. I didn't 
even get the chance to say...goodbye. I didn't get the chance 
to tell him how there'll never be anyone else...how I'll 
never...fee---"

Meg dropped her head to her chest, tears trailing down her 
face, streaking her make-up. Her sobs increased with each 
intake of breath; each inhalation was more painful than 
the last. There wasnothing cathartic about this onslaugh. It was 
just an open wound -- too raw, too overwhelming.

Mulder reached over to her, pulling her trembling form into 
his. She tensed. But he crooned soft words of empathy, small 
little "shhh....it'll be alright..." ,and she began to relax. He 
embraced her slight body. Placing his hand upon the 
crown of her head, he began lightly stroking her hair. Meg felt 
the gentle touch of his hand as he trailed it through her 
curls, soothing her with each stroke.

As her sobs abated and the emotional storm passed, Mulder 
reached over her and collected a box of tissues from her coffee 
table. Pulling one out, he offered it to her. 

"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Meg. I know my words cannot 
make your grief any less, but I do want you to know if there's 
anything...All you need to do is ask."

Using the tissue to wipe her tears, Meg asked, "Agent Mulder, 
do you normally give such personal attention to crime victims? 
Your solicitousness is commendable, but it seems above and 
beyond mere professional courtesy."

"Let's just say I have felt personally responsible for some of 
your trials, Meg. If Scully and I had worked harder to convince
you to accept police protection, Les might still be alive."

Letting Mulder's words flow over her, Meg's eyes pooled again.
"Yeah...well If I hadn't been so mule-hea...ded, I would have 
accepted that protection or at the very least not have ditched
Les and gone off on my own. By putting my life in danger, I
forced Les into a situation he was not equipped to handle.
It's all my fault..."

Mulder stared intently at Meg. She met his gaze and suddenly
found herself moving slightly forward...hypnotically...entranced. 
She knew he would kiss her; she knew his intent. Although 
she knew how terribly wrong it was, she lessened the distance 
between them.

Without control, as though she were compelled, she accepted his 
advances. At the first graze of his lips, she trembled, noticing 
their coldness. 

Her eyes closed, and their mouths fused together
with frenzied lust. Finally, their lips parted, the warmth of her 
breath mingling with his. They kissed again, their tongues twining 
together in a frantic dance. 

Meg moaned with the pleasure of his touch, succombing to it
as his hands followed mouth, touching her face, her 
neck, the V of her shirt. She was mesmerized. Out of body, 
tempted in ways that were unfathonable to her..and then...

she was back...

back in the kitchen...in the blood... 

crooning her soft goodbye lullaby to Les...'put a little sugar 
in my bowl'...and she remembered.

Oh, God... SHE REMEMBERED... HIS EYES... MULDER'S EYES...

They had looked at her over the dead body of Father Jansen.

Violently pushing Mulder away, Meg scrambled up from the couch.
"Agent Mulder, I think you should go. I...uh...don't know
what came over me, but I am not myself." 

She needed to get him out of here before he became suspicious. 
Mulder was deadly. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she became aware of the shadows. 
The room was crawling with them. Literally. They slithered over 
the walls, hiding in every nook and cranny. They were alive, and 
they mocked her, taunted her,  and reminded her of their presence 
at the soup kitchen.

"Meg, I think I should stay. I don't think you should be 
alone," Mulder entreated, trying to coax her back with his 
voice. Reaching out, he tugged on the edge of her oversized 
sweatshirt, pulling her down towards the couch again.

"Uh...no... what about Agent Scully? In fact, I had a message 
from her. I really need to call her back." Meg reached
for the phone on the endtable. 

Mulder grasped her hand. "Somehow I doubt that Meg. I was with 
Scully most of today, and I don't remember her calling you."

Mulder rose from the couch; the shadows swirled faster
and faster with frantic glee. He paced the room, like a caged 
animal, back and forth, repeating the same pattern over and 
over, until he stopped directly in front of Meg. "No, 
Meg, I really don't think we need Agent Scully involved in this 
do you?"

As he reached for her, the doorbell rang startling Mulder and
providing the escape Meg needed. Rushing past him, she opened
the door. Flipping on the overhead light, she 
noticed the shadows vanish. Quickly she heralded in several 
neighbors carrying casseroles and bundt cakes. 

Catching the evil intent in Mulder's eyes, the look of 
unmitigated rage from having his plans thwarted, Meg fought 
the urge to turn and run. Instead she watched him leave. 
She watched the face of evil walk out her door and into the dwindling 
afternoon sun. 

And she froze inside.

Stroking the life within her, Meg knew Mulder was
possessed with the very same evil which had resided in 
Father Jansen.

She had to get to Scully; she had to let her know.


  			Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the alleyway outside Meg's apartment, Mulder huddled in a 
corner. His body shook with gutwrenching heaves as he threw up. 
It was as though he tried to purge bile from his throat and tried 
to disgorge the putrid essence of what he was becoming. His 
body trembled as tears overwhelmed him and gasping sobs 
accompanied dry heaves.


CHAPTER 8:

Scully drove through the DC streets, with one hand on the wheel and 
her heart in her throat. She told Frohike she'd meet him at 
the Lincoln Memorial. They both wanted to have this meeting 
out in the warmth of the winter sun. Neither one liked the 
idea of meeting indoors. She could tell Frohike was spooked 
and, this knowledge had only increased her own anxiety. 
Concentrating on her driving and the meeting that was 
to come, Scully almost missed the ringing of her cell.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully? This is Meg Michaels."

Scully shifted her cellphone under her ear. "Yes, Meg. What 
can I do for you?"

Meg's voice was hesitant as she began. "Agent Scully... I need 
to talk to you, immediately."

"I'm all yours, at least for another 10 minutes or so; I've 
got a meeting."

"No, Agent Scully. It's imperative I talk with you in person. 
It's about... Agent Mulder."

"Mulder? Meg, look I really have to make this meeting. May I 
call you back as soon as I finish?" Scully said, zigzagging in 
and out of traffic. 

"No, Dana. You're in danger. Agent Mulder just---"

"Meg, did something happen to Mulder?!" Scully cut
Meg off in mid-sentence.

"Yes. I mean...I don't know. Look I have to see you now! Your 
life depends on it, and...I don't know if there's anything we 
can do for him..."

"Meg, I'm at the Lincoln Memorial. How long would it 
take you to get here?"

"Actually, I can be there in 10-15 minutes. I'm in the car 
now. I was heading for your office."

Scully pulled into the parking lot. Realizing there were no 
vacant spaces, she reached into her glove compartment and 
pulled out a special permit. Whipping the car into a no 
parking zone, she cut the engine. "Meg, look there are no 
parking spaces. I don't care if you have to park illegally; 
pull in anyway. I'll clear it up later."

"Thanks, Agent Scully. I'll be there soon... and uh...this 
meeting's not with Mulder is it?"

"No, why?"

"I just think you should stay away from him until we've had a 
chance to talk," Meg replied cryptically, turning off her 
phone.

Scully heard a tentative tap on her car window. Turning she 
saw Frohike peering through the glass, his fingers peeking out 
through the cut-off tips of his gloves. Unsnapping her 
seatbelt, she unlocked her door. However, before she could 
open it, Frohike had already done so. Reaching his hand into 
the car, he grasped hers in the same kind of chivalrous 
gesture a gentleman might have used to help down a lady from 
her carriage. In spite of their dire situation, Scully had to 
chuckle. Frohike was good to the last drop.

"Agent Scully."

"Frohike," she said as he released her hand. "Let's walk. But 
I need to keep the parking lot in sight. Meg Michaels, the 
newscaster whose husband was killed, is meeting us here."

Seeing Frohike's bewildered, hesitant glance, she reassured 
him." She's not here in any professional capacity. It's...about 
Mulder."

Walking side by side, Scully was struck by the fact that she and 
Frohike were the same height. She had to admit conversation 
was easier on the neck when you weren't constantly looking up 
at the person talking.

"Agent Scully, I debated calling you last night. In 
fact, I probably should have...it's just that its hard for me 
to rat out a friend... you know?"

"Frohike, I assure you this is not 'ratting' out Mulder. But 
something's going on with him, and I'm extremely worried. His 
behavior is..." Scully paused, as if searching for the right 
word.

""---'Spooky.'" Frohike said with a small flinch. Scully 
gave him a raised eyebrow. "Sorry...I know that's the 'S' 
word but...well I think it pretty much sums up what we're 
both thinking."

Watching tourists roam the grounds near Lincoln's memorial, 
Scully was reminded how easy it was to forget the rest of the 
world when your life was one large struggle. Seeing a small, 
blond-haired child squirm away from his father, running pell-mell 
into the arms of his mother, brought a smile to her face. Life 
did go on.

Still staring straight ahead at the young family, Scully asked, 
"Frohike, what happened at your place last night?"

"Look...Scully. It's not just what he did..." Frohike began, 
hesitating and looking down at his feet for a moment. Scully 
studied the grizzled photographer as he gathered his 
thoughts. "It's the manner in which he did it...Mulder started 
off just crass and boorish...Comments about your personal life.
...more sexual innuendo than is normal for even him, at least
normal where you are concerned."

Scully stood silently, not interrupting, trying not to show how 
hurt she was by Frohike's words.

Even though it was out of character, Frohike reached up, tucking 
a strand of blowing hair behind her ear. Hearing a hitch in her 
breath, he realized his action was probably not the best idea. It 
couldn't help but remind her of Mulder. Removing his hand, he 
stepped back, giving her space. He should never have breached 
that distance. He was startled when he felt her small hand reach 
down and grasp his. Linking his fingers with hers, he continued.

"Just before Mulder left, Langly brought this small field mouse 
into the kitchen. He'd caught it in a trap, but only by its 
tail. It was still alive. He was messing around with it, 
getting ready to release it outdoors. Well...Mulder grabbed it 
from him, saying there was only one way to handle disgusting 
vermin. He walked to the sink, flipped on the garbage disposal 
switch and tossed the wriggling mouse head first into the 
blades..."

Pausing Frohike took a deep breath, then resumed his narration.

"The disposal only churned for a few seconds, then it stopped, 
clogged up with the mouse. Mulder turned off the switch, reached 
his hand into the drain and pulled out this disgusting, bloodied 
glob of bones and fur. He held it, dripping in his hand, and 
dumped it in the chili I'd made..."

Shuddering with the memory, Frohike turned to Scully. 
"Mulder said, 'Frohike, that's _my mama's_ secret recipe'." But, 
Scully, worse than the act, worse than his disgusting behavior, 
was the look in his eyes. They were filled with some kind of
sadistic pleasure. Mulder...was enjoying himself. He
enjoyed hurting that animal, but even worse than that, he
enjoyed our reactions. Scully, his eyes...they burned
...burned with what I can only call...evil. Just plain,
pure evil."

Taking a deep breath, Scully met Frohike's eyes, "Frohike. Ever 
since I got Mulder back...from the insanity caused by that 
alien artifact..." Frohike's eyebrow raised at her use of the 
word alien. "...I've watched him like a hawk. I guess I've 
been afraid he might somehow regress, somehow...become 
susceptible again.

"Scully, this behavior is so unlike before. I don't see how it 
could be the same."

"But couldn't it be a different manifestation? Couldn't the voices he 
was hearing before, couldn't they have returned? Driving him insane. 
I mean, I know he was cleared for duty; the doctors, the psychologists,
all ran over him within an inch of his life...but..."

Turning, she looked forlornly at Frohike, making no effort to 
hide the tears puddling in her blue eyes.  "He can't go 
through that again. I can't watch him go...through it."

Frohike reached deep into his dark blue, woolen coat. 
Rummaging through his pocket, he pulled out a crisp, clean 
white handkerchief. Embroidered on one corner was MF. Handing 
it to her, he turned his head looking up toward the memorial. 

Scully wasn't sure he was turning away so much to give her 
privacy from her escaping emotions, but to buffer her from his. 
For one who appeared gruff and a tad uncouth on the outside, 
he was actually quite sensitive. She remembered the night 
they'd thought Mulder dead and he'd come to her apartment, 
bottle in hand, talking of "redwoods among sprouts."

Hearing steps behind them, Frohike and Scully turned just as 
Meg interrupted them. "Agent Scully, I don't know what 
problems you are referring to, but I can assure you Mulder's 
problem is of a very immediate nature."

Wiping her tears with Frohike's handkerchief, Scully turned to 
speak to Meg. "Meg. This is a friend of mine. Meg 
Michaels...Melvin Frohike. Frohike... Meg Michaels."

"I'm deeply saddened to hear of your loss, Ms. Michaels."

"Thank you, Mr. Frohike."

"Meg, you said you needed to talk to me?"

"Agent Scully, there's not a tactful or easy way to say 
this, at least not one that's expedient. Agent Mulder just 
left my apartment."

"Your apartment?" 

"Yes, and not because he wanted to... Look, I may be stepping on 
toes here, but I don't have time to be subtle. I know you love him
I can recgonize it."

Taken aback by the woman's forthright candor, Scully was 
momentarily caught off guard. Frohike grasped her 
forearm, warning her to be careful. Scully gently shook him 
off. She stared deeply into Meg's sad eyes, saw no deception, 
no hidden agenda to make her wary. She took a chance. "Meg, in 
the words I heard you say to your own husband, 'He is the love 
of my life'."

"That's...that's what I thought... Les and I, we talked about you 
two, how you seemed so much like us... it was actually pretty 
funny," she smiled, lost in a precious memory. She looked up, 
meeting Scully's gaze again. "Anyway, Mulder was just at my 
apartment...and he...he kissed me."

To say Scully was stunned would be an understatement, Frohike 
noticed she hardly breathed. "And frankly, Agent Scully, if my 
neighbors had not shown up when they did, he would have tried 
to do a lot more than that."

"No...that's not Mulder. He would never do something like that. 
He would never-"

"Agent Scully, I don't think it was Mulder," Meg continued.

Not one to stand on ceremony, Frohike spit out. "You just said it 
was Mulder. Lady, did he or didn't he?" he asked, glancing at 
Scully's pensive face.

Realizing she was heading onto shaky ground, Meg decided the 
best course of action was to get it all out as quickly as 
possible. "Ok...bear with me for the next few minutes; let me 
get it all out."

Meg proceeded to fill Scully and Frohike in on everything she 
knew, from the time she first went to meet Father Jansen to 
the moment Mulder walked out of her apartment. Leaving nothing 
out, she waited for them to call a special hospital unit to 
carry her away, locked in a very strong straightjacket.

"So, let me get this straight. You think Mulder is possessed 
by the same entity that possessed Father Jansen?" Frohike 
asked, making sure he understood her correctly.

"Yes. And forgive me for asking..."Meg started, staring at 
Frohike's earnest face and Scully's pensive one. "...but why 
aren't you two more astounded by this information? I just said 
I think your lover, Agent Scully, is possessed by a demon. And 
you two act as though I just asked if you preferred vanilla over 
chocolate."

With a rueful sigh, Scully answered, "I know this may be 
hard to believe, but that's probably not the most fantastic 
thing I've ever heard. Although, I do doubt the verity of your 
assessment."

"Let me get this straight. You don't doubt the idea of demon 
possession; you just doubt it in relation to your partner?" 
Meg asked incredulously. 

"Scully...it would explain his behavior...it would account for 
the differences."

"I know, Frohike, but demon posession? I'm supposed to be the 
skeptic; you're trying to get me to play Mulder's role. Who's to 
say it's not medically related to that artifact?"

"Scully, it's not the same and you know it," Frohike said as 
Meg's voice trampled over the top of his.

"Agent Scully, you go on and believe that, but I'll tell you, I 
saw his eyes. I saw him communing with these... shadows. Agent 
Mulder has been possessed by evil, and he's not sane. When I was 
kissing him--"

"What?" Scully murmured.

"Whoa, wait a minute...when you were kissing Mulder? I thought this 
was something...he did to you. When did this become a two person 
sport. Aren't you supposed to be the grieving widow," Frohike
retorted, his frustration evident.

"Listen, when he looked at me, it was as though I had no control over 
my own body, my own actions, my own...desires," she finished 
sheepishly. "Agent Scully, until the memory of him at the soup
kitchen came back to me, I would have done anything he asked."

"Me---"

Scully's phone trilled in her pocket. Excusing herself, she 
reached in and pulled it out, activating it.

"Scully."

"Scully, where are you?"

"Mulder?... I'm running an errand. Where are you?"

"Well, I was hoping to take the 'love of my life' out to 
dinner. You know -- the little place we like up on Dupont 
Circle?"

Scully shivered with Murder's term of endearment. It was too 
close to her conversation with Meg.

"Uhh...sure Mulder. I'll meet you there. What time?"

"In an hour... I think, Scully, you and I just need a nice 
quiet dinner alone. Away from work, away from everything."

Scully noticed Mulder sounded perfectly normal. His voice was 
warm, and loving. Looking at Meg's fearful face and Frohike's 
concerned features, Scully said, "Sure, Mulder. Sounds good. 
I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Great Scully, and maybe afterwards I can invite Muggsy 
Scully out for anther game of one on one."

Hearing the laughter in his voice, Scully could almost believe 
things were all right. "I got game, G-man."

"Oooh... Scully, later."

Closing the connection, Scully felt Meg and Frohike's worried 
looks. 

"You can't meet with him, Scully," Frohike said, cautioning Meg 
as she began to speak. "That is not Mulder."

"Frohike, how can we be sure? Do you realize what we're saying? 
Only yesterday, Mulder accused me of seeing demon possession as a 
plausible option when he felt Father Jansen was just insane. 
And as I seriously consider that, I realize there is no real 
proof attributing demon possession to him. Even the Catholic 
Church would require more evidence than we have to begin an 
investigation into your allegations. Feelings just won't cut it."

Frohike gently touched her arm. "Scully, he kissed her. 
Mulder would never do that."

"No, Frohike. Mulder wouldn't. Without a doubt that is the one
thing of all this I have faith in--Mulder's love for me. He would 
not betray that, at least not when he was in his right mind."

Scully paused in contemplation.

"It's as though he's purposefully doing things to bring
attention to himself. Make us question his behavior. The question 
is, is it demon possession or a cry for help from a man slipping 
into insanity."

Biting her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check, Scully 
watched Frohike dig furiously through his pockets. Pulling out a
crumpled piece of paper, he handed it to her.

Carefully unwrapping it, she read the words:

"Help...me...please..."

"Where did you get this?" Scully traced her finger over 
the handwriting that was painfully familiar.

"This morning when I was cleaning up, I found it crumpled, thrown 
in with the dregs of last night's game."

With dogged determination, Frohike refused to give up. "Scully, 
we need help. You and Mulder both need protection."

"Frohike, Mulder won't hurt me. He'd kill himself before he'd 
allow himself to hurt me." And then, as if hearing her own words, 
Scully really thought it through. Mulder needed to be protected 
from himself.

"Frohike, I can't involve the bureau. I can't go to anyone 
there with this. Mulder's career would be over, in the toilet, 
and I'm not sure mine wouldn't be far behind."

"What about Skinner?"

Searching the horizon, Scully considered Frohike's question. 
"There was a time when I felt I could put my trust implicitly 
in Skinner, but lately, Frohike, I'm not sure that would be a 
wise decision."

Tired of being left on the sidelines, Meg jumped in. "Yeah, 
well guys, I'm not sure you've got a lot of options here. If 
Assistant Director Skinner can help, I say you go for it. 
You sure, however, he won't call the psycho ward on you?"

"Ms. Michaels, Skinner's been known to be open to... 'extreme 
possibilities,'" Scully said, looking at her watch.

"Listen, Frohike, take my car; find Skinner. Fill him in, and 
get his take. Meg, I need you to drop me at the Smithsonian 
metro stop. I can get to Dupont Circle faster that way. It's 
too close to rush hour to take the car."

"Dana, you're still going to meet him?"

"Meg, I'm not sure I buy into your theory, but, regardless, he 
is the love of my life. And whatever's going on with him, he's 
not going to go through it alone." 

Scully headed for the car, leaving Frohike and Meg behind, 
staring after her.

"Mr. Frohike, my husband, Les, always said, "'Now faith is being 
sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.' Does 
she have that kind of faith?"

Contemplating his answer, Frohike paused before answering. "Ms. 
Michaels, she has faith in Mulder and what they share. Her faith 
will see them both through. That is a certainty."


	   xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


The evening was crisp and cold, a perfect late winter night. 
There wasn't a cloud in the sky, the wind was mild and Mulder 
and Scully had just finished a delightful dinner. Leaving 
Sebastian's, they began walking toward the Dupont Circle 
Metro. As it was, Mulder had come by cab, so neither one had a 
car.

Mulder casually threw his arm across her shoulder, making some 
wisecrack about how perfectly she fit... for an armrest. There 
was a bustle on the street as people went in and out of 
stores, heading into international restaurants, moving towards 
embassy row or just walking the streets window-shopping. All 
in all, it was a fine time to be alive and in love. 

From his first passionate kiss, just inside the restaurant 
door as he caught her blowing on her cold fingers trying to 
warm them, to the silly jokes he made all through dinner, 
Mulder's behavior was right on. If it weren't for surreptitious 
glances at her, when he was certain she wasn't looking, she might 
easily have slipped into complacency. It would be easy to see 
this man as Mulder, but she had looked into his eyes. She...knew
within her soul that Mulder...her Mulder was no where to be
seen tonight, and she was scared, petrified in fact. 

Mulder was nuzzling her neck behind her left earlobe and 
whispering delightfully sinful suggestions of what he wanted 
for dessert. Scully felt her inclination to tense up 
every time he came near her. His breath was so cold, his touch 
like icy fingers of dread. He caught her shivering once, and 
she'd managed to pass it off on the temperature outside. Thus, 
his arm hung over her shoulder.

As they descended the long escalator ride into the Dupont 
Circle tunnel, heavy discussion was the farthest thing from 
her mind.

Walking up to the platform, Scully stood in the crowd waiting 
to hop the red line to the Metro Center exchange where she 
and Mulder would grab the orange line to the Smithsonian exit. 
On such a lovely evening, the walk from there to the FBI lot 
would normally be pleasurable. 

Tonight, it was just one more step in her journey to keep him 
safe. She hoped Frohike had gotten to Skinner. Although, what 
they could do, was still unknown.

Standing at the edge of the track, Scully resisted the urge to 
look down for the lights. She knew the sidewalk lights would 
blink signifying the train's arrival, but it was like watching 
the little elevator buttons. Maybe if you watched them hard 
enough, the elevator would move faster. 

Mulder was pressed up closely behind her, his hands on her 
waist, steadying her as people jostled them from behind. It 
really was crowded tonight. You would have thought it was 
still rush hour. Finding herself nudged imperceptibly forward, 
Scully stumbled. Mulder steadied her with his hands and pulled 
her close again. Forcing herself to lean back into him, she said, 
"Thanks. It's crowded tonight."

"Yes it is...wonder what's gotten into everyone." Mulder 
whispered, breathing into her ear.

Scully felt herself shiver; there was something with his 
voice. 

The large white lights in the floor began slowly blinking. The 
train was coming. The crowd was uneasy. The overhead lights 
were dimming on and off, causing the crowd's jitteriness to 
increase. Shadows were filling the tunnel, flitting about 
regardless of the crowd's movement. It was as though they 
didn't stem from any particular object but were independent. 

Before she could allow herself the luxury of puzzling it out, 
there was an unalterable push from behind. The momentum of it 
shoved her forward, Mulder's arms sliding from her waist as 
she was propelled directly into the path of the upcoming train.

Scully felt her body fall forward; there was nothing for her 
to grab, nothing to stop her from heading headfirst into the 
track.  The scream tore from her throat as she heard the roar 
in her ears of the train...passing...miraculously by. As the 
wind whipped through her hair, Scully felt the strong arms of 
someone pulling her back onto the metro platform.

Grasping the person who held her, Scully looked up fully 
expecting to see Mulder's terrified face. Instead she looked 
into the terrified face of a stranger, a large heavy set 
African American man with arms of steel, that trembled as they 
held her. 

"Lady, are you ok?" asked her protector.

"I...think so. Yes... I'm fine." Scully gently extricated 
herself from his arms. She was overwhelmed with 
the number of people crowding around, asking her if she were 
all right. She saw them slapping the shy, hulking man on his 
shoulder, telling him what a hero he was and how omeone should 
do a story. He was humble with his replies, explaining he just 
happened to be close enough to do something...Thank the Lord.

Scully turned to him and asked, "What did you just say?"

"I said I'm thankful, ma'am, the Lord saw fit to have me where 
I could help. I figure it was His providence that saved you."

Scully looked down for a second and then back up into the 
man's flushed face. She smiled, her face plainly showing her 
gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, too overcome to say 
anything else.

"Don't thank me, ma'am. Thank God."

Scully nodded at first incapable of responding to the man's 
simple faith and a trifle chagrined that she couldn't 
answer. Then she found her voice.

"Don't worry, I will...I will."

Scully turned, her eyes skimming the crowd looking for Mulder. 
Where was he? What had happened? Seeing past the throng she 
saw his back turned toward the kiosk where the DC metro map 
was posted. He was hunched over, his shoulders shaking.

Walking hesitantly over to where he stood, she touched his 
shoulder. Turning him so she could see his face, she was 
shocked to see him in tears. His eyes were closed tightly, and his 
face was screwed up in anguish, haunting in its misery. 
Placing her hands, one on each side of his cheeks, she stroked 
the tears away with her fingers.

Mulder gradually opened his eyes. It was as if he didn't 
recognize her. Like a blind man, tentatively he reached out his 
fingers, barely grazing her lips and her cheeks where the 
tears were streaming down her own face. And then, as though given 
the gift of sight, his anguished eyes beheld her. 

His soul sang.
 
Crushing her to him, he planted frantic kisses all over her 
face and hair. He murmured words of love, words of rapture as 
he held her so tightly she could barely breathe. 

"Scully...I'm so sorry... So sorry,...I didn't mean to...I 
couldn't help it...I tried to stop it."

"Shhh. it's alright. I'm alright. You are not to blame," she 
whispered, kissing his lips with a fervency that belied her fear
that he really was the culprit for her unfortunate mishap.

Then, as suddenly as it began, he pulled himself back. He 
disentangled her arms and stepped away. His face froze, immobile, 
all joy gone. It was replaced by benign indifference.

"Mulder, what happened?"

"I thought you were gone, Scully. I thought you were gone. The 
crowd surged forward, and I lost my grip on you. The next thing 
I knew you were flying before the train, and I couldn't get to 
you," he said, almost monotone in his delivery.

"Thankfully, that gentleman over there was fast on his feet."

"Yes, thankfully," Mulder repeated, looking angrily in the
good samaritan's direction.

"Hey, Scully. Excitement's over let's go home."

"I agree, Mulder, let's go, but I want to go up top and hail a 
cab if it's all the same to you," Scully murmured, looking 
back over her shoulder at the track.

"Sure, fine, whatever." Mulder headed for the escalator.

Scully started to follow when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
She looked into the confused eyes of a young, teen-aged
girl. From her oversized baggy jeans, to the body piercings
too numerous to count, she was the epitome of today's generation.

"Hey, lady. I don't know who he is to you, but that guy you 
were with, just now?..."

"Yes."

"Well, Lady. He's the one who pushed you. I mean I saw him 
push you onto the track."

"I'm sure you were mistaken... That man's my partner. He was 
probably trying to pull me back." Scully tried to hold on to fading 
hope. Shuffling her feet, the girl said, "I don't know about 
that. But I saw his face, right before he pushed you...it was all 
scrunched up, like he was fighting with himself. Like he was in 
pain, you know...and, then, it was like he hated you. That's all 
I know." Before Scully could formulate a response, the girl had 
headed to the platform edge, awaiting the next train.

As if paralyzed to that spot, Scully stood and watched her. Just
as she entered the train, the girl turned, "Hey...lady. He majorly
creeped me out."

Scully felt a chill fill her. She looked over to the escalator 
where Mulder was just starting up. He was just standing there, 
staring back at her and the girl. Scully realized he'd seen their 
conversation; there was harsh resolve in his features. As he 
detected her eyes upon him, his expression reverted once more to 
jovial Mulder. He waved at her; she waved back. Her hand heavy 
laden as she brought it back down. It shook; she shook...with 
doubt and fear. 

There was no illusion; each knew the other knew.


CHAPTER 9:

A HACKER BAR
FRIDAY EVENING


He eyed the tall man before him, from the top of his bald head 
to the tips of his Nikes, once down and then once, back up. 
Sure he had on blue jeans, but that's the only thing he had 
right.

"You call that dressing to fit in? Who you trying to impress?" 
Frohike disgustedly checked out Skinner's casual 
attire.

"You said to dress down." Skinner grumbled.

"I said... you were going to a hacker bar...dress to blend."

Skinner scowled as he looked himself up and down. He didn't see the 
problem: blue jeans, running shoes, t-shirt. Hardly attire that 
should stand out.

Frohike, on the other hand, saw pristine Nike's ala Andre 
Agassi; crisp, dark blue jeans; and the capper, a Foo Fighter t-
shirt. Reaching up he pulled off a garment size sticker, XL, 
which Skinner had obviously missed.

"Yeah, you'll fit in," Frohike scoffed.

"Mr. Frohike, give me a break. You didn't give me a lot of notice, 
and it's not as though I'm a regular at hacker bars."

"Mr. Frohike? Ok... that's another thing, Mr. Skinner. In here I'm
just 'Frohike' or 'Hickey'. Leave the mister's and titles
at the office.

"Fine."

"I don't have time to re-dress you. Just stay behind me, and 
don't talk to anyone unless you have to. Remember you're here 
for fun, Mr. AD. This is not a raid; so just keep your eyes 
directed to the floor." Frohike looked the AD over once more.
" Yeah...and loosen up, man. You walk like you're ready to 
storm the beaches at Normandy."

Resisting the urge to pound Frohike into the ground as though he 
were some short, squatty nail, Skinner reminded himself why he'd 
even agreed to this meeting -- this meeting that went gainst his 
better judgement no less. 

It's for Mulder... Mulder and Scully.

Opening the grungy wooden door, Frohike and Skinner stepped 
into a room that was more hovel than bar. Sure there were the 
basics: a large wooden bar behind which were shelves full of 
gleaming liquor bottles; beer advertisements hanging from the 
walls; peanut shells scattered on the floor; and secluded, dark 
booths, but that's where the similarities ended. 

There was a dartboard, but not like anything Skinner had ever 
seen. This one had more bells and whistles, flashing lights and 
gizmos than his car. Tables were scattered 
throughout, covered with computers and other electronic 
equipment, and every available space against the walls 
was packed with video arcade games. There was even a "no 
drink zone"-probably to keep drunken hands away from precious 
technology.

And the clientele. They were definitely an eclectic group--a 
recombinant DNA combination of Byers, Langly and Frohike -- 
Everything from geeky nerds to nerdy geeks.  He wondered if 
he'd feel any less comfortable as a straight man in a gay bar.

Finding an open booth in the back, Frohike slid in. Skinner 
joined him as Frohike looked over to the bar, two fingers 
held in the air signaling the barkeep. Figuring he'd been 
patient long enough, Skinner said,"Ok... Frohike, out with it. 
Why all the cloak and dagger?"

Before Frohike could respond, two frosty mugs appeared at the 
corner of their table. Skinner looked up and found himself eye 
level with a very well-endowed chest enclosed in a tight t-
shirt which read," I don't hug or kiss, I byte."

Ignoring Skinner, flicking her wrist at the drinks, the 
waitress asked, "Put it on a tab, Hickey?"

"Yeah, Merlene. But the big man's payin'."

Checking Skinner out, Merlene laughed as she walked 
away," Dig the t-shirt...Narc."

With a look of supreme 'I told you so', Frohike began.

"I'm gonna cut to the chase here. Mulder's been possessed."

"Wha...Mulder's been what?" Skinner sniffed the air. 
"And which weed you been smoking, 'Hickey'?"

"Look I don't have time to dot every 'I' or cross every 'T'. Our 
boy's gone and got himself infused with some very bad karma. 
He's dancin' with the spirits, and it ain't the hallelujah hop."

Reaching into his jeans, Skinner pulled out his wallet. He 
peeled out a couple of bills, tossing them on the table.

"Pay the ... lady, Frohike. I got better things to do---"

Reaching across the table, Frohike grasped Skinner's arm, none 
too gently.

"I know sitting on the fence is where you like to be AD. Your 
comfort zone, right? Just enough on both sides that no one 
knows where to place you in the game."

His steely eyes squinting, Skinner sat back down.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about. The world 
is not black and white. Moral absolutes have a way of getting 
lost when real life intrudes," Skinner growled, glaring across
the table at Frohike.

"Hey, I know all about real life, man.  I know all about 
loyalty and trust. But I think that's something you've 
misplaced in your attempt to swing both ways. Finding it hard 
to straddle the fence AD, or should I say 'AC/DC'?"

With his jaw clenched tight, Skinner responded. "Frohike, unless 
you want me to grab your little troll body by its scruffy neck and 
sail it across this bar into Dolly Parton over there, I suggest 
you get to the point."

Sighing, Frohike relaxed his shoulders. Pissing off Skinner was 
going to get him nowhere. Signaling the waitress for a couple more 
brews, Frohike began his story.

After several minutes of talking, he paused. Skinner brought 
his thumb and forefinger across his eyes, squeezing tightly and 
then pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension headache he'd 
had since Mulder's dress down that morning had increased 
tenfold.

Knowing Frohike fully expected him to discount everything he 
said as utter nonsense, Skinner surprised even himself. "You 
said Mulder kissed Meg?"

"Yeah, well as she tells it ... he had more than swappin' spit 
in mind."

"This from the man who spent six years with Scully before he 
made his move? Does she know any of this?" Skinner questioned.

"Agent Scully's been fully briefed, Sir."

Stifling an abrupt retort, Skinner asked, "And her take is...?"

"She's confused, panicked,  afraid he might be 
relapsing from the artifact's influence---" Frohike paused, 
looking directly at Skinner, daring him to break eye contact.

Finally, Skinner spoke. "Is she giving any credence to your 
possession theory?"

"Not totally discounting it." Looking piercingly at Skinner, he 
continued, "She told me to talk to you, even though she made it 
perfectly clear she doesn't trust you."

Frohike watched the pain gather behind Skinner's eyes before 
the agent turned his head, looking towards 'Dolly'.

"Yeah, well...like I said, not everything's black and white." 

"Be that as it may, she's worried enough about this situation 
to ask for your involvement, maybe, even, against her own 
better judgement."

Continuing to focus on their waitress, who was in deep 
conversation with a man who looked like a biker bar poster boy, 
Skinner ground his caps, clenching his jaw. "You really buy 
into this whole possession theory or do you think Scully's 
right--that Mulder's relapsing."

"Frankly, Skinner, either way's got our boy by the balls. And 
if truth were told, I think Scully's foot's more in the possession 
camp than she admits to. She's in denial. At least with a 
relapse, there's a scientific avenue to pursue--neurologists, 
psychologists--an alphabet soup of Ph.D's."

"That did us a whole hell of a lot of good the last time, or 
have you forgotten his weeks in the padded room?" Skinner grumbled,
staring at the table before meeing Frohike's gaze.

Surprised that Skinner acknowledged any of that, Frohike 
smirked.

"Well, what do we do about possession? When did you conduct 
your last exorcism, Skinner? I don't remember that being in 
your resume."

"Yeah. I can see me explaining that at the Bureau," Skinner snorted,
shaking his head. Unless I want to join him in the basement, we're 
going to have to handle this delicately."

"We? Does this mean you're in?"

"Shut up, Frohike. Let me think."

"Well, while you figure this all out, Scully's cozied up with bad 
boy Mulder.

Squaring his shoulders, Skinner's posture demonstrated his 
resolve. "Frohike, I can't put agents on them. There's no way 
to explain it away in such a way that it would salvage his 
career.  So we're going to have to cover them ourselves. I'm 
assuming the rest of your merry band are ready."

"Ready, willing, and able, Sir," Frohike said, offering a mock 
salute.

"Fine. I'm certain you can handle... surveillance detail--tech 
support?"

Giving him a look of pure disgust, Frohike replied, "Hell, yes! 
I could probably equip you, Fibbie."

"Fine. I'm going to make a few calls. I'll see what I can come 
up with; in the meantime...you line things up on your end. You 
know where they'll be?"

"Yes...dinner and then back home. That's the way I left it with 
Scully. In fact, Langly and Byers are setting up surveillance 
at her place right now. We'll take turns watching the apartment,
around the clock, 24/7."

"You were awfully sure I'd buy into this cock-n-bull story."

"No, I was just sure we'd be covering their backs, whichever 
side you took," Frohike said, daring Skinner once again to 
look away. This time refusing to bite, Skinner got up from the 
table, once more shoving the pile of bills at Frohike.

"You know my number, Frohike; use it if you need help. In the 
meantime, I've got to find the Calusari."

"Calusari?"

"Yes...some Eastern Orthodox priests from one of their previous 
case files. Mulder mentioned their involvement in his follow-up
report. It was a case Mulder attributed to possession. Maybe 
they'd know what to do."

As Skinner turned to walk away, Frohike grabbed his jacket from 
where he'd thrown it on the booth seat. As he stood, shrugging 
into its warmth, he said, "Are you a prayin' man, Skinner?"

"Yes."

"I hope you've not cashed in all your chips."


			              
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Agent Scully's Apartment
FRIDAY EVENING, A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER

If one could describe tension in the air as palpable, then that 
described the atmosphere within Scully's apartment. She and 
Mulder had arrived, without further incident. The faux 
camaraderie they'd practiced earlier had been replaced by wary 
silence. Each was lost in contemplation. Scully was wondering how 
Frohike and Skinner might be doing, and looking at Mulder she
couldn't even begin to determine where his thoughts were.

It was as though one minute he was on the upslope of manic 
behavior, the next on the slippery downslope of melancholy. His 
mood was mercurial, shifting from one extreme to the other. His 
words and actions, dependent on his mood swings, were making 
her dizzy just trying to keep up. And the lingering glances he 
gave her, every time he thought she wasn't looking, were causing 
her such pain. For she knew, deep within her soul, that he was not 
Mulder, or at least, the Mulder she knew and loved.

Mulder had finally decided he needed a shower and headed off 
to her bathroom. Under normal circumstances, she probably would 
have been quick to join him. In fact, it was only a few days 
ago that they'd playfully cavorted beneath the shower spray. 

But not tonight. 

Tonight, her only thought was keeping an eye on 
him, not letting him get out of her sight to do damage to 
himself or anyone else. The only problem was, she seemed to be 
the target of his obsession. She had no illusions that her 
safety wasn't compromised, it was. It didn't matter; she still 
couldn't leave. She couldn't leave him alone.

She didn't notice any tell-tale signs of the boys' visit. At 
least that afforded her some comfort, to know she was under 
watchful and protective eyes. But the waiting was killing her. 
She knew they'd agreed Frohike or Skinner would contact her as 
soon as possible, but she was going stir crazy, feeling impotent 
with idleness.

"Screw this." Scully opened the refrigerator door and 
examined the contents. Pulling plastic bowls and cartons from 
the icebox, she began dumping leftovers in the wastebasket.  
Extricating Rubbermaid containers, orange juice cartons and 
several assorted jars, she lined them up next to the kitchen 
sink to dump into the drain.

Running the sink full of sudsy water, she began scraping the 
bowls' contents into the opposite sink. As she reached for 
another plastic container, she felt Mulder slide up behind her. 
pushing his body up close to her, trapping her between him and 
the sink. 

Grinding his hips against her back, he leaned over, 
pulling her dangling hair back behind her ear. 

He whispered, "Scully, what are you doing? I can think of more 
productive things to do than play the 'Merry Maid'."

Trying to turn so she could look into his eyes, Scully 
discovered it was impossible. Mulder was holding her tight. She 
forced her body to relax, to not betray the anxiety she knew 
was escalating within her. With as light a tone as she could 
manage, she reached for another container, saying as she dumped 
it, "I figured I'd do this while you finished your shower. I 
just haven't had time in the last few days; you know how much 
it bugs me when things begin to ferment in the fridge." 

With forced laughter, she continued, "Why don't you go on into 
the living room. I'm sure there's a basketball game on you'd be 
interested in--" Realizing she'd brought up basketball, when 
he'd alluded earlier to having a game with 'Muggsy' Scully, she 
instantly regretted her choice of words. She didn't want to 
remind him of that one on one scenario.

Her hands were deep in the soapy water, ostensibly washing 
emptied containers, but more as a means to hide her trembling 
fingers. She knew she was in a very bad position. Mulder 
shifted his body closer to her, the flannel on his t-shirt 
bringing no warmth to her cold form. In fact, the closer he 
came, the more she felt harsh iciness invade her soul. She 
couldn't believe she'd feel fear being this close to the one 
she loved more than life itself.

As she reached for the sprayer to rinse off another bactch of
containers, she felt Mulder's body momentarily shift away. But 
not far enough. Hearing the familiar sound of metal rubbing
against leather, and feeling the comfortable weight removed 
from her back, Scully realized Mulder had removed her weapon
from its holster. Under normal circumstances she would not have
still been wearing it. These circumstances were anything but
normal.

"I don't think you'll be needing this anymore this evening,
Scully. I've got your back."

Mulder took her firearm and placed it on the counter to her 
right, still seductively within reach. It was as though he
was putting it in temptation's corner, daring her to try and
pick it up. When she didn't move to do so, he slid in more
closely again.

"Here, let me help you," he breathed seductively in her ear. 
Removing his hands from her waist, he slid them down the length 
of her arms, into the water, covering her hands with his own. 
He guided her hand and the washcloth over the hard greasy 
plastic of the container. Caressing her hands as he enfolded 
himself around her even more, he nuzzled at her neck, breathing 
deeply.

Scully trembled, not only at his closeness, but also at the 
pervading chill. The one light in the hallway flickered, and 
the one in the living room blinked off, like the light bulb had 
just decided to stop working. The only light remaining in the 
apartment was the small one over the stove. As each light 
flickered out, the room was cast into an eerie darkness. Shadows 
appeared to be moving excitedly around the room, independent of 
each other, as though they were stalking.

Pushing against his body, Scully attempted to wiggle free of 
her imprisonment. "Mulder, I think I'll finish this later. Why 
don't we both go into the living room and watch TV. It'll be 
nice to kick back and relax."

"Scully, I know how much you loathe leaving a job before it's 
completed. Look, there are only a few more containers. Let me 
help; we'll finish this off in no time."

Without giving an inch, Mulder reached for an unopened 
receptacle, dumping what appeared to be left over chili into 
her drain. As he flicked the garbage disposal switch, Scully 
felt the intensity of the room shift. Not only were the shadows 
cavorting with abandon, but there were also whispers and groans 
emanating from everywhere in the apartment. She knew Mulder was 
remembering his little escapade with the mouse, and she was 
terrified.

"Mulder, let me go...I really need to...go to the bathroom."

"Scully, you can do better than that-" Mulder grabbed
tightly onto her wrists. With a deepening growl to his voice, 
all illusion and pretence disappeared. "You are a very smart
woman, Dana. Surely you can come up with something more original
than a trip to the little girl's room."

"Mulder, I...said...LET ME GO!"

As she pushed more forcefully against him, he tightened his 
hold. At 5'3'' she was definitely at the disadvantage against 
his large frame, especially as she was blocked against the 
sink, allowing her no room to maneuver.

Tightening his hold on her left wrist, Mulder began to pull her 
hand from the water. He still held the other snug beneath the 
tepid pool of greasey suds. "I think, Scully, the time for 
pretense is over. I think it's time we said 'goodbye'. After all,
I know it's only a matter of time before you leave me. Everyone
always does. I'm used to abandonment," he sighed, 
stroking the small bones in her wrist that he tightly held.

"Mulder, I don't know where you got that into your head. I'm 
not leaving you. Ever. I love you, Mulder. I won't leave-"

"I've heard that before, Scully. But as we know, truth is
illusory, and trust has a way of being misplaced for 
convenience...'Trust no one', remember...You're trembling, 
Scully. Are you frigtened of me?"

"Mulder...no, I know you'd never hurt me...I just think we need 
to go sit down in the living room and discuss this. I need to 
make you understand; I'd never leave you."

"No...you won't because I'm walking away first."

"You're leaving?" Scully tried not to let hope 
scream too loudly in her voice.

"Yes...after...I'm finished here."

Mulder grasped the wrist he'd been holding tightly and began to 
move it over the opposite sink. The loud mechanical grinding of 
the blades permeated her being. She knew his intent. She knew 
he had every design in placing her hand down that drain. Mulder 
was not able to stop evil's desires, and there were no 
bystanders to help her this time.

With hardened resolve she jammed her heel down, attempting to 
strike his shins as she had done yesterday. Only this time, he 
was ready for her. He was expecting her to fight; he'd spread 
his legs apart, still trapping her, but bringing his lower 
extremities out of reach.

Squirming within his arms, she attempted to loosen both her 
hands. But it was to no avail. He was too strong for her, and 
she had nothing on which to obtain purchase. She couldn't get 
away.

"Mulder...no...Mulder, love. You don't want to do this. You've 
got to fight it Mulder. You can't give in!"

"DANA, IT'S TOO LATE...HE'S ALREADY LOST THE BATTLE. HE CAN'T 
FIGHT ME ANYMORE," came the distorted utterance from behind her 
ear. "MULDER FORGOT TO BE ON GUARD AGAINST ME..HE LET HIS DEFENSE 
LAPSE. HE FORGOT I AM ALWAYS ON THE PROWL...AND NOW, YOU, WILL 
PAY THE PRICE."

"NO!!!" Scully screamed as her arm was forced to the opening of 
the drain.

"YES...DANA---"
 
As Scully felt her fingers begin to slip down the drain, there 
was loud crashing at her apartment door. In the briefest of 
moments, Mulder was distracted. His grip on her right hand 
trapped beneath the water slipped, and Scully pulled her hand 
free. Without hesitation she grabbed a large meat fork from 
the cutting board beside her. Grasping it firmly, she jammed the 
tines deep into his right forearm, causing Mulder to bellow in 
pain. 

Without pausing to consider her actions, she took advantage of 
his painful distraction. Swiftly turning in the cramped space, 
she reached out grabbing his crotch through his loose sweat 
pants. With resolute purpose, she squeezed hard, forcing herself 
to remember she was fighting for her life.

Screaming in agony, Mulder bent, doubled over.  Scully ran for 
the door, flipping the deadbolt just as Frohike was turning it 
himself. Rushing into his arms, she looked back at Mulder, lying 
on the floor, his knees drawn up tight against his chest, his face 
pale with misery. Pausing, with her first moment of indecision, 
Scully debated what to do next. She wanted her gun, but the only 
way to it was through Mulder and that was not even an option.

"Scully...RUN...SCULLY, Oh...please God, run...a church...
sanctuary." Mulder moaned, his features in torment, his eyes 
pleading with her in that fleeting instant of sanity. And just 
as quickly, they turned back, his hazel eyes replaced with hard, 
piercing, glowing orbs of red. 

Mulder was gone again, and the demon holding him was angry.

"Scully, let's get out of here..." Frohike said, grabbing her 
arm and pushing her out the door. Just as she was shoved into 
the hallway the door slammed shut behind her, as if blown closed 
by a massive wind. 

Frohike was trapped inside with Mulder.

Pounding against the door, Scully tried to re-enter. "FROHIKE... 
MULDER... LET ME IN!"

Twisting at the doorknob, Scully felt it turn; the lock was not 
engaged.  The door just would not open. It was like some force 
within her apartment was holding it closed.

The hallway was filled with wailing screams and despondant 
groans that eminated from her apartment. The hallway lights 
blinked with a macabre frequency. Shadows filled the corridor, 
racing up and down, slipping back and forth beneath the 
apartment door, with increasing frequency. Finally, the door 
rattled as an object was thrown against it. As she heard a 
sickening thud, she realized the object was probably a body 
sliding down the wall to land on the floor.

Scully was torn. She couldn't get into the apartment to help 
Frohike, but she couldn't just leave him either. There weren't 
many who lived in her apartment building, and none of them were 
visible in the hallway. They were either all hiding terrified 
behind their own doors or not home for the evening. Her options 
were dwindling fast.

As she reacted once more, kicking into the door, she 
heard a voice yelling at her from down the hallway. Turning, she 
saw Meg running up beside her. 
 
"Agent Scully, you've got to get out of here-" 

"Meg...Frohike...he's trapped in there with Mulder. I just can't 
leave him." Tears stained Scully's cheeks.

"That is...not...Mulder. Anymore than that thing was Father
Jansen. We can't fight that. Not like this... we 
need to get help for your friend." Meg forcefully yanked 
Scully down the hall with her.

As they reached the outside door, Scully turned seeing Mulder 
standing at the other end of the hallway, in her apartment's open 
doorway. His arm dripped blood, his face was in agony, and 
beside him on the floor was Frohike. She couldn't see the rest 
of his body lying in her threshold but Frohike's arm extended 
beyond her apartment out into the hallway. 

Mulder glared, breathing heavily, his face contorted in a 
grotesque grimace. 

"SCULLY...FROHIKE'S HURT; HE'S DYING. HE NEEDS YOUR HELP...SCULLY," 
Mulder taunted, kicking the body on the floor.

Hearing the groan his brutality illicited, Scully took comfort 
that Frohike was still alive. The bastard hadn't killed him.

"DR. SCULLY...I REALLY CAN'T BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF HE LOSES TOO 
MUCH BLOOD."

Torn, knowing she should help Frohike, but logic telling her she 
would only entrap herself, Scully pushed at the apartment 
building door.

"AH...FROHIKE...DR. SCULLY'S WORRIED ABOUT HER OWN SKIN...TOO BAD, 
LITTLE MAN," Mulder said, kicking Frohike in the head. Noting that 
Frohike no longer groaned, no longer moved at all, she stealed 
herself against Mulder's taunts. 

Fearing that she was losing precious time while Mulder regained 
his strength, Scully edged closer to the outside door. 
Whispering to Meg who was partially hidden in the vestibule 
alcove, she asked, "Do you still have that card Skinner gave 
you?"

Meg nodded her head. 

"Good, you have your phone?"

Meg nodded yes once more.

"Fine. I want you to call his number and when you get the 
switchboard, I want you to tell them---" Scully whispered as 
quietly as possible, giving Meg instructions. With one eye on 
Mulder and the other on Meg, she relayed the means to contact 
Skinner, alerting him to their crisis and hopefully, getting 
quick medical attention for Frohike. 

As Meg switched off her phone, Scully heard Frohike moan once 
more. Mulder, for his part, had a pleased expression on his 
face. He looked down with sadistic pride, as though empowered by 
his handiwork. 

"TOO BAD, DR. SCULLY. I GAVE YOU YOUR CHANCE." Grabbing Frohike 
by his feet, he drug him back into the apartment. Hearing an 
agonized scream, Meg and Scully momentarily froze.

Sensing Scully's desire to help her friend, Meg grabbed her arm.
Looking over at the terror reflected in Meg's eyes, Scully 
strengthened her resolve.

Loathing what she knew what she must do, Scully turned and ran 
into the night, Meg following her down the steps.

Turning to Meg outside the apartment, she said, "Give me your 
car keys."

With panic in her eyes, Meg answered, "I can't; I took a cab."

Without wasting time with further discussion, Scully grabbed 
Meg's arm and yanked her down the sidewalk. St. Marks was only 
two blocks down. She knew they needed to get there. 

Sanctuary.

Knowing he was behind them, she and Meg ran as fast as they 
could. Their headstart was slim, at best, and she wasn't even 
sure she could get into the church. So many of them closed after 
dark. Her sanctuary might only be a mirage in the distance if 
they couldn't find a way in before Mulder arrived.

"RUN...FAST...LADIES...IT'S THE LAST THING YOU'LL EVER DO," came the 
blazing growl behind them.


CHAPTER 10:

FRIDAY LATE EVENING

Scully heard the blood pounding in her ears, and felt the sweat 
pouring down her face. It pooled beneath the collar of her shirt 
which stuck to her like a second skin. The air outside was frosty 
cold; she could see the breath before her face as she exhaled 
in and out. Her chest burned with each harsh, gulping gasp
as she ran like the gates of hell had been unleashed behind 
her. 

Glancing at Meg, she saw she wasn't doing any better.
They were both winded, yet propelled by the panicked knowledge
that Mulder was likely right on their footsteps. With every
punishing breath Scully took, she expected to feel his grasp upon
her.

Racing into the front yard of St. Marks, Scully noticed 
banners hanging from the entryway.

"ST. MARK'S ANNUAL SPRING BAZAAR." 
SATURDAY, MARCH -2000

The festival would be held in just a few hours. There were canvas  
tents set up all over the grounds, dunking booth equipment, and
concession stand machines. Up close to the church, there was even 
a corral full of barnyard animals to be used for a children's 
petting zoo. As Scully raced up the front sidewalk, past the 
bazaar trappings, she heard a commotion from the corral. 
Apparently, their presence was waking up the animals.

Grabbing the large handles on the old, heavy wooden door, 
Scully gave it a yank. She fully expected resistance to her pull, 
and almost fell over when the door swung open revealing 
the face of a kindly old gentleman.

"Ma'am, the church is closed right now. I was just here 
checking up on the animals. Do you need to talk to someone? Can 
I summon a priest?"

Not taking the time to respond, Scully grabbed Meg's hand, and 
the two of them pushed there way through the door into the 
narthex catching the older man by complete surprise. Slamming 
the door shut behind them, Scully quickly twisted the deadbolt 
into position.

As she turned to face the white haired man, Scully heard an 
unearthly scream. It was followed by a reverberating thump 
as something fell hard against the door.

Noting Meg had gone to a window to peer outside, Scully 
cautioned her, still unsure of their safety.

"Meg, stay back from the windows. I don't know what he's going 
to do ... what he's capable of doing."

As another loud crash shook the door, Meg moved away. She could 
see the tree branches blowing frantically, the wind whipping 
everything into a frenzy. Probably an errant branch had blown 
against the door, but she couldn't be sure.

"Look...ladies...I don't mean to be gruff, but is this something 
I need to be calling the police about?"

Before Scully had a chance to answer, the splintering sound of 
smashing glass was heard, and a large branch shot through the 
broken window. It whipped against the old man's head, knocking
him to the tiled floor. Horrified, Scully rushed to his 
side. Reaching for his pulse, she noticed he was still alive, and
still breathing steady. He was just unconscious.

"Dana, we can't stay here. He's going to find his way in now 
that the window's broken. There's nothing to stop him."

Suddenly, a memory surfaced from her subconscious where
it had been tickling at her ever since Mulder had told her
to run to the church. It had been the x-file Mulder had dubbed
"All Soul's". 

Once before she had been in a church with evil
on the outside clamoring to get in. She had told Mulder it had
not been allowed entrance over the threshold. Instead it had
tried to get her to come outside.

"Meg, I don't think he can enter. I think that's what Mulder 
was trying to remind me...this is sanctuary, a safe haven. We're 
safe here."

"DANA...DANA... TIME TO STOP THIS FOOLISHNESS AND COME OUT NOW. 
YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME."

Scully went over to the window, peering outside into the 
blackness. All the streetlights and other lamps located on the 
grounds had been extinguished. Only one light remained, 
casting the same eerie shadows she'd seen before. Mulder stood 
illuminated within that light, staring intently at the closed 
door, a venomous grimace on his handsome features. 

He was angry. 

More than that, he was thinking, puzzling out 
a quandary. And in a moment of perceptiveness, Mulder spoke. 

"DANA, I REALLY THINK YOU SHOULD COME OUT HERE, LOVE."

Watching from the inside, Scully and Meg observed Mulder pulling 
a gun from the waistband of his sweats. He held the lethal 
weapon casually in his hands, turning it over, peering down 
its barrel, totally without concern for his own safety.

"Mulder put the gun down!" Scully shouted from within the 
church.

"I DON'T THINK SO, DANA. I THINK I WANT YOU TO COME OUTSIDE. 
FOX NEEDS YOUR HELP. HE NEEDS YOU, SCULLY."

As Scully watched, Mulder raised the gun, not pointing to the 
church, but pointing directly at his own temple. Scully's heart 
squeezed with unfathomable dread as she watched that monster 
control Mulder's hand, forcing him to place his life in jeopardy. 
Unlike the time with Modell, Scully knew there was no way to 
reason with Mulder; he just wasn't there.

"I THINK, AGENT SCULLY, THAT IF YOU ARE NOT OUT HERE BY THE 
COUNT OF THREE, YOUR BOY, MULDER, WILL BE IN SOME SERIOUS 
HURT."

"ONE..."

Scully tensed. All her senses telling her she needed to go 
outside the building. Now!

"TWO..."

Seeing the determination set in Scully's face, the same final 
decision she'd seen in Les' eyes before he'd thrown himself at 
Father Jansen and into that awaiting knife, Meg grabbed her 
arm. There was no way Scully was getting out that door. She 
would not be responsible for another death.

"Meg, let me go!" Scully screamed, yanking her arm free and 
reaching for the deadbolt. Just as she unlatched the door, she
heard another voice.

"Agent Mulder, drop the gun!" 

Scully and Meg turned simultaneously, their eyes drawn to the 
window. Skinner stood at a respectful distance behind Mulder;
his own weapon was drawn and ready.

Mulder spun around, his quarry inside the church momentarily 
forgotten.

"WELL IF IT ISN'T DADDY WARBUCKS COME TO PLAY HERO. GONNA SAVE 
LITTLE ORPHAN SCULLY, BIG MAN. GONNA LIGHT DANA'S FIRE!"

"Agent Mulder, don't question my resolve in this. I will shoot 
you in order to protect them," Skinner said, noting the gun 
hanging limply in Mulder's hand, "or to protect you."

"OH...I'M SURE YOU WOULD. TAKE OL' SPOOKY MULDER OUT OF THE 
GAME. MAKES THINGS A WHOLE LOT EASIER FOR YOU, DOESN'T IT 
...ASSISTANT DIRECTOR? DO THAT BLACK LUNGED SON OF A BITCH'S 
DIRTY WORK... A PERFECT EXCUSE, OL' SPOOKY WAS POSSESSED."

Glaring intently at Skinner, Mulder's eyes pierced with an 
eerie calm. The wind picked up again, howling in its fervor. 
The tree canopy above them swayed with the wind's intensity;  
tents collapsed, stakes pulled from the ground, canvas sheeting
flapped wildly in the air. Signs toppled over and folding chairs 
slammed across the yard.

Skinner ducked as a large plywood sign whipped by his head. 
His eyes tracked the swirling hurricane of debris as items 
dislodged from moorings and  became flying projectiles 
hurtling through space. The air was deadly as everything not 
tied down became a tool for Mulder's brand of terror.

The shadows slid seductively, insidiously against Mulder. 
Skinner felt them slither past him, hissing obscenities in 
his ears, taunting him with increasingly bold touches. It 
was as though he were poked and prodded by dozens of 
invisible hands. His eyes beheld the world shaking apart around 
him; the church lawn had been turned into a battleground. 

The question was who would be the victor, good or evil?

Glancing toward the church he caught Scully's eyes begging 
him to do something, anything. But Skinner had not been able 
to find the Calusari; his resources had not been good enough. 
His sources had not panned out with such time constraints.
So he was here on his own. And heaven help the whole lot of them.

Motioning for Scully to stay where she was, Skinner tried 
once more to reason with Mulder.

"Mulder, I know you're in there. You've got to fight this 
thing, Mulder. I know how strong you are. You can do this."

For the flicker of a heartbeat, Skinner could swear he saw the 
hazel gleam of Mulder's eyes returning, but just as quickly as 
that pulse, it was gone.

CRACK!

Looking up Skinner saw the branch tear loose from its hold. He 
barely had enough time to cover his head as the large tree 
limb came tumbling through the canopy, striking him across his 
shoulder blades, knocking the gun from his hand as it threw
him to the ground. 

Sadistic laughter deluged the grounds as Mulder slowly 
encroached on the dazed Skinner. Raising his weapon once more, 
Mulder pointed it at Skinner's head, his finger poised on the 
trigger. 

"SCULLY...I THINK IT'S TIME YOU QUIT PLAYING AROUND AND GET YOUR 
ASS OUT HERE!"

"I'm here, Mulder," came Scully's voice from the front stoop 
outside the church's open door. "There's no need to shoot him. 
I'm coming out. See, I'm right behind you."

Mulder turned, checking to see if she spoke the truth. Scully 
stood at the top of the steps, her hands open in the 
traditional sign of surrender, of submission. He couldn't see 
Meg but he'd worry about her later, right now he had what he 
wanted. 

"COME HERE, SCULLY," Mulder beckoned. "NOW, OR I PUT OL' DADDY 
WARBUCKS OUT OF HIS MISERY."

Scully hesitantly came down the steps, her gaze split between 
Mulder and Skinner as she saw Skinner reach behind his back, 
grabbing something from his waist band. Realizing what he had, 
Scully needed desperately to hold Mulder's attention.

"Mulder...I'm here. You can leave the others out of this. It's 
just you and me, Mulder. It's always been just between us," 
she said soothingly, walking a few paces closer to him.

Seeing something in her eyes, comprehension dawned and 
Mulder swung around just as Skinner stepped forward, pressing a 
stun gun against his abdomen. The powerful force of the stun 
knocked Mulder back onto the ground, his eyes momentarily glazed 
in pain. Taking advantage of his passing weakness, Skinner 
reached down with the gun, stunning Mulder once more.

The air resonated with hellish screams of pain as Mulder 
struggled to get to his feet. Skinner, concerned he might do 
damage to Mulder's body, was hesitant to stun him again, but 
what choice did he have? Mulder would not stay down. With firm 
intention, Skinner placed the gun once more against his chest.

Mulder screamed in agony, falling once more to the cold winter
ground. He convulsed in excruciating anguish. His body twitched 
uncontrollably; his extremities flailed. His head twisted 
side to side as he foamed at the mouth. Scully was 
concerned he might choke.

As she rushed up to help him, Skinner grabbed her arm and 
forcibly restrained her. "Don't touch him, Scully!" he ordered.

"Sir," her eyes pleaded.

All of a sudden, Mulder's body stilled, the tremors subsided. 
He lay quietly, gently taking in soft swallows of air. His 
body relaxed, his muscles rested in placid repose.

"Sc...ully," he breathed, his voice hesitant and unsure, as 
though it had been a long time since he'd used it.

"I'm here, Mulder," she said, inching closer.

Skinner grabbed her arm again sensing something was not 
quite right. 

Why would electrical current from a stun gun remove 
the evil?

Realizing what she'd almost done, Scully stopped. 
Assuring Skinner he could release her, she stepped back from 
Mulder's body.

Mulder pushed himself up on his side. Using his upper body 
strength, he leveled himself to his knees. From there, he 
stood. His movements were awkward, his gate unsteady as he 
tried to regain his stance.

"It's gone, Scully. Whatever that...thing was...it's gone," Mulder 
said, looking at her with his clear, hazel eyes.

Meg had come down from the church steps as all the commotion 
had stopped. She stayed far away from the scene enfolding in 
front of her, but she watched it with morbid fascination.

"Assistant Director Skinner, I'm ...sorry for my abominable 
behavior. I don't know what to say."

"Mulder?" Scully asked, looking from her boss to Mulder's earnest 
face.

"Scully...I can't believe what I've put you through. Can you 
ever forgive me?" Mulder implored, stepping in her direction.

"Agent Mulder!" Meg shouted from where she stood at the 
group's periphery.

"Meg. I...There are no words I--"

"--Agent Mulder. Is it typical for you to beat a friend to 
death? I'm surprised you haven't shown more remorse about 
poor Mr. Frohike."

Caught off guard, Mulder stopped and stared at Meg's 
determined face. Turning away he sought out Scully's accepting 
eyes, knowing he'd find an ally there.

But instead of love and trust, her eyes bore into his soul, 
seeing the evil that still resided there. She knew this was 
still not Mulder. The trickster was once again trying to hide 
in plain sight. Her own soul wept with frustration.

With a growl of animalistic proportion, Mulder barreled 
through the group directly towards Scully. Skinner
jumping in front of her, slammed the stun gun once more into 
his chest. 

Bellowing in pain, Mulder staggered several paces
back where he crashed into the corral fence. Wood splintered 
as Mulder fell headlong into the pen among the terrified animals.

With the collapse of the fence, animals began to gingerly make 
their way from the pen. Mulder remained splayed out on 
the ground. His body was still, not a muscle twitching as the 
animals one by one stepped over and around him.

Meg watched Skinner and Scully traverse the short distance to 
the pen, peering inside at Mulder's unconscious body. She felt 
their concern, she knew Scully's desperation.

Meg watched Scully suddenly bend down in the corral next to 
the unconscious Mulder. She reached for his legs as though she 
were about to grab them. Skinner placed a firm hand on her 
shoulder, stalling her action with his words. "Don't touch him, 
Scully!"

Shaking his arm off she turned to face her boss. "Look, I 
remembered something from an old case...it was what Mulder was 
trying to tell me earlier. Evil can't enter the church. We have 
to get that out of him. There's no better time than when he's 
unconscious. Help me drag him into the church."

Noting Skinner's moment of indecision, she appealed once more. 
"Please, I can't do it alone."

With a look at her expectant, hopeful face, Skinner thought of 
all the times he'd been forced to deny her. This would not be one 
of those times. Handing Scully the stun gun, he bent down and 
hiked Mulder's lifeless body up over his shoulders in the 
traditional firefighter's carry. Mulder's extremities dangled 
loosely.

Stepping over the broken fence, walking through the assorted 
animals milling absently in the corral and around the yard, 
Skinner headed for the church. Scully attempted to clear a path 
for him, shooing animals aside like she was some petite shepherd. 
Most of the animals left, wandering off into the various booths 
and out into the street, but a few straggled behind in the yard. 
They were content to follow them towards the sanctuary, bleating 
excitedly beside them, perhaps thinking they might get food if 
they stayed close at hand.

The shadows had grown still when Mulder had been stunned 
unconscious. It was as though they had been holding their 
collective breaths. 

Now, they began to stir in frightening intensity. Their 
screams and howls filled the church yard as they moved closer and 
closer to Skinner and Scully. Their numbers increased in hideous 
proportion.

Meg, feeling the violence escalating in the air, ran ahead to the 
church doors preparing to open them as Skinner and Scully got 
closer with their burden. Shooing the animals off the stoop, she 
dodged flying debris as the air circulated once more like a small 
tornado had landed in their midst. She could see Scully and her 
boss making their way slowly forward, their steps being impeded 
not only by restless animals, but by the shadows themselves.

No longer content to slide insidiously against Skinner and 
Scully, it was as though they were actively clawing at the duo. 
The shadows pushed and pulled at them, in hopes of keeping them 
from the door. Meg was ferevently praying that Mulder would 
remain unconscious long enough for them to enter the church.

Yanking at the heavy doors, Meg was getting nowhere against the 
push of the wind. She couldn't get them to budge. Scully joined 
her on the steps, adding her determination into the mix as the 
two women pulled with everything they had. Just as it looked as 
though Skinner was going to have to lay Mulder down to help, the 
door swung open. 

The old gray-haired caretaker had pushed on the doors from the 
inside, giving them the extra strength needed to achieve their 
goal. Looking pale and confused, his temple swollen from his 
wound, he stepped back into the narthex as he saw Skinner 
approaching encumbered with Mulder's body.

Meg stepped back off the stairs, trying to get out of their way. 
Scully entered the church just as she heard a hollow moan from 
behind her. Whipping around she saw Mulder's eyes snap open, the 
red glow permeating the darkness as his body tensed in Skinner's 
arms. 

Knowing they were running out of time, Scully lifted the stun gun 
and just as quickly lowered it. As long as Skinner held him, she 
couldn't shock him.

Realizing what was happening, Skinner unceremoniously dropped 
Mulder on the top of the steps just shy of the church threshold. 
Stepping over Mulder's body, Skinner joined Scully with the old 
man inside the narthex . As their time was limited, they grabbed 
onto Mulder's legs and began forcefully pulling him inside the 
church. His screams of anguish churned their stomachs. It was as 
though they were torturing him with their movements.

"NO...SCULLY...YOU ARE KILLING ME! PLEASE, STOP!"

Stealing themselves against Mulder's pitiful cries for help, they 
continued to pull, knowing that it wasn't truly Mulder who spoke.  
They had to get him inside before the evil had regained its 
strength and could fight them.

The howling in the church yard intensified. The shadows screamed 
in rage, and Meg was pelted with invisible hands and flying 
debris. She bent, huddled over trying to protect the baby from 
the demonic onslaught. She knew Scully could see her plight but 
was unable to help her as she and Skinner were intent on dragging 
Mulder's body inside before the evil could gather its strength 
and stop them.

As Mulder's feet crossed the threshold, he screamed and writhed 
in incredible agony. His body seized up, and a large black shadow
oozed out of him, hovering over the part of his body that still 
remained outside the church. With renewed strength, Skinner and 
Scully yanked once more on his legs pulling Mulder all the way 
into the church narthex.

With one final agonizing shriek the shadow burst forth and fled 
Mulder's body, screeching obscenities into the air and 
disappearing into the darkness outside. Mulder 
went still, his body totally quiet as he lay just barely within 
the church door. Scully gathered him up in her arms, pulling his 
head into her lap, gently stroking his face as she cried silent 
tears over him.

Skinner stood, looking out the door at Meg who was still huddled 
on the ground. The shadows had backed away as though unsure what 
was happening. They were still visible, gathered around the 
periphery of the yard but they had stopped their vicious attack 
on Meg. Hearing the plaintiff bleating of a sheep, Skinner looked 
down at one small animal that still remained on the steps. This 
wee one had not been scared away with the rest but had remained, 
still hopeful that it might get a hand out.

Skinner started out the door in order to help bring Meg inside. 
He cast a leery glance around him before looking back at Meg, 
holding out his hand, beckoning her.

"Meg. Come inside," Skinner shouted over the roaring wind.

As though in a trance, Meg got up from the ground where she'd 
been curled up. Her eyes fell upon the gun Agent Mulder had 
dropped when Skinner had stunned him earlier. Finding the 
compulsion too great to ignore, she reached down and picked it 
up. The weight and feel were totally foreign in her hand. But
she knew it was where it should be. 

With a large blistering exhale, the shadows began to stir; they 
writhed in delighted anticipation as Meg began hesitant steps 
toward the church.

Meg looked as though she were listening to the wind's roar. 
Her face took on the mask of peaceful resolve. She had made 
her decision. Looking around at the lingering, insidious shadows 
of darkness, she knew what she had to do. 

Turning she walked to the steps of the sanctuary, her stride 
purposeful and steady. She raised the gun, steadied it in front 
of her, aiming it at Skinner. 

He froze. 

He watched her tighten her grip, lining up the muzzle to aim for 
his chest.

Without further thought, Skinner reacted with instincts honed from 
long ago battles. He dove from the steps just as he heard the chamber 
click in Mulder's weapon. 

Meg barely registered the audible gasps of Scully's,"NO!" emanating from 
the church as she pulled the trigger on the semi-automatic 
weapon, sending several rounds...

...into the body of a soft, white, wooly sheep.

The earth resonated with a hideous wail, a sound so piercing they 
were forced to cover their ears. The sheep, covered in its own 
blood, staggered, bellowing a last death cry, it's eyes haunted 
with a corrupting red glow. 

The shadows screamed; they twisted in agonized furor as they 
witnessed evil's vessel destroyed. The buffeting wind  
localized on the dying sheep. Its fierceness was contained in that 
small area, swirling like a tornado, pulling the hideous 
denizens of darkness into the animal's bloody body. The shadows
were consumed into the whirlwind, their horrifying screams 
fading out with death's final whisper.

As the last shadow was engulfed, the sheep fell, its body quaking 
with small tremors, until with a last gasp, it stopped.

And blissful silence reigned once more. 

Dropping the gun, Meg covered her face with her hands, falling 
to her knees, tremendous sobs wracking her body. Her small 
frame shook with the uncontrollable fury of her grief.

Skinner getting up from the ground, grabbed the gun from where 
she had dropped it and flipped the safety back on. His face still 
tense from his exertions, he tucked the weapon into his 
waistband. For a moment he watched the sobbing woman as though he 
wasn't sure he should touch her. But as Meg poured out her tears 
in gut wrenching moans, his face softened, and he gently enfolded 
Meg's inconsolable body into his own strong arms.

As the fury subsided, she began to murmur. "I heard him. I heard 
him as plain as day...as if he were standing right here, right 
beside me. He told me to shoot the sheep," she mumbled, looking 
into the church doors where Scully still cradled Mulder.

"It's alright Ms. Michael's. It's over."

"Not for them, Sir. Not for them," she uttered, watching Scully 
stroking her partner's face, beseeching him with her words to 
just wake up.

THE EPILOGUE:

ARLINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
MONDAY MORNING

Mulder sat in an orange, vinyl, straight backed chair next to 
the hospital bed. He was hunched forward, his hands steepled 
in front of him across his lap. His head was bent down, almost 
as though he was praying, but in truth Mulder's eyes were 
closed; he was sound asleep. It wouldn't take but a reasonable 
breeze to blow the man over, Frohike decided as he studied the 
placid features of his friend. In fact, he suspected all he'd 
really have to do was pucker up and blow.

As Frohike contemplated Mulder's state, the door to his room 
cracked open revealing a smiling Dana Scully carrying a large 
bouquet of daisies. He silently motioned her in using his good 
arm, not the one encased in the ugly, fluorescent green plaster 
cast. Langly had drawn little alien heads all over it with a 
black sharpie as Frohike had snoozed earlier in the day. He'd 
hang the longhaired hippie as soon as he was able to 
maneuver again. As it was, it would still be several days 
before he was released from the hospital.

Frohike's injuries had been severe, life threatening in fact. 
It had been touch and go at first, but Frohike was a fighter. 
He'd been a model 'prisoner' the past few days. He'd peed on 
demand, took his medication like a good boy, even hid his 
favorite magazines beneath his pillow when he saw Nurse 
Ratchet approaching. He was one 'cuckoo' who wanted to fly 
away from this nest as quickly as possible.

Mulder had been at his bedside from the moment he'd awakened in 
St. Marks church. Frohike still didn't have all the details 
because Mulder was hesitant to talk. The agent's eyes were haunted as 
though he was still feeling the after effects of every night 
terror he'd ever had the misfortune to suffer. 

He barely spoke, except to apologize. Mulder 
hardly smiled even when Frohike pulled out all the stops, 
telling every dirty joke in his quite extensive arsenal. Mulder 
was a walking zombie of killjoy. If he didn't lighten up soon, 
Frohike might pummel 'him' to near death.

After perusing his chart for what seemed to be the hundredth 
time, Scully stepped to the head of the bed. Bending she gave 
him a gentle kiss, just at the corner of his mouth. Ok, this 
was one perk of getting trampled that he liked. Scully had been 
overtly affectionate. 

He could deal with that.

Mulder's head suddenly jerked back. He quickly opened his 
eyes, scanning the room as though a bit disoriented. Frohike 
had lost count as to how many times he'd seen Mulder behave 
this way in the last few days. Although, he had noticed, Mulder 
was less disoriented each time it happened.

"Scully," Mulder said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Mulder."

Frohike glanced between the two. Something was up. He'd 
noticed it earlier but had attributed it to Mulder's 'bubbling 
effervescence'. However, instead of diminishing, the tension 
between them seemed to be intensifying.  He noticed Scully 
didn't move from her position, and Mulder didn't move from his. 
They were two immovable forces of nature. In fact, as he 
thought about it, he realized they were rarely here at the same 
time and when they were, they never touched.

Something was definitely rotten in Denmark, and it wasn't the 
marigold's Langly had brought. Byers had tried to tell him 
that you didn't give marigolds as a gift; they weren't a sweet 
smelling flower. But Langly had insisted, saying they reminded 
him of Frohike, short and just a tad ripe. Goldilocks was 
definitely goin' down. Frohike had some shears with his name 
on them.

"So, Lucy and Desi, how's tricks?" Frohike reached
across to grab his cup of ice water. Mulder, however, was 
quicker and had the straw up to Frohike's lips before he could 
grasp the cup. 

"Alright...That's it. Scully, outta here. Mulder and I need to 
have a little talk."

Noting Frohike's determined face, Scully spun on her heels, 
heading for the door. Maybe Frohike could shake some sense 
into him because she sure hadn't been able to reach him. Since 
that first moment of clarity, when Mulder had awakened in her 
arms in the church's narthex, he had barely spoken to her. He had 
not been by her apartment. Once he'd been medically cleared, 
he'd spent most of his time in Frohike's room. He was still on 
administrative leave until AD Skinner felt he'd had time to 
heal from his close encounter of the very creepy kind.

Scully looked over at Frohike, frustration lining his bruised 
and battered features. Seeing his own concern reflected in 
Scully's eyes, he gave her a small smile and a slight wink. 
He'd see if he could shake some sense into Mulder's hard-ass 
head.

The door clicked quietly shut as Scully left the room. Mulder 
momentarily relaxed, realizing she had gone. That was 
short-lived, however, as Frohike began his interrogation.

"Ok. Mulder. Spill it. What's got your panties in a wad?"

Glaring at the man who had been battered within an inch of his 
life , Mulder slouched farther down in his seat.
 
"Frohike, I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, I've let you get away with that the last couple of 
days. I've endured your hovering...and your sullen silence 
and your "oh woe is me" looks. I've absolved you from your 
sins at least a dozen times, and I'm not even Catholic. 
Hell, for that matter, neither are you."

"Frohike, I think you should get some rest. I'll come back 
later." Mulder got up from his chair.

"Leave this room, fair haired boy, and I promise to place a 
listening device in every nook and cranny of your life and 
broadcast everything from your sexcapades to your ex-
laxcapades within the very bowels of Hoover. Got that!" 
Frohike announced with undisguised pleasure.

In spite of himself, Mulder smiled. "Jesus, Frohike, "my ex-
laxcapades within the bowels of Hoover." Who writes your 
lines?"

"Yeah, well I'm improvising here, Mulder. Give me a break."

Sighing, Mulder sat back down. Looking down at his hands which 
were steepled across his legs again, Mulder began speaking.

"Hickey. I very nearly killed you. I just can't get past 
that."

"I have, Mulder. You have to understand, man. I saw that thing 
that attacked me, and it wasn't you. It bore no resemblance to 
you; at no time did I even consider it you. Mulder, I have no 
trouble making that distinction, why do you?"

"I lived with it inside my head for over two days. I was privy 
to the most corrupt, hideous thoughts I've ever felt. Even at 
the worst of profiling, I never went that deep into one of 
those sick bastard's. This time-"

"---the sick bastard was you."

"Yes," Mulder whispered.

Realizing it would take Mulder some time to get over this, 
Frohike decided humor might be the best medicine. "Well, all I 
got to say is if you ever mess with my chili again, boy, I'm 
going to send the hounds of hell after you myself. Nobody 
messes with my chili."

Seeing Frohike's challenge for what it was, a chance to put 
their relationship back on an even keel, Mulder replied, 
"Actually, Frohike, I think the rat was a nice touch. I've 
tasted your chili, and even the addition of vermin's an 
improvement."

		 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow," Mulder said
as he headed into the hospital corridor. Looking at the nurses 
station, he winked at the woman Frohike had dubbed Nurse 
Ratchet.

"Oh, and Frohike, it's time for your sponge bath. Be 
nice to the lady."

"Mulder, no, hey dude, don't leave me. That's no lady, man, 
that's-"

"Agent Mulder."

Mulder shut Frohike's door and turned to see AD Skinner coming 
up behind him.

"Sir."

"I'd like a word with you before you go."

"Uh...I've got to go home and change for Les Franklyn's 
funeral, Sir. Could this wait?"

"I know about the funeral, Mulder. And no, it can't wait."

Skinner motioned Mulder over to the visitor's lounge. They were 
the only ones there this morning. "How are you doing, Mulder?"

"I'm fine, Sir."

"Isn't that Agent Scully's line?"

"Yeah...well it seems to work for her, thought I'd give it a 
try."

"I see and how is Agent Scully? I haven't spoken with her in a 
couple of days."

Mulder looked puzzled by Skinner's words. "Wasn't Scully at 
work this morning, Sir. I mean I know she was planning on 
attending the funeral, but I assumed she was in the office this 
morning before she came here to visit Frohike."

"Actually, I suggested she take a few "personal" days. Take 
some time to re-group. I'm surprised you weren't aware of 
this," Skinner said, looking Mulder in the eye.

Mulder turned away and stared out the third floor window into 
the parking lot. There was a drizzling mist; he hoped it would 
be over before the funeral. "Yeah, well...I haven't really talked 
with Scully since Saturday, Sir. I guess I just assumed-"

"-for such an intelligent man, Agent Mulder, you should know 
better than to make assumptions," Skinner said, glancing back 
towards Frohike's closed door.  "Well, I thought I'd look in on 
Mr. Frohike before I head to the funeral."

"Sir, I just want to apologize for anything I might have said. 
I assure you I meant no disrespect."

Skinner raised his eyebrow at that. It was a look that said, 
'you've got to be joking, right?'

"Ok... Maybe I did, at the time, but it was uncalled for and 
completely out of line. I realize what you did for both Scully 
and me... Sir, I won't forget it."

"Mulder, do me a favor. Talk to Scully. Don't make any more 
assumptions that make you look like an ass." 

Mulder turned to walk away, then stopped. Looking back he saw
the AD begin to enter Frohike's room.

"Assistant Director?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

"I was just wondering...how did you know where to find us?
How did you know to go to the church?"

Nodding his head in Frohike's direction, Skinner answered.

"When I got to Agent Scully's, I found Frohike inside her
apartment. He came to for just a moment before losing 
consciousness again. He said he heard you tell Scully to
go to a church; he figured that was where you were. I 
followed a hunch as to which one. Guess my hunch was 
correct."

"Glad to see luck was with you," Mulder said quietly as he
started to leave.

"Luck, or God's providence. Either way, the job got done."



MONDAY AFTERNOON
ALL SOUL'S CEMETERY

The sound of car doors slamming vibrated all around her. The 
mourners had come to pay their respects to Les and had come to 
grieve with his widow. 

Bud had closed up Flaherty's for the afternoon. There was a 
black wreath hanging on the pub's front door. Les was one of 
theirs. 

Bud had hugged and kissed her, enfolding her like a small child in 
his giant but gentle arms. Then with a tear trailing down his 
face, he'd said goodbye and told her not to be a stranger.

Assistant Director Skinner had come, his stance straight 
and tall, his countenance stoic as he'd shaken her hand 
offering his condolences once more. She'd raised her eyes into 
his knowing and compassionate gaze. She felt a bond that comes 
from having been to hell and back with someone. His 
handshake had been part of the ritual, the extra squeeze he'd 
given her cold fingers had been the touch of a friend. 

As the last mourners trailed through the receiving line 
heading back to their cars, Meg was left only with Les' 
casket draped in flowers, poised and ready to be lowered into 
the ground.

She looked at the yellow rose she was holding, just like the 
first flower he had ever given her. Touching the silken petals 
to her lips, she gently placed the rose amidst the other 
flowers. With a tearful sigh, she said,"I heard you, love of 
my life. I heard you."

Turning, Meg stopped. Mulder and Scully stood watching 
her, their faces composed. She noted the space between them. 
She'd seen Mulder push Scully away that fateful morning at the 
church; she'd seen the anguish in Dana's eyes as he'd barely 
looked at her. Meg had hoped they'd found a way to 
start the healing. Obviously, this was not the case.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," she said as she walked over to 
where they stood. "Thank you both for coming. It was very 
considerate of you and Assistant Director Skinner to attend."

Scully walked forward, giving Meg a hug. "We had to be here. 
For you, for Les-"

"---for closure?" Meg asked, trying to force eye contact with 
Mulder,  who was steadfastly avoiding her eyes.

"Agent Scully, Mulder. Uh...Dana, Fox. After the demon left you 
did you wonder how I knew which animal to shoot?"

Mulder's eyes took on the barest glimmer of curiosity as he 
looked at Meg. Scully replied, "Yes, I have wondered."

"After Mulder was knocked unconscious, I felt a terrible 
compulsion to pick up his gun. It was so strong. I couldn't 
ignore it. Once the gun was in my hand, I heard my name being 
called. It was as though it was floating in the wind. At first 
I ignored it; the shadows were swirling all around. I thought 
it was another trick," she said ruefully looking at Mulder's 
somber face.

"But, then I heard Les' voice, the sweet gentle southern twang 
that he had, the voice I'd woken up hearing every morning for 
the last several months. He was saying, ...'Meg, honey, love of 
my life'-"

"Look, Meg you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do, Dana. You both need to hear this." Grasping 
Mulder's cold fingers with her own, she held his gaze. "You 
especially need to hear this."

"Les said, 'Watch out for false prophet's. They come to you in 
sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves.' Over 
and over he repeated that verse from the Gospel of Matthew. And, 
when I looked up, there was that solitary sheep at the top of the
steps, right outside the church door. It was the closest living
thing to the church when Mulder was pulled inside. As I looked into
its eyes, I knew, deep in my soul, that the evil was there." 

"Look, Mulder, you may not believe what I'm saying. Although, 
frankly, after what's happened to you, I would think you'd give 
me the benefit of doubt," Meg said, noticing the small smile 
twitching at the corners of his mouth. 

"The one thing I know is that Les found a way to protect me and 
his child. Our love is strong enough to get past the barriers 
of death."

Looking sharply at Mulder and Scully, Meg continued, "I believe 
your love has the capacity to get past this. Mulder, before you 
eat yourself up with guilt, remember you and Dana still have a 
chance. Don't give the devil this round as well. He's won 
enough already."

With a serene look on her face, Meg said, "You know at first I 
was angry at God for the insanity of Les' death. It seemed so 
meaningless for him to die that way-"

"He saved you from Father Jansen," Scully said.

"He saved her twice, Scully," Mulder whispered, looking deeply 
within Meg's eyes, knowing she had seen this as well. "He saved 
her again at the church...from me."

"Not from you, Mulder. He saved us all from what resided 'in' 
you. I'm not saying I won't still rail at God for this 
insanity, but Les' was a hero in my eyes," Meg gently patted 
her abdomen. "And he'll be a hero in the eyes of this little 
one."

"You know he always hated it when I tried to have the last 
word," Meg chuckled. "Drove him crazy. At the church... after I 
shot the animal. I heard him one last time before the wind died 
down. He said, 'Love of my life, now we're cookin' with gas!'"

Chuckling Scully asked, "What will you do now, Meg?"

"Dana, I'll live. I may 'sit on the porch for a spell', 
but eventually I'll get off into the yard and run with 
the 'big dogs' once more."

			xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Mulder stood in the doorway to Scully's apartment. He was 
reluctant to enter and revisit what had become a crime scene. 
And not just any crime scene, but one in which he was the 
perpetrator. From his vantage he could see into the kitchen 
where his guilt-ridden mind provided every nuance of the 
horrifying moment he had almost amputated her arm in the 
garbage disposal. 

Tugging him by the hand, Scully pulled him all the way in. 
"It's okay, Mulder. Everything has been put back into place 
just the way it was before." 

Mulder surveyed the apartment as he circled the living room. 
He shook his head in disbelief.

"No, it hasn't, Scully. You can tidy up all you want and take 
down the police tape, but the damage is done. And I'm not 
talking about a few blood stains on the floor.
 
"Mulder, I can't tell you how to cope with this." Scully 
calmly sat down on the couch. "I can tell you I 
understand what you are going through, but we both know that's 
not so. You are going to have to come to terms with your 
feelings of guilt, Mulder, or the evil has not truly left us. 
It still has the power to haunt this apartment and...our 
lives."

"Scully-" Mulder sat down next to her on the couch, hesitantly 
lifting one of her small hands in his own. When he turned her 
palm over to twine his fingers through hers, he saw them -- 
Bruises circling her wrist, ugly reminders of the pain he had 
inflicted upon her. Flinching, he dropped her hand and started 
to get up from the couch.

Staying his motion with her firm grasp, Scully whispered, 
"Don't do this, Mulder. Don't turn away from me, from us."

Pulling away, he agonized out loud, "From the moment that thing 
took control of me at the soup kitchen, I tried to fight it. I 
tried to keep from doing what it wanted. As a profiler, I 
intentionally submerge myself into all the evil this world has 
to offer.  I try to grasp even the remotest glimpse into its 
insanity. With this, I didn't have to look very far."

"Mulder, I forgive you," Scully said in a soft, certain voice.

Looking into her sincere eyes, he asked, "Do you, Scully? Can 
you really?"

"Of course I can forgive," Scully whispered, taking back his 
hand and pressing it against her cheek. "I love you."

"But, can you forget?" Mulder hesitated, pulling back to study 
her eyes. "Can you look at me without being afraid? With all 
honesty, can you look me in the eye and tell me that you don't
remember what it felt like to have me shove you into the path 
of an oncoming train?"

"Yes." She proved her point by staring directly into his 
hazel eyes.  "Because what I see doesn't frighten me."

"Maybe you are not looking close enough, Scully. I should 
frighten you. Evil didn't just seek me out because I was a 
convenient vessel. There was something else it must have seen." 

"It sought revenge, Mulder. Pure and simple, as the Calsuari 
tried to warn you. It took advantage of an opportunity. It 
didn't see anything else."

"What do you see, Scully," Mulder whispered.

"Your soul," she murmured softly, leaning in pressing her 
forehead against his. She began placing gentle kisses over 
his eyelids, kissing away the tears that slipped unbidden 
from his lashes.

"Your beautiful, compassionate eyes, Mulder, have always been 
that window into your soul. You're a man who has seen too much, 
and has taken on too much of the world's burdens and heartache's. 
You always feel as though you should have done better, could 
have done better.  I see you better than you see yourself."

"Yeah, well you've been saying I need to have my eyes checked,"
he smirked with his time honored attempt to laugh off serious 
issues.

"And maybe your ears checked too because you're not listening 
to what I've been saying," Scully insisted. "Despite the 
control evil exerted over you, you still managed to find a way 
to save me, Mulder. It was you who told me to go to the 
church."

"Scully, I don't doubt you've forgiven me, but you will 
struggle with forgetting. The first time I lose it while 
profiling or obsessing over Samantha, you will question my 
sanity. This, coupled with my response to that artifact, will 
come back to haunt us. I have no doubt."

Starting to shake her head "no" in response to his declaration, 
she stopped. Seeing the intensity of his gaze, his unspoken 
request for only the truth to be spoken, she sighed. "I can't 
promise not to wonder, Mulder. But, I do promise to be better 
at talking it out, of not simply saying, 'I'm fine' to cover my 
fears or insecurities."

Leaning forward, Mulder encircled her small frame with his arms, 
still reveling in the fact that she allowed it after his 
behavior these past few days. As he pulled back from the 
embrace, Scully complained. "What's up, partner."

"Nothing, just needing a better angle for this." 

Bending forward he captured her lips with his own, sliding his 
tongue deep within her receptive mouth. They pressed tightly 
together with the knowledge they had almost had this taken away 
from them. With a groan Mulder intensified the kiss, mingling 
their breath as their tongues delighted in reunion. 

Sighs, murmurs and the sweet moist sounds of passion filled the 
room, removing, finally, the haunting sounds of the shadows' 
wails.

Pushing him off her, Scully stood, tugging him up from the 
couch to stand beside her. "I believe we have some unfinished 
business, Mulder. I seem to remember I'd reserved a court for a 
little one on one."


                 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mulder lay back in the bed, his eyes nervously watching the 
shadows that filled Scully's room. The sun had gone down; it 
was dark now. After their frantic lovemaking, they had 
collapsed together in restless sleep, both of them haunted by 
the events of the last few days.

Sighing, he felt Scully burrow in closer to him. Her soft hair 
tickled his bare chest as she used him for a pillow. Her arms 
clutching tightly at him as though, even in sleep, she feared 
he'd be taken from her.

'Oh, Scully,' he thought as he gently stroked her hair. 'What 
have I done to us now?'

Mulder thought of all those times as a child when he'd lain in 
bed and seen each shadow in his darkened room as a monster just 
waiting to eat him up. Looking now, he knew that the large 
black lump in the corner was only her chair. The tall thin one 
in the other corner was a coat tree, with hanging jackets 
dangling from it. 

His intellect told him these things, the same things his 
parents and thousands of parents told their children every 
night. 'Don't worry, honey. There's nothing in the dark that's 
not already here in the light.' 

But that's not true. Evil was always hiding, lurking and 
watching for its chance. It was the master trickster, always on 
the prowl trying to find a way to put out the light.

But if you were one of the lucky ones, like Meg and Les, then 
even the sting of death was not truly enough to separate your 
love. Meg would mourn her husband; she would rail at the 
injustice and insanity of it all, but she would persevere. She 
and her child, Les' legacy, would thrive. 

With all that he and Scully had been through together in the 
last seven years, this was just one more thing that would make 
them stronger. And as before, love would survive. Their love 
would conquer the insidious doubts left behind by the evil.
Nothing would tarnish or blemish what they had.

As he contemplated what miracle had put the two of them 
together, Mulder heard gentle humming coming from the vicinity 
of his chest. Scully was tickling him with little melodious 
exhales of her breath.

She lifted her head from his chest, settling herself more 
firmly on top of him, lying atop the full length of his body. 
She crossed her arms and placed her chin on them, staring 
intently into his eyes.

"You know what I remembered Mulder?"

"What?" he said as he absently stroked her back with his 
fingers.

"This little light."

"Hmm..."

"When I was a kid, we used to sing this song in Sunday School."

"This little light?"

"Yeah, it was a song about not hiding your light under a bushel 
basket, keeping your candle burning bright."

"And the significance being?"

"Well, I was thinking of one verse in particular that said to 
'not let the devil blow it out'. You're that light, Mulder. Our 
love is that light, and I refuse to let the devil blow it out."

Mulder slid his hands under the covers and up Scully's bare 
body, where he grabbed on to her hips settling her more firmly 
over his long torso. Pulling the sheet up over the top of their  
heads, he joined his partner beneath the covers.

Scully inched up his body and whispered into his mouth. "Isn't 
this hiding our light under a bushel basket?"

Intimately stroking the backs of her thighs, he said, "Actually, 
I looked at this as a precursor to causing it to burn more 
brightly."

Scully looked puzzled as he began nibbling at her collar bone.

"Mulder, I don't get it."

"It's just your song made me think of one of my own," he said 
as his lips traveled slowly back up to the corner of her mouth."

Close to forgetting the question, Scully pursued her inquiry. 
"And that song would be, Mulder?"

"Come on, baby, light my fire."


		xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She woke knowing something was wrong. It wasn't a particular 
sound she heard, more like a feeling. Scully knew without even 
rolling over that the bed was empty. 

Mulder wasn't there.

Getting up, she shrugged into her robe, absently tying the sash 
as she wandered out of her room into the hallway. As she 
approached the living room, she slowed her steps. He was there.
She felt it in the same way she had known he was no longer in the 
bed.

Pausing at the edge of the living room, Scully stopped. Mulder 
was standing at the window, gazing out into the darkness. He had 
pulled back the curtains and was staring intently at the street. 
The first tendrils of morning sunrise were streaking the sky, 
giving it a soft mauve hue. The street lamps were beginning to 
dim; the traffic was picking up as early commuters hit the road.

Scully watched as Mulder let loose of the drapery sheers,  
his hand falling to his side. His body slumped; his head bent  
forward as his chin came to rest on his chest. Wanting to go to 
him, she fought the urge, instead remaining silent witness to his 
contemplation. This was something he was going to have to go 
through on his own.

Gradually, she noticed the quiet tremors of his shoulders as he 
began to cry. He hunched over, bending forward at the waist, his 
hands grasping his knees. His breathing altered as he desperately 
fought for control.

But it was a losing battle. His shoulders began to shake more 
forcefully as his silent tears gave way to heart wrenching sobs. 
And then as though his legs could no longer support the weight 
of his grief, they collapsed, bringing him to his knees.

She knew he needed to let it out, to let the poison of the last 
several days drain from his body in cleansing tears. As she 
debated whether she should allow him his privacy, when all she 
wanted to do was enclose him in her arms and tell him he was not 
alone, Mulder answered the question. He stretched his arm out 
behind his back, palm open, seeking her hand. He knew she was 
there; he knew her conflict. As clearly as if he had spoken, she 
heard his words. 

'Please, don't go.'

Taking several steps forward, Scully got down on her own knees 
beside him and firmly grasped his hand. His sobs continued; his 
body shook with the awful emotional burden he was unleashing. 
Except for their clasped hands, they didn't touch. He needed
to deal with his grief, but she wanted him to know he was not
alone. She let him cry; she cried for him.

The emotional storm was abating; his sounds of distress were 
quieting. Mulder turned and reached for her, gathering her 
tightly in his embrace. She wrapped her arms firmly around his 
waist as she snuggled up as closely as she could, practically 
climbing into his lap.

Scully gently stroked his hair and wiped her fingers across his 
face, gently massaging the tears away. They still hadn't spoken; 
there wasn't the need. They just sat, intertwined in each other's 
arms, watching the sky change from the blackness of night into 
the golden rose of morning's promise.

THE END



Scripture references:
Ezekial 20:41,43
Luke 17:1-3
Deuteronomy 22:23-24
Romans 1:29-33              
Matthew 5:28-29
Matthew 5:30
Matthew 7:15

AUTHOR'S NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

I truly hated saving this to the end... but I knew this was going 
to be long and I didn't want to take up two pages at the beginning of 
the story...lol. This was my first 200k plus story, my first 
actual x-file, and I was scared to death about even attempting 
it. All of the people listed below helped keep me sane over the 
several weeks it took me to write this. And I would like to 
offer my heart-felt thanks.

To Paige Caldwell:
Paige is extraordinarily gracious in her enocouragement, even 
when she's telling me I've lost my vision. Thank you so 
much for your honesty. If this story is better written, it's 
because you were truthful with me. If I hadn't wanted to know,
I wouldn't have asked for your help. It's good having a beta 
with a gentle touch even while she's pounding you on the head...
lol and having you re-write 3 chapters and part of an epilogue.


To Exley: 
Hey, Babe! Ex. gave me thoughtful critique on the very first 
thing I wrote, Reflections of a Rainy Night, and has been a 
Godsend ever since. Her beta is unequaled and she's good about 
telling me what she does and doesn't like. I appreciate her 
candor. Thankfully, she finished "Jack" in time to put the final
spit and polish on this. As she puts it, "now the church scene 
rocks!." Thank you for letting me borrow Nina too. I hope I
did her justice.
 
To Frogdoggie: 
Thanks FroggieD for hashing out the plot and making me work 
harder. He pushed me to re-write Les' death scene, saying it was 
good but I could do it better. If it weren't for him, Skinner 
might sound like your basic middle manager. Even when he was 
telling me my skinner/frohike characterizations were off, he did 
it in a thoughtful way. And, since I didn't always listen to 
him, any characterization errors with Skinner or Frohike are 
mine. I can be a very stubborn author.


To Tara Avery: 
Tara still managed to beta even while writing her own WIP, This
Thing of Darkness. That's above and beyond the call of duty. 
Sorry about the commas, Tara. They're just in my blood.


To GS: 
She allowed me to run this by her as a WIP, finding lots of things
I missed along the way. Even when the scenes were 
painful to read, 'cause she's such a Mulderist, she hung with me. 
Just for you, GS, I put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

And to those who encouraged me:
Iona, Carol Sue and Sabine, and several people from Haven's 
spoiler board, thank you for cheerleading. Your encouragement 
meant a lot to me, especially when I'd get discouraged about 
writing.

And last but not least:
I save my biggest thanks for Dilbert, aka my 
husband, who bounced ideas with me morning, noon and 
night. He has supported me the whole way not begrudging the time 
I've spent writing so that I could get this finished in a 
timely fashion.

And, thanks to my best friend, Carol, who's started watching
the X-Files just to figure out who these crazy people are
I keep writing about.

And for all of you who've sent me feedback and encouraging 
words, I appreciate the time you've taken to let me know what 
you think. You have no idea how much that means to me.
Thank you for taking your time to read this.

(The following song played in the background as I typed
the epilogue of this story. Just thought I'd share. :D)

Love of my life: Jim Brickman w/ Michael W. Smith

I am amazed 
When I look at you
I see you smiling back at me
It's like all my dreams come true.

I am afraid
If I lost you girl.
I'd fall through the cracks
And lose my track in this crazy lonely world.

Sometimes it is hard to believe
When the nights can be so long
And faith gave me the strength
And kept me holding on.

(chorus)
You are the love of my life
And I'm so glad you found me
You are the love of my life
Baby, put your arms around me.
I guess this is how it feels
When you finally find something real
My angel in the night 
You are my love
You are the love of my life.

Now here you are
With midnight closing in
You take my hand as our shadows dance
With moonlight on your skin.

I look in your eyes
I'm lost inside your kiss
I think if I'd never met you
About all the things I missed....


dlynn, February, 2000

The Face of Evil and my other stories can all be found at 
http://home.mpinet.net/laster