From: Ally112038 Date: 05 Apr 2001 19:18:15 GMT Source: atxc Genesis 18/30 San Diego 11:19a.m. In her dream state, Scully was running. From whom or what she wasn't yet certain, but a strange sense of urgency forced her to carry on even as her throat began to burn from the effort of her exertion. She could hear the heavy tread of footsteps behind her but didn't dare turn around for fear of losing her balance and falling, knowing that to do so would mean the end for her. In the distance she could hear the sound of a child crying, a pitiful keening cry that pierced her very soul, and she focused on the sound, allowing it to guide her during her headlong flight. The crying grew ever nearer as she continued to run, and within a few seconds she had rounded a corner to find herself face to face with the object of her search. Emily stood before her, arms outstretched, the tears falling freely from the wide blue eyes and streaking her pretty face as she implored Scully to please make the bad men go away. Without hesitation, Scully scooped the child up in her arms and held her close, breathing in the sweet scent of her child, rewarded as she felt Emily's grip tightening around her. The sweetness of the moment was short-lived though as she felt the child become rigid in her arms, hardly breathing as she focused on some unseen horror, and then Scully knew. The footsteps behind her had ceased. He had found her. She spun around to confront him, still holding Emily tightly to her, and found herself gazing in to the green eyes of the one she trusted most in all the world. For a second she relaxed, sure that he was there to save them both, but then her chest tightened as she realised he was pointing his gun directly at her. "Give her to me." His voice was hard, uncompromising but Scully simply clutched Emily closer to her and took a stumbling step backwards even as Mulder advanced. Her eyes darted wildly around, seeking an escape route but finding none. Her only hope was to get past him, but he seemed to sense her strategy and easily out maneuvered her, grasping her arm so tightly that she cried out in response to the pain. His face was only inches from hers, and to her horror, his features had become twisted in to a kind of ugly caricature of the friend she had trusted and relied upon through everything. That man had gone, only to be replaced with this new version of Fox Mulder who seemed intent on getting what he wanted. "Mulder, please. . ." The grip on her arm tightened in response to her beseeching tone. "I said give her to me, Scully. Don't make me take her from you." She struggled to make sense of his words, eyes widening as she realised he had pressed the gun he held in to the space under her rib cage. It was then she knew that he meant to kill her, regardless of whether she surrendered Emily to him or not but her own survival meant little to her compared with that of her child. To keep hold of her put her life in jeopardy, and by the look in Mulder's eyes she didn't doubt that he wouldn't think twice about shooting through Emily if she chose to attempt escape again. Locking her own blue eyes with that of her partner, Scully slowly lowered the still sobbing child to the floor, unable to look down at her for fear of breaking down completely, not wanting the haunted face of her daughter to become the last memory she held, and instead sought to gain understanding for her partner's betrayal. "Mulder, why are you doing this?" To her surprise, instead of answering, he drew her close to him, running a finger softly down her cheek as she implored him with her eyes to respond. "Because I can." His answer chilled her and she knew a split second before the world exploded in a barrage of pain and sound that he had never really been her partner, that in reality he had been one of them, using her as she had been used all along. And then she fell, crumpling to the floor as the gunshot ripped through her, reducing her vision to a hazy red as the life force bled from the gaping wound in her side, hearing her daughter screaming the word she had longed to hear for so long, a tortured sound which reverberated around her head long after she lost consciousness. "Mommmmeeeee . . ." The word fading in to the distance as he took her away . . . Scully's eyes snapped open abruptly as the full horror of the dream forced her in to full wakefulness, and for a few seconds relief washed over her as she realised that it had been no more than a simple nightmare, no doubt brought on by the rigours of the case. Her relief however was short lived as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Something was very wrong. For one thing, the room she found herself in was way too bright, the bed beneath her hard and unyielding and the second more pointed, was the pain she was experiencing in her left side, a stabbing sensation that seemed to synchronise perfectly with every beat of her heart. She attempted to sit up and the stabbing became a chain saw cutting her in half, escalating to a point where she couldn't help but cry out in pain. Immediately she did so she felt a hand drop on her arm, stroking softly as the voice reassured her. "Sshhhh. It's OK, Dana. You're safe here. Don't try to move...." Her vision was slightly blurred and she blinked a couple of times in an effort to clear it, focusing finally on the face that hovered above her, identifying it immediately as belonging to John Wickham. The senior agent's expression was creased with concern, and from the growth of stubble that adorned his cheeks, it was patently obvious that he had been there for some considerable length of time. Scully ran her tongue over lips that felt dry as sandpaper, and then attempted to speak. "Where am I?" Her voice was little more than a strangled whisper, but Wickham picked up immediately on her fear. The fact that she was frightened was good. It would make his task all the easier. "You're in the hospital, Dana." He answered softly, aware that she would expect more than that, but in playing the game to the letter he had to wait for her to ask rather than furnishing her with the information unprompted. He didn't have to wait long. "For what?" Again the question was voiced in little more than a whisper, and for the merest instant Wickham had the crazy urge to pick her up from the bed and take her as far away as he could from the men who had put her here. He was also aware though that his every move was under scrutiny from the C.C.T.s that were positioned in every corner of the room, hidden from view behind the false walls that had been hastily erected for just that purpose. He wouldn't manage more than a few feet before they realised what he was doing and the consequences would be disastrous. Instead he swallowed his thoughts and gently smoothed the hair from its disheveled position around her face. "Don't you remember?" He watched as she frowned up at him, the confusion all too evident in her eyes, struggling to make sense of her circumstance. "I . . . no, I don't remember . . ." Her voice trailed off uncertainly. "You were shot. The bullet perforated your left kidney and for a while it was touch and go. You've been unconscious for over a week. We didn't think you were going to make it." he smiled suddenly. "I guess you're a lot tougher than you look." Scully didn't hear him. Her mind was reeling from his information, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the image of her partner rushed unbidden in to her mind. The look in his eyes and the sound of the gunshot as he pulled the trigger. She forced down the panic that overwhelmed her. It was a dream. A nightmare. Nothing more than that. It hadn't really happened. "It's OK, Dana. Take it easy." Scully cut off his words as she grasped his sleeve unsteadily. "Who shot me, John?" she asked hoarsely, already knowing what his answer would be and at the same time praying that she was wrong, that the trauma of the injury had mixed up her perceptions of what had happened, that any second now her partner would walk in to the room and everything would be back to the way it had been before. Wickham's next words sent all those hopes crashing to the floor. "Oh, Jesus. You really don't remember, do you?" She heard the strain in his voice at being the one to deliver the news. The news she now didn't want to hear. She closed her eyes before he dropped the bombshell, needing to retreat in to herself lest she break down, but the words had to be uttered. They needed to be. "Dana, I'm sorry. It was Mulder. It as witnessed by a half dozen people including myself. We're still out there looking for him." He trailed off as Scully turned her face away from him, his chest constricting as he saw the stricken expression of horror that now covered her features, watching as the tears rushed to her eyes and began their slow descent down her waxen cheeks. The guilt overwhelmed him as he observed what his news had done to her, and clumsily he reached out to her, withdrawing his hand as Scully shook her head. "No. Leave me alone." Wickham nodded as he rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I understand, Dana. It's OK. I'm gonna go now, but I need to send the Doc to see you. Check that you're all right, and then later we'll need to talk. See what you remember. But you've been through a lot and the best thing you could do right now is rest, OK?" Scully refused to look at him, but the barest nod of her head at least indicated that she had heard his words and satisfied, he rose to his feet. The first segment of the plan had been executed without a hitch, but as he headed for the door Wickham felt only one emotion. It should have been pride -- elation even at what he had achieved -- but instead he felt a deep sense of shame, knowing that he had destroyed everything within her that she counted upon, and that in doing so he had also destroyed her. Continued chapter 19/30 Genesis 19/30 San Diego, CA. 3:05 p.m. Mulder had no clear idea as to what his next move should be. He had slipped out of the hospital unnoticed after discovering an escape route in the form of the wrought iron fire ladder attached to his bathroom window and after removing his clothes from within their confines of the room's locker, had begun the perilous descent to the ground below. The experience had not been a pleasant one, hindered as he was by his still weakened state. Once or twice he had almost fallen, having to close his eyes until the ground below him receded sufficiently to allow him to continue, but all the while the image of his partner remained strong in his mind, urging him to take the risks he had. He knew all too well just what Skinner's reaction to this latest escapade would be. He also knew deep down that any recriminations would be justified, but only by removing himself from the guardianship of his superior could he hope to find the answers to all that had happened over the past three days. He also knew that he was in no shape to be doing this. The all too bright sunshine beat down upon him as he made his way unsteadily along the suburban street he had found himself on and he wished fervently that he could discard the jacket he was wearing which was only adding to his discomfort. The thought, tempting as it may be, was an impossibility, not least because of the presence of his FBI issue weapon which he had been more than a little surprised to discover still tangled up with the rest of his clothes in the hospital locker. Under normal circumstances any firearm, even that of a law enforcement officer, was tagged and deposited in the hospital's safe until such time as it could be returned to it's rightful owner. Mulder could only marvel at the oversight that had occurred for it not to be so. He wasn't complaining though. The presence of the weapon afforded him at least one advantage in an otherwise impossible situation and he felt somewhat reassured by it's presence, however incongruous it might be. The fact that the clip was less than half full was less reassuring and the spare clips he had brought to San Diego with him were still safely ensconced within the walls of the E-Z 8 motel where he had left them before making the trip to Wickham's apartment. He had considered going back there to retrieve them, but had shelved the notion almost immediately as he realised that, if what Skinner said was true, then a full blown murder inquiry would be in place there and he couldn't risk the possibility of being seen by the hoards of cops who would no doubt be trawling through the grounds in their pursuit of evidence. To be seen there would be calamitous, not because he had any fears that he was in any way connected with the incident, but because he had enough sense to realise that until he figured this thing out his best course of action was to remain invisible. To disappear in to the woodwork until such time as it was prudent to allow his presence to be felt. His memory of events preceding his incarceration at the hospital were still, at best, fragmented, but his instincts told him that this was no kind of coincidence. His recent illness and Scully's disappearance were connected somehow, and he just had to figure out what that connection might be, knowing that once the connection was made, everything else would fall in to place. He walked aimlessly, not having any clear idea as to where he was heading, turning the scant recollections he had managed to hold on to over and over in his mind, trying to find some kind of correlation between them. He came up with nothing that would shed any light on why Scully had been taken, and if there was one thing Mulder was certain of, it was that she had been taken. By whom and for what reasons, he was less sure of. But that would come. Eventually. He rounded a corner and found that the street on which he traveled ended in a large well maintained patch of open park land, and the wooden benches that surrounded it suddenly looked more than a little inviting to him. He needed to sit for a while, if only to appraise in more detail his current situation, and his aching body silently thanked him as he lowered himself on to one of the seats. Five minutes later he began to wish that he hadn't bothered, because in doing so he just confirmed to himself what he already knew. Rummaging through his pockets he had realised how high the odds against him really were, because aside from his weapon, his FBI credentials and his cell phone he was pretty much out on his own. His wallet contained just under $20 and his assortment of credit cards. The money wouldn't go very far and using one of the cards would be equivalent to holding up a large sign with the words 'Here I am' painted on it in red block lettering. He had no transport, no protection, no support and no where to begin. Adding that to the grim fact that he felt like his head was about to come apart, didn't exactly fill him with optimism and he suddenly wished more than anything that Scully were here with him. The thought prompted him to shake his head ruefully as he realised that if Scully was here then he wouldn't be. He would still be warmly tucked up in a comfortable bed being tended to by professionals who would no doubt be horrified if they could see him now. So if not Scully, than who? The list came up pretty short as he trawled through his mental address book of possible allies who he could place the required amount of trust in to do the right thing for him. Professional acquaintances were easily discarded, Skinner being at the top of the list. John Wickham? Mulder frowned suddenly. His old Academy buddy was an obvious choice, especially in light of his recent involvement, but the more Mulder thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea. He couldn't put his finger on why exactly. It was simply an almost unconscious warning that buzzed around his head. Scully would have called it paranoia. Mulder called it a hunch and he had learned enough not to disregard it, so there was no doubt in his mind that Wickham had to be struck off the list also. He rubbed his eyes wearily as he realised that hunch or not, it wasn't exactly aiding his present position and that he needed to come up with something pretty soon, because each wasted second was only heightening his partner's current situation and the reasons behind it. Mulder withdrew the cell phone from within his pocket and for a few seconds just regarded it ruefully, knowing that stored within it's memory was the number of the three people who he knew he could rely upon to give him the assistance he needed. He had hesitated in calling them, knowing that he was involving them in a situation that could quickly escalate out of control and questioning his right to do that. Putting himself on the line was one thing. Asking others to do so was something else altogether. He sighed heavily. He didn't have much of a choice, and it was with this awareness that he reluctantly depressed the button that would connect him to the small basement apartment in the outskirts of Washington, listening to the ringing tones, waiting to hear one of the three voices of his most trusted allies. He didn't have to wait for long before a voice on the other end identified itself. Mulder took a deep breath and closed his eyes, uttering a small prayer before he spoke. "Byers? It's Mulder. I need your help." ******************** 11:01 p.m. "What took you so long?" Mulder was unable to prevent his accusatory tones, brought about mainly from the long wait he had been forced to endure in the lobby of the San Diego Airport, conscious of the hours ticking by whilst all the time he did nothing to attempt to start unraveling the mystery of Scully's disappearance. A lack of both rest and food had left him not exactly feeling his best and at that moment all of his frustration was solely directed at the figure standing before him. But Melvin Frohike was more than accustomed to Mulder's outbursts and chose to ignore it. He was shocked though by Mulder's appearance and especially by the lost, hopeless look in his old friend's eyes as he glared down at him. He decided that the best thing he could do for Mulder would be to get things moving as quickly as possible and in answer he held up a small leather sports bag. "One change of clothes, wash bag, keys to a Ford Taurus rental parked outside and ready for collection and . . ." he reached inside his jacket, withdrawing a manila envelope. "$500 in cash." Mulder took the envelope from him gratefully and stuffed it in to his own jacket. "Thanks, Frohike. I owe you." Frohike coughed uncomfortably. "Um, actually you don't. I took a little side trip to your ATM. back in D.C. and withdrew the money from your account. Langly hacked in to your bank's mainframe and made some adjustments." "What kind of adjustments?" Frohike held up a credit card sized library membership card and handed it to Mulder who frowned. "What's this?" "Um, it's your new ATM card. Keep it somewhere safe." Despite himself, Mulder couldn't help but grin. He should have guessed. Frohike shrugged apologetically. "Desperate measures and cash flow problems, y'know?" Mulder slotted the card in to his wallet and glanced around the lobby. Frohike anticipated his next question and answered it before he had a chance to ask. "Byers had to make a stop. He'll meet us at the motel." Mulder nodded. "And Langly?" "Still safely located back at home base in case we need to call on his considerable talents." He looked past Mulder, eyes narrowing as they locked on to a group of men dressed in near identical attire. Mulder's FBI experience had tagged them immediately as middle income business men, probably on their way to some kind of convention. It was clear from Frohike's expression that he did not share Mulder's appraisal. To Frohike, a suit meant only one thing - Government - and Mulder smiled slightly as he recalled Scully's accurate conjecture that Frohike and Co. were the most paranoid men she had ever met, even more so than Mulder, which was certainly going some. He cuffed the smaller man lightly on the arm. "C'mon Frohike. We've got work to do. Save the paranoia for later. Believe me you're going to need it." Continued chapter 20/30 Genesis 20/30 At around the time that Mulder was smiling at Frohike's evident paranoia, someone much closer to him was battling some serious emotional misgivings of her own. Ensconced safety within the boundaries of her hospital room, Dana Scully lay staring up at the ceiling above her, battling to hold on to some semblance of sanity as she replayed the events of the last few hours over and over in her mind. Since awakening, it had seemed as though a constant stream of doctors and FBI agents had surrounded her, asking her questions she didn't know how to answer. She had not seen Wickham all afternoon, despite her frequent requests, and it seemed that no one had any wish to tell her any of the details she desperately needed to hear without him being present. She had spent the afternoon battling to remember in more detail just how she had got here and the events leading up to it, and although the memories were there, the structure of them just didn't track somehow. She could remember clearly confronting Mulder as she held the child in her arms, and his face as he insisted she hand her over to him. It had also become clear to her that the child had not in fact been Emily, but the terrified form of Charlotte Stevens who they had tracked down to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of San Diego. She could remember clearly her conversation with Mulder as they drove to the location. In fact she could remember every word of it, as though it were a stage play she had seen as an observer rather than a performer. She could remember feeling mild pangs of unease at Mulder's insistence that they did not need to enlist the support of other agents before entering the building. But she could not remember actually entering or how exactly they had known that this was the place or that the child would be there. She recalled talking to Christine Stevens at the motel and of removing her from the care of the sanatorium, of her partner's mild illness, and of his conversation with Wickham regarding those same actions. What she couldn't reconcile in her mind were the gaps in those memories when some segments were so clear to her. For example, she had no recollection of the interval between Mulder's conversation back at the motel and of getting in to the car to go find the warehouse. It was all a complete blank, and the more she tried to remember, the more she ended up at a brick wall, frustrated to the point of tears. She had not wanted to believe that it was Mulder who had put her here, but Wickham's words, her injury, the notes on her chart that she had requested to view and not least her own memories had made the fact just about irrefutable. The real question, she admitted, was not that he had done this to her, but why? It was something she suspected only Wickham could answer, but his long absence was not helping the situation. Nor was the fact that no one seemed to be able to give her any kind of assurance as to his return, only that he had intended coming back to see her later. Scully sighed and shifted her head slightly on the pillow, attempting to get comfortable and to ease the pain in her neck that her doctor's training told her was a direct result of laying in the same position for so long. She wished she could turn over, but the nature of her injury dictated that to do so would be both foolhardy and dangerous. The powerful pain relief that was being fed in to her via a canular in her arm had dulled the pain somewhat and Scully had no wish to allow it to flare up again. The substance was probably a morphine based drug, and although she had attempted to read the typed wording that adorned the clear bag above her, she had been unable to, arriving at her conclusion based mostly on how drowsy she felt. She had drifted off for periods of sleep throughout the day, welcoming the oblivion, however brief, from her current situation, only to awaken with ever sharper memories of what Mulder had done to her, becoming wide awake once more as the sense of betrayal sharpened, driving in to her like a knife to her heart. Why? The word was such a humble one, and yet it had been used by humans for centuries to inflict punishment and torture from within. To attempt to gain understanding for the inexplicable. Scully sighed heavily as her eyes began to close, knowing even as she slipped toward sleep that the word was set to torture her for many years to come. ******************** If Scully had been aware of the presence of the two men viewing her from within the confines of a small room across the hall, sleep would not have arrived quite so easily. They had remained in their positions throughout the day, although Wickham had left for brief periods of time to check in with the office so as not to give rise to any suspicions regarding his absence. He had also been mildly alarmed to hear from Skinner that Mulder was missing from the hospital, although he had been slightly mollified to be told by his companion that Mulder's leaving the hospital was integral to the continued success of their scheme He turned to face the Smoking Man who was regarding the sleeping form of Dana Scully closely. "So what now?" The Smoking man merely smiled softly. "We wait, Agent Wickham." "Wait? For what exactly?" Wickham was aware that his voice was shaking slightly, but all this waiting around was playing on his already shattered nerves, and he had no wish to draw out the process for longer than was absolutely necessary. For a few seconds though, his question remained unanswered and the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Finally though, The Smoking Man inclined his head toward the screen. "Agent Scully has spent the afternoon playing events over in her mind. Events that have been suggested to her without her knowledge and which she now believes to be absolutely accurate. But the process cannot be rushed. Information must be suggested to her over time, information which she will come to regard as her own memories of what happened to her and why she was betrayed so utterly by the man who has saved her on so many occasions. To expedite the process would be disastrous for all concerned, inasmuch as Agent Scully must believe without question. Too much information would effectively induce her to not be able to differentiate between the truth and the lies. She would begin to question her own memory and with it her recollections of true events," he smirked, "and we wouldn't want that to happen would we, Agent Wickham?" The unspoken threat was unmistakable and Wickham felt himself pale slightly, as the implications of the words became clear. The Smoking Man, however, didn't seem to notice. "So," he continued, "I believe we should let Agent Scully enjoy the quietude she so desperately needs to help her recover from her recent ordeal. And then, when she awakens once more, you will be there to answer some of her questions. You will be her friend. Her only friend, now that Mulder is gone." Continued chapter 21/30 Genesis 21/30 10:40 p.m. "Hey, Dana. How're you doing there?" Scully was conscious of the voice even as she came slowly out of sleep, and as she opened her eyes she experienced a moment of absolute certainty that the voice belonged to her partner. Her hopes were dashed, though, as SAIC Wickham's face swam in to view, hovering above her displaying the same expression of concern she had seen earlier. She swallowed heavily and ran her tongue over her dry lips in an effort to moisten them, accepting the plastic tumbler of water that Wickham offered her and taking several small sips. "Take it easy. Don't take too much." His hand supported her head as she drank, the action causing the same twinges of pain she had felt earlier, sharper though, more localised than before. She winced enough for Wickham to notice. "Are you OK, Dana? Do you want me to fetch someone?" Scully shook her head. "No. I'm fine. Aches and pains that's all." "Yeah, well, that's understandable, I guess." He removed the tumbler from her hand and set it down once again on the small side table next to the bed, appraising Scully carefully as he did so. She looked slightly better than the last time he had been here, and although she was still pale, the tiniest bit of colour now graced her cheeks. He marveled at her powers of recovery, and even more so when she began to struggle in to a sitting position. Nevertheless, he moved quickly to assist her lest she do herself more damage, changing the settings of the bed to support her back. "OK?" Scully nodded. "Thank you." She glanced around the small room, taking in her surroundings now that she was more able to view them comfortably, eyes lingering on the flowers that were banked up against the far wall. Wickham followed her gaze. "I guess you're more popular than you thought. You made the ten o'clock news last week, and since then they've been arriving in droves. It seems everyone loves a hero, or in your case, a heroine." "I don't understand. Why would people do that?" Wickham saw the confusion in her eyes and rose off his chair. He stood by the flowers, finally locating what he was looking for -- a large extravagant bouquet of white lilies tied with ribbon -- and plucked a small card from it's depths. Silently, he handed it to Scully who read it, her eyes widening as she did so. *You brought my daughter back to me. I'll never forget you. Christine.* "Charlotte Stevens is alive?" she asked incredulously. Wickham frowned. "Of course. Why wouldn't she be?" "Because at the warehouse . . . before I was shot . . ." she could hardly bear to utter the words. "Before Mulder. I mean . . ." Her eyes filled with tears at the memory and Wickham set himself carefully on the bed, reaching out for her hand as he sought to reassure her. "Dana, he didn't take her." Scully shook her head. "But . . . I remember . . . " "No. I was there, remember? He knew he had no way out if he took the child, although he did take her from you. We found her a short distance away." "Is she all right?" Her words were so soft that Wickham almost didn't hear them. He squeezed her hand. "She's fine. A little scared maybe, but none the worse for wear. We have her in protective custody with her mother until we can figure this thing out." "And Mulder?" Wickham dropped his eyes. "We don't know. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth. But we'll find him. Eventually. He can't run forever." He watched as Scully digested the information, confident now that her feet were firmly set on the path he had carefully laid for her. Her next question threw him slightly though. "Can I see her?" "Who?" "Charlie." Wickham scratched his head thoughtfully, using the action to buy himself some time, and in doing so he remembered the Smoking Man's words regarding the child. He had anticipated her request, the son of a bitch. Wickham could only marvel at the mind of a man who could remain ten jumps ahead. To see the child would only add more weight to the false memories they had carefully planted. He knew then why the child had been so well cared for. He smiled down at Scully. "I'll see what I can do. When you're feeling a little stronger." He watched her reaction to his assurance carefully and was gratified to see a light appear behind her eyes. "So anyway . . ." he continued. "Are you ready to tell me what you remember now or do you want me to come back later?" Scully shrugged. "I don't know. I can remember some things as though they happened just a few minutes ago but, there are so many inconsistencies in the content of those memories, that I can't be sure they even happened at all." Wickham nodded his understanding. This was something he had anticipated. "It's OK, Dana. Just tell me what you can recall, for the record, and when we're finished I'll try to fill in some of those gaps for you. How would that be?" She didn't answer him, but then she didn't need to. Her expression told him all he needed to know, and for the first time since entering in to this sorry scheme, he felt something akin to arrogance at how easily he had drawn her in to the web he had helped to spin for her. She began to slowly give him a narrative on what she remembered regarding the incidents at the warehouse, and her memories of what exactly had prompted her and Mulder to come down here in the first place. Wickham could easily identify the segments of recollection that had been suggested to her. She related these incidents with much more confidence than the true events that had been allowed to remain in her mind, and there were long periods of silence as she battled to get her thoughts in order. He also knew that it was his job to fill in those spaces for her, allowing them to be planted in her mind, which, with the aid of the drugs being fed to her, were to become unquestionable reality for her as she slept. He marveled at the scheme, at it's complexity, at how a human mind could be so easily manipulated, knowing that when she next saw him she would already have forgotten that this conversation had taken place. Instead she would remember only what they allowed her to. She would remember him being here tonight, and of giving him a history of recent events, but would not recall any of the suggestions he would make to her, instead believing that she had arrived at the determination of Mulder's betrayal herself. And so he listened, affording just the right amounts of sympathy and professionalism for her to trust him implicitly as an ally, until she finally came to an end. He finished jotting down her final words, and finally satisfied, leveled his cool grey eyes on her. "That's all you remember?" Scully shrugged. "I'm sorry. I know it probably doesn't help much." "Hey, don't worry. It helps us more than you know. Believe me." "So . . ." she faltered slightly before going on, "what happens now?" Wickham was careful to drop his eyes respectfully before answering, sounding contrite as he did so. "Well, until we find Mulder, we're up against a brick wall. I have all my best men on the case, but so far we've turned up squat. But I don't mind telling you that I'll rest a lot easier once he's put where he belongs. Because while ever he's still out there, he represents a clear danger to you, and in here, there's a limit to how much protection we can give you." Scully's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" He coughed slightly as if embarrassed to be the one to spell it out to her. "Um . . . he tried to kill you once, remember? Who's to say he won't try to finish the job?" He held up his hand as Scully shook her head, cutting her off before she had a chance to speak. "I know this is hard for you, but you have to face facts. I have two armed Agents on the other side of that door. But I know Mulder. He wouldn't let them get in his way in order to get to you and I don't believe he would give you any kind of opportunity to raise the alarm. I've seen what he's capable of, and so have you. I'm not prepared to take any chances with your life." Scully shook her head numbly. She could hear Wickham's words, but it was as though they came from somewhere outside herself, and try as she might she just couldn't correlate his warning to that of the man she had shared almost every day for the last six years with. The image was alien to her. "I know it sounds crazy," she admitted quietly, "but I can't imagine him doing that. Even after everything that's happened, everything I know." And then, grasping at straws she turned tortured eyes on to Wickham. "He must have had some kind of reason or justification for doing what he did." Wickham laid a hand on her shoulder sadly. "But he did have reason, Dana. More than enough to betray your trust the way he did. If you're feeling up to it, I'll explain everything to you." He watched carefully as she nodded uncertainly and, with the arrogance he had felt earlier, he began to tell his tale. Continued chapter 22/30 Genesis 22/30 11:11p.m. Energize Inn Route 56 San Diego CA. "So what now?" Mulder regarded the two figures in front of him from his seated position on the bed and shook his head slowly. During the time since their arrival in San Diego, it had seemed as if Byers and Frohike were more concerned in seeing he took care of himself than in offering any practical help toward finding Scully. But now, after they had seen to it that he had been fed and watered, it appeared as though they were ready for action. Despite his urgent need to get started in his quest, Mulder could not help but feel a certain amount of gratitude towards the two men. Even he had to admit that the shower, the good food, and the change of clothes they had insisted upon had done wonders for his physical and mental well being. The hospital seemed a million miles away, and aside from the niggling headache, he felt more or less back up to par. This fact, though, didn't make finding a place to start any easier, and for a few seconds he did not answer. "Mulder? Did you hear what I said?" Mulder waved his arm in the air to show acknowledgement of Byer's words, whilst wracking his brain to find an acceptable answer. He had trawled through the events over and over in his mind for the better part of the day. In doing so, he seemed to always arrive at the same name as he remembered his partner's outright scepticism back at the E-Z 8 as she confronted him with her fears regarding the woman's story. More and more he was becoming sure that Scully's perturbation had not, as he had first thought, been misplaced. At the time, he had not given it much credence. Now he wasn't so sure, and suddenly, he knew exactly what he needed to do. "You said Langly is waiting to hear from us back in DC?" Frohike nodded. "Yeah. We thought you might have more use of him there. He's waiting by the phone as we speak, fingers flexed, and ready for action." "Well tell him to keep flexing," Mulder directed, "because I've got a real good one for him." Frohike raised his eyebrows quizzically at Byers who ran his finger underneath his tightly buttoned shirt collar. "What do you mean?" Mulder grinned slightly. "Just a little bit of a wander around a Federal database. There's some information I need regarding the woman I told you about. I need to know where she's being held." "Hhmm, Federal snooping. I like it." Mulder watched as Frohike began to dial, listening as he outlined his requirements to his unlikely colleague back in the Capitol, occasionally chipping in to offer additional information to make Langly's quest all the more easy to accomplish. Finally, Frohike replaced the receiver, eyeing Mulder confidently. "Consider it done. Fifteen minutes max. And he'll have everything you need to know." Mulder shook his head ruefully as he wondered, not for the first time, if there really was any such thing as confidentiality anymore. The FBI database was supposed to be unbreakable, a hundred different fail safe devices in place to prevent exactly the kind of breach he had just requested. Fifteen minutes. Obviously fail-safe didn't have the same kind of significance anymore. At this moment though, he wasn't about to take offence regarding the Government's inadequate protection systems. Too much was at stake to allow indignation to surface. Instead he focused on the cheap wood-effect clock that hung on the wall adjacent to him and watched the minutes tick by -- painfully conscious that every second that passed took him one second further away from his partner -- and at the same time hoping against hope, that the seconds were still ticking for her, that time hadn't suddenly ceased, willing Langly to get a move on. As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long. Not quite ten minutes had elapsed before the phone rang and he had to restrain himself in order not to snatch it up. He had already agreed that it was best for all concerned that his voice should not be heard over the airways. A precaution should he still be being watched. Instead he rose from his sitting position and hovered over Byers as he took the call. Finally, after much shaking of his head and murmured monosyllables, Byers took the receiver from his ear and pressed his hand over the mouthpiece. "Langly hacked in to the Bureau's main frame as you requested but he's failed to turn up anything on Christine Stevens or her daughter. There's no case file on her supposed kidnapping either under the file number or the Agent of record. He also ran it against Wickham's case files and came up with zilch." "That's impossible," Mulder cut in without giving Byers the chance to finish. "Wickham brought us down here. He sent me the case file across to DC; I held the damn thing in my hand. It has to exist somewhere. Tell Langly to run it again." Byers didn't bother to argue. Mulder was vaguely conscious of his return to Langly, speaking the words that Mulder had demanded, but a thought had entered his head over the last few seconds. It was this thought that was now at the fore of his reasoning, hammering away, insisting he give it the credence it necessitated. Something was very wrong here and the more he thought about it, the uneasier he became. He remembered how he had been so reluctant earlier to enlist the help of his old Academy buddy. A thought that had been based purely on blind instinct rather than any kind of tangible reasoning. And now, as he sat listening to the sound of Byer's voice, he mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. Something in his head had clicked, and suddenly everything fell in to place, like the pieces of a jigsaw slotting together. Without hesitation he flew to his feet and grabbed the telephone from Byer's grasp, ignoring the look of amazement on the other man's face and disregarding the need to keep himself hidden from prying eyes and ears. It seemed irrelevant now. "Langly, it's Mulder. I need you to check something for me. Dial in to the site files for the Department of Health and enter the name . . ." Mulder dragged his mind back, trying to remember accurately. "Little Sisters of Charity." "Mercy. Little Sisters of Mercy State Sanatorium. San Diego." He shuddered as he remembered the empty, ill cared for, almost derelict state of the hospital and realised that, in his poor state of health, he had failed to realise the significance of the dereliction. Scully had noticed it and he had effectively dismissed her, intent as he was on getting to the truth before it was neatly disposed of. He focused back in on Langly as he realised that he had asked him a question. He answered it through gritted teeth. "All I need to know is when it was closed down, and who the lease was passed on to." He listened for a couple more seconds and then nodded. "OK. Thanks, Langly. Stay by the phone, I might need you later." He cradled the receiver gently, almost reverently, and turned his attention to the two men stood before him, noting their twin expressions of bemusement. "The hospital Scully and I were sent to by Wickham has not existed as a hospital for over five years. The lease was taken over by a Pharmaceutical company named Pramgen six months ago." Frohike jumped visibly as Mulder slammed his palm down on to the table which housed the phone. "They've played us all along. Scully saw it and I didn't. This has all been a part of an elaborate plan to get us down here. Orchestrated from the start. Maybe going back months, and I let them. I played right in to their hands." He shook his head numbly. "How could I have been so stupid?" Without waiting for a response, Mulder grabbed his leather jacket which lay on the bed and shrugged it on hastily, motioning to Byers to follow him. "C'mon, Byers. We're going out." The older man balked visibly. "Um, going out where, exactly?" Mulder didn't look up from where he was rapidly scrawling a few words on to the back of a discarded drink coaster, thrusting it in to a startled Frohike when it was completed. "This is where they've got Scully. The number next to it belongs to Assistant Director Skinner. Call him and tell him to meet us there. Frohike, you tell him that on no account is he to trust Agent Wickham. Tell him I'll explain everything when I see him. You got all that?" Frohike nodded numbly, taken aback by the sudden rapid turn of events. "C'mon, Byers, let's go. I don't think we've got much time left." He held the door open for him to exit the room, and as he followed him to the car he sent up a silent prayer that whatever time they did have would be enough. Continued chapter 23/30 Genesis 23/30 Little Sisters of Mercy State Sanatorium. 11:37p.m. Scully eyed the gun that lay on the locker beside her bed. She had awoken to find it there and could recall a vague conversation in which she had requested that she be allowed access to a weapon. The exact nature of the conversation eluded her, but she could remember the basis for her request. She could now remember in great detail Mulder's actions and subsequent betrayal. She also knew that what Wickham had surmised was correct -- that Mulder would have no hesitation in coming and finishing the job off properly -- and when he did she was determined to be ready for him. The sense of outrage had grown inside of her until it boiled in a cauldron of hatred so intense that it effectively blocked everything else out. She no longer questioned why her most trusted ally had betrayed her so completely, it no longer seemed relevant, and for her part she was only interested in self- preservation now. The physical pain was still there, somewhat lessened now, but the slightest movement reminded her sharply what he had done and with it came an even stronger resolve that he should be made to pay for his actions. Scully did not challenge this totally out of character conclusion, nor how she had come to it so completely. The drugs being fed in to her system had had the desired effect, and just as Wickham had been told she would, she now saw Mulder as one thing and one thing only - something to eliminate in whatever way she could. The FBI training was disregarded. It was now not something she even gave much of a thought to. Right or wrong no longer came in to it. Her every waking thought was firmly targeted on her partner. Of his destruction. Scully closed her eyes . . . and waited. ******************** 11:56p.m. Skinner snatched up his cell phone even before it had completed it's first ring. He had returned to his hotel a little over an hour ago after a fruitless day engaged in the attempted search of his missing Agents. The fact that Mulder had absconded from right under his nose with two armed guards outside the hospital room had not exactly improved his mood. Nor had the fact that he had spent half the afternoon trying in vain to contact SAIC Wickham. He had finally given up in disgust and called it a day, knowing that if Mulder were going to get in touch, that it would be sometime during the night, after he had had a chance to investigate his partner's disappearance more thoroughly. Skinner had not known whether to feel angry or relieved that Mulder had checked himself out of the hospital. On the one hand he knew that sick or not, Mulder was the one link that might unravel this whole mess. But the fact remained that he was sick and Skinner couldn't let go of the uncomfortable feeling that Mulder could well be laying in a gutter somewhere, weakened as he was from his recent ordeal. To have one Agent missing was bad enough, but to have two was almost an impossibility, but suddenly the shrill tones of his phone drove away some of the uncertainty. "Skinner." He barked, feeling the frustration course through him as he realised that the voice that greeted him on the other end was not Mulder's. He frowned. Something about the voice did seem familiar, and he dragged his mind back, trying to place it, eyes widening as the voice delivered it's grim message. "Who is this?" he demanded angrily and then relaxed visibly as the caller identified himself warily. "Frohike? What are you doing here? Where's Mulder?" Almost unconsciously, Skinner's eyes darted wildly around the small room in search of his weapon as Frohike delivered Mulder's directions, and with the phone still held to his ear, he grabbed his gun and exited the room, slamming the door behind him. He reached his car in record time, and then sat for a few seconds, trying to arrange his thoughts in to some kind of rational order. He didn't know how Mulder had located Scully, or how he had determined that Wickham was involved, but Skinner had known his Agent long enough to not feel the need to question his reasoning. Some called Mulder's ability to make great investigational leaps mere chance. Skinner called it instinct, plain and simple, and he wasn't about to disregard it. He had seen it too many times over the last six years to treat it with anything other than a deep respect. It was what had kept Mulder ahead of the game for so long, and his ability to see clearly where others failed had undoubtedly kept him and Scully alive in their quest. Skinner eyed his phone which he still held in his hand, knowing that the smart thing to do would be to call for back-up of some kind. He also suspected that, should he do so, the request would immediately be picked up by the wrong people and a reception committee of the most heinous nature would be waiting to greet them at their arrival at the sanatorium. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, cursing himself for his indecisiveness. To not call for assistance, especially out of his own area of jurisdiction was, at best, a break away from protocol and, at worst, grounds for dismissal. Lives could be lost and the finger would be firmly pointed in his direction for ignoring the most basic tactical rule. He glanced at the phone again, it's LCD display glowing greenly in the darkness, and Skinner decided there and then that. for once in his life. he wasn't going to do the smart thing. Just for tonight. he was going to emulate Agent Mulder and trust his almost forgotten instincts. He gunned the motor and prayed that they wouldn't let him down. Continued chapter 24/30 Genesis 24/30 Little Sisters of Mercy State Sanatorium. 12:31 a.m. "It looks deserted." Byers' voice shook slightly as he stared up at the imposing facade. Beside him, Mulder remained silent. They had left the safety of the car some two blocks back and completed their journey on foot, ever conscious that, should the building house what he hoped, there could be no doubt that it's electronic surveillance equipment would be top of the range and impossible to spot. It would be hard enough to gain entrance without announcing their presence by arriving in a car. Aside from one half-empty gun, a torch, and two short wave radios, their only asset was stealth. Looking at the structure of the huge building, Mulder was even beginning to question whether the element of surprise would help them in their quest. The hospital must surely house a myriad of corridors and rooms, any one of which might be holding Scully, and in darkness he wasn't convinced that he might find her. He sighed and glanced at his watch, the luminous dial shining brightly in the darkness. Where the hell was Skinner? "Hey, Mulder. Are we going to stand here all night?" Mulder held up his hand to quiet Byers, who was getting antsier by the minute, but he had to be sure he was doing the right thing. One slip and it could mean the end for all of them, Scully included. Mulder noted the chalky whiteness of his friend's face and decided to keep the thought to himself. For the tenth time, he removed the powerful handgun from his holster and flicked it open, studying it's contents as though sheer will power could double the six bullets it held. He would have felt happier to have had a full clip, happier still to have been able to offer a weapon to Byers. Wistfully he thought of the small but powerful Baretta languishing in his suitcase back at the E-Z 8 motel. He used it only rarely, but it was an excellent weapon to have as back-up, fitting as it did in a small concealed holster that fitted around the wearer's calf it was virtually undetectable and easy to reach. Mulder had bought it along almost on a whim and. under normal circumstances. he would have been wearing it when he was out in the field. But the illness, whatever it had been, had caused him to completely forget about it. He glanced once again at his watch, cursing as he registered that the hands had only barely moved. He had the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out, and his brain told him to get moving - and quickly. "OK." Byers leaned in closer to pick up Mulder's whispered words which were only barely audible above the late night traffic that filled the California roads. "I'm gonna see if I can find a way in through the back." He handed Byers one of the radios which he flicked to channel three. "I need you to keep watch for Skinner. When he gets here, you put him on immediately. I'll need him to join me inside." Byers nodded, the relief clearly displayed across his face at the understanding that he wouldn't actually have to join Mulder in the building. "What if someone else comes?" Mulder grinned. "You run like hell and hope you're faster than the other guy." Byers swallowed heavily. "You're kidding, right?" "Relax, Byers. Think of it as an adventure." Byers watched as Mulder's form disappeared in to the blackness and when he could see him no more, turned his attention to the short wave radio he clutched in his hand. It was shaking visibly. He leaned heavily against the wall. "Why me?" he muttered. A little computer crime was one thing. But this? This was something else altogether and he sent up a silent prayer that Mulder did indeed know whet he was doing. ******************** "Do you see him?" Wickham rose to his feet and pointed unnecessarily to the screen -- one of about twenty -- that covered the far wall of the tiny, cramped room he had spent the seemingly endless day within. The image was fuzzy and slightly degraded, but the figure moving stealthily across the courtyard was as unmistakable as night was from day. The man's features were lost in the darkness, but the way he moved, the way he crouched low against the wall, hiding his body in shadows was unmistakably Mulder. Wickham remembered him from the Academy, remembered how he had marveled at the man's sense of stealth. He was like a cat, lithe and silent, and had they not been expecting him to show up, they would probably never have spotted him. The Smoking man did not respond other than to get to his feet and turn towards the door. "What are you doing?" The confusion was evident in Wickham's voice, and he knit his brow at the older man's expression. "Agent Mulder has arrived, Agent Wickham, which means it is time for us to go." "What? I don't understand. I thought . . ." "You are not required to think. You are simply required to follow my orders. Can you understand that?" Wickham blanched visibly but nodded slowly. "What about Scully?" This time The Smoking Man smiled down at him, and enunciated his next words carefully, as though he were addressing a rather backward child. "Agent Scully will be horrified to see her partner, the man she believes is responsible for her current condition. She will draw upon her not inconsiderable talents to ensure her continued survival. She will finish what we have started, and when she comes to realise was she has done, what we have done, she will cease to be able to function, as an Agent of the FBI or as a human being." "And the child?" The Smoking man paused before exiting the room. "The child will be found. She will be disposed of in the usual manner." A chill worked it's way up Wickham's spine as his eyes lit on a separate screen that took up space in one corner of the desk. Clearer than the external screens it showed the image of a blonde haired, doe-eyed child who sat in the corner of a sparsely furnished room. She did not appear to be afraid, or distressed in any way. She did not attempt to escape the confines of the room. Her intelligence had allowed her to accept fully the new and unfamiliar regime that had been thrust upon her, just as it allowed her to understand that her mother was somewhere close. The time would come when she would need to go to her, and until then she was content to retreat in to her own mind, saving her strength and energy until such a time came that she would need them. The time was coming, and it would all be over soon. Wickham had felt ill at ease and unsure during the limited time he had spent with the child. For a child as young as she, he had expected tantrums, or at the very least tears as her requests to be taken back to her mother had been ignored and unanswered. But instead, each time her requests brokered no response, Charlie had simply fixed her captors with china blue eyes and nodded thoughtfully, as if she held a far greater understanding of her situation than those who had brought it about. Wickham had been told little regarding the child, what she meant to the Project, but he didn't need to be a genius to understand that she was different - dangerously different. From his position in front of the monitor, Wickham was suddenly gripped with the feeling that not only did little Charlotte Stevens know that there were hidden cameras inside her small room, but also that she was as aware of him as he was of her. Wickham shuddered involuntarily and turned back to the Smoking Man. "We should take her now," he ventured uncertainly, not wishing to transcend his limited authority but at the same time understanding the consequences that the child's discovery would broker. The Smoking Man raised his eyebrows at the younger man's audacity. Wickham clumsily attempted to justify his words. "What if Mulder finds her?" The Smoking man directed his gaze to the figure on the screens who had now gained access to the building, and was even now, only a few hundred feet away. Only doors, bricks, and walls separated him from the man he considered to be his greatest adversary, and for a fleeting second, he felt almost sorrowful that their acquaintance was about to end. He pulled out a cigarette and rolled it distractedly around his fingers before answering. "Agent Mulder is intent on finding his partner. Nothing else has any meaning to him, and when he does, even meaning will cease to be important. For a second, he will look deep in to his partner's eyes, and then blessedly, it will all be over for them both. Just the way we planned it." Wickham shuddered, and for a second, he was caught in a flashback to the day in his office when Mulder had introduced Scully to him. Even though he knew he should be feeling relief that finally it was over, he knew that, for him at least, it would never be over. Continued chapter 25/30 Genesis 25/30 12:43 a.m. The darkness inside the old building closed in on Mulder like a curtain, all encompassing and thick, his torch seemed to barely cut through it, and he realised with a sinking feeling of dread that the beam was wavering. He shook it angrily, and was gratified when the light turned from yellow to white again. A loose connection, that was all. Carefully, he angled the torch slightly in a downward direction to ensure the connections touched. It narrowed his field of vision somewhat, but he reasoned that limited light was preferable to none at all. His head pounded, and he allowed himself a moment to get his bearings. His excellent memory would normally have allowed him to find where he wanted to be with no problem, but he had been feverish and weak during his last journey here, and he had to draw from deep within him in order to get any kind of direction. He started down the long corridor, even now uncertain as to whether he was heading the right way, but trusting his instincts. He would have felt better to have Skinner by his side, but had now arrived at the conclusion that he was on his own, for better or worse. Occasionally he paused at one of the many doors that lined the corridor and shone the torch through the square of observation glass that adorned each one. He did it more out of a need for thoroughness than out of hope that Scully was held captive behind one of them. He was pretty sure where, if anywhere, his partner would be held, and remembering the chill, damp air that had seemed to invade the abandoned wing of the old building, a shudder worked its way down his back. Mulder turned away from the glass and realised that he was almost at the end of the corridor. If he remembered correctly, the corridor would end with a door on the left-hand side which led in to the older part of the building where they had found Christine Stevens. The corridor was rapidly running out and for a panicky second, Mulder was sure that he had come the wrong way, and then there it was just ahead of him. Mulder narrowed his eyes against the glare of the torch light, and for an instant wondered if what he saw was simply his eyes playing tricks on him, an after glare from the torch hitting the white paint, but as he got closer he realised that a white line of light spilled out from beneath the closed door. He closed his eyes, knowing suddenly that his hunch had been correct, and that Scully was here. He could feel her presence, as though she were by his side. Although he knew that his partner would no doubt find a rational explanation for what he was feeling, Mulder held on to the thought, knowing somehow that it might be the only thing to get him through this. He switched the torch off, knowing that he wouldn't need it once he had stepped out in to the light, and he eased it back in to the pocket of his jacket. He substituted it with his handgun, holding the weapon tightly, unaware of what might be waiting for him on the other side of the door. He tensed as he stepped in to the light, allowing himself to breathe again as his eyes registered nothing but another long corridor, almost identical in design and layout to the one before it. Doors lined it and Mulder was painfully aware that any number of unknown dangers could lurk behind them. His eyes scanned the corridor and a quick calculation inside his aching head told him that there were at least forty of them. Forty possibilities. Six bullets. The odds weren't great. He shook his head in an effort to clear it and forced himself to get moving, knowing that for every second he stood there that the odds were shortening even further, that he was no doubt being monitored and that he was now in plain sight. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. All he could do was to move forward and he did so, slowly at first, checking each of the doors, opening those that were not locked, his pace and urgency intensifying as door after door revealed nothing more remarkable than empty space. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, a combination of the slight fever he still ran and the numbing thought that somehow he might have been wrong. His heart hammered against his chest as the adrenaline pulsed through his body, causing his breath to come in short sharp gasps, making his head swim even worse than it already was. Distractedly he ran a hand through his hair as he crossed the corridor to the next door. He opened it slowly expecting to see nothing but bare floors and walls. His jaw dropped though as realisation seeped through him, and for a few seconds he was rooted to the spot, unable to enter for fear of a trap of some kind, waiting to snare him, to put an end to his search. The indecision lasted only a heartbeat though, as his feet moved him forwards, almost against his will and he found himself staring straight at the familiar face of his partner. 12:54 am The hand that dropped suddenly on Byers' shoulder almost caused him to drop the walkie-talkie that he was holding tightly. Such was his absolute terror at being left in this situation by Mulder. He breathed again though when he allowed himself to look up at his aggressor, who was no other than Assistant Director Skinner. They had met only briefly but Skinner immediately recognised him and his eyes narrowed as he realised that he was alone. "Where's Mulder?" Byers swallowed nervously at his harsh tone. "He went in alone. He waited for you, though. I guess he thought you weren't coming." Skinner sighed heavily. "I was at the hospital. I had to drive halfway across town to get here." He glanced around the darkened parking lot. "Which way did he go?" Byers waved his hand vaguely to the right, toward an almost invisible alleyway that ran through the centre of the imposing building. As he did so, Skinner caught sight of the radio held tightly in his grasp. He raised his eyebrows. "Does that thing work?" Byers nodded, but held back as Skinner reached across for it. "What if someone hears it? Maybe we should wait for him to contact us." "The hell we will," Skinner countered harshly, "Mulder forwent any sort of bargaining the minute he stepped in there alone. Now give me the radio." Byers hesitated for just a beat, but the expression on Skinner's face did not encourage argument, and he reluctantly surrendered it to the older man, watching as he depressed the speak button, noting the frown that furrowed Skinner's brow as seconds passed and his call went unanswered. Continued chapter 26/30 Genesis 26/30 For a few seconds, Mulder remained rooted to the spot, his eyes drinking in the image before him. Whatever else he had been expecting when he entered the room, it wasn't this. He scanned the monitors that lined every inch of the walls and he realised he has stumbled on the epicentre of a sophisticated and comprehensive surveillance system, that viewed the building from without and within. Four of the small screens showed the image of his partner lying in a standard hospital issue bed. He stepped closer and scrutinised the image closely. It was difficult to make out the details, but he was pretty sure her eyes were closed. Whether she was unconscious or merely sleeping he couldn't tell, but from the medical equipment that surrounded her he was sure of one thing - that whatever had been done to her, it was bad. He frowned as his memory transported him back to the Washington Hospital almost five years ago, when his partner had lain as if dead, a condition brought about by the very people who had been instrumental in this latest crime against them. It had been the start of a nightmare for them both, and one which seemed never ending now. He shuddered slightly and forced his attention back to the here and now, noticing for the first time the small black numbers that adorned the left-hand corners of the screens. At first glance they appeared to be random, but it soon became obvious that they related to specific areas of the hospital and it's grounds and Mulder was pretty sure that the last two digits were room numbers. He tore his eyes away from Scully, and for the first time allowed himself time to look at the other images that surrounded him. He inhaled sharply as his gaze fell upon the far right screen, and the child within. Charlie Stevens. She had been here all along, brought to the same place as her adoptive mother and held for who knew what reasons. Mulder's jaw set rigidly as he realised perhaps for the first time just how far John Wickham had deceived them, and at that moment Mulder would have liked nothing more than to have five minutes alone in a room with his ex-Academy buddy. He knew however that that was unlikely ever to happen. Wickham would be long gone by now and the rational part of him pushed its way back up to the surface as he realised he had much more pressing business to attend to right now. He took one final glance around the room and then without further ado he spun around and with a governing sense of urgency, began to hurry along the decrepit corridor, aware for the first time of where he needed to head. The doors flashed past as Mulder hurried through the hospital. He barely gave them a second glance, sure now as to where he was going, and the direction he needed to take. He knew that behind one of those doors Charlotte Stevens was held captive, and although she was the sole reason they had even got involved with this in the first place, Mulder couldn't afford to turn his attention towards her until he had found his partner. He also knew that she may very well hold the answers to many of his questions, but those answers seemed meaningless right now. His breathing became slightly laboured as he forced himself to keep going. His weakened state manifested itself sharply as he pushed himself onwards, but he forced himself to rise above it, promising himself that once this thing was finally over, that he was going to take some time out to recover from what he had been through. Finally, he reached his destination, noting with some relief that the door to the room was unguarded, and at the same time he felt a small shiver of unease work its way down his spine. So far this had been almost too easy. He had been allowed to breach the building unchallenged and seemingly undetected, and for the first time since entering he began to question how that could have been. He reached forward tentatively and tried the door handle, whilst all the time, keeping his weapon trained on the door in front of him. The door was locked, and he briefly considered his options, realising at the same time that having come this far, there was only one option available to him. Without considering the potential consequences such an action may broker should there be a third party in the room, Mulder summoned up every last ounce of energy and threw his weight against the door. The cheap wood came apart with a splintering crack as the frame buckled inwards, and Mulder almost fell in to the room. The impact sent a shower of bright flashes across his eyes as his pounding head threatened to come apart on him. He shook his head once in an effort to clear it, but the sight that greeted him when his vision settled down was the last thing he had expected to be confronted with. In front of him, like a vision from his worst nightmare, was his partner. Concern as to how ill she looked was soon wiped from his mind as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, and it took him a few seconds to correctly assimilate the information being fed in to his battered consciousness. He opened his mouth to speak, to question why she was pointing a gun at him. But before the thought could be transformed in to words, the world suddenly became filled with light and sound and an unknown force that sent him spinning off his feet and crashing to the ground. He was only vaguely aware of the pain that accompanied the warm wetness that seeped through his shirt before, merciful nothingness took him away. ******************** Skinner almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the gunshot, and his excellent training immediately identified as it coming from a medium weight automatic weapon, much like the one he himself carried. He remained rooted to the spot, expecting to hear more shots, or at least an accompanying shout of some kind, and a cold sweat broke out on his brow as neither were forthcoming. It could mean one of two things - either Mulder had fired his own weapon at a single perpetrator and had disabled him sufficiently for him not to retaliate, or that the shot had been intended to stop Mulder in his search for Scully. Skinner didn't dwell on this second possibility, and instead took off down the corridor at a sprint, trying to gauge the direction in which the sound had come from. The echoes in the old building did not make his task any easier, but he was fairly confident he was heading in the right direction. He kept his own weapon in front of him, ever alert for unexpected assailants that might be lurking in wait for him in any of the rooms that lined the corridors. He saw no one though, and the only sound that followed him was that of his own footsteps bouncing off the spartan walls. Continued chapter 27/30 Genesis 27/30 Scully slowly lowered the gun and let it fall from her hand on to the floor where it clattered loudly on the linoleum surface. The minute since she had heard the door handle turn had seemed like an eternity. The sight of her partner crashing through the door in front of her had provoked one response and one response only: a fear so intense it had blocked everything out. As she had leveled the weapon at him, an inner voice had screamed at her to reconsider what she was doing. The effects of the drugs though had been too powerful, and she had squeezed the trigger almost against her will, watching as Mulder was thrown backwards with the force of the bullet, waiting for him to get to his feet and at the same time praying that he wouldn't. She had waited for what seemed like hours before she had summoned up the courage to swing her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the sharp pain that tugged at her side as she did so. The canular that was still inserted in to her arm limited her movement, and with a shaking hand, she eased the needle out, ignoring the bright drops of blood that began to drip down her arm, ignoring everything but the sound of Mulder's breath that seemed to fill the silence that enveloped her. Scully frowned as she edged closer to her partner's prone body, and for the first time she realised that the silence that surrounded her was unnatural in view of what had just transpired. The gunshot should have prompted a score of concerned medical personnel, or at the very least the guards that Wickham had assured her were posted outside the door. Instead there was nothing, and despite herself Scully felt a twinge of unease as what she had just done. Mulder lay at her feet, the blood that spilled from the wound rapidly soaking in to the shirt he wore and beginning to pool around his unconscious form. Despite this though, Scully could see immediately that he was still very much alive. Her eyes drifted to the Sig Saur that Mulder still clutched loosely in his hand, unwilling as he had been to release it in the face of such danger. Shakily, Scully bent down to retrieve it, removing the immediate danger she still felt her partner posed to her, but even as she did so she frowned. Something wasn't right. The weapon felt lighter than it should have done, and, as she inspected it more closely, she identified the reason why. The clip, when removed, showed the presence of a mere six bullets and both she and Mulder carried an expanded clip that would hold a maximum of fifteen bullets when fully loaded. Despite the drugs in her system, and the knowledge that her partner had been on the run for over a week, Scully had a hard time reconciling the facts. Only five minutes ago, she had been sure that Mulder had been here to kill her, but if that were the case, then surely he would have not risked coming here so poorly prepared, especially in light of the fact that he must have known of his wanted status? The thought jumped unbidden in to her mind, fleeting and easily ignored, but Scully found she couldn't discount it. She was becoming more and more uneasy regarding her apparent solitude in this vast hospital, a hospital that Wickham had assured her was literally teeming with federal Agents intent on her protection. She shook her head in an effort to exercise her demons, to drive the thoughts from her mind, and carefully knelt down beside her partner, extending a hand towards him fearfully as she sought to find a pulse. She was also surprised to find that finding one seemed like the only important thing in her life right now. The pulse was there, slightly thready, but still strong under her fingers and her doctor's training told her that the bullet had no doubt passed through Mulder's body without hitting any of the major organs. Despite this though, the blood continued to spill from the wound at an alarming rate, and Scully was fairly sure that she had nicked a major blood vessel if not an artery. Suddenly, despite all he had done, Scully realised with absolute clarity, that she did not want her partner to die, not like this. She got to her feet and gazed wildly around the small room, seeking something to press against the wound, to staunch the flow of blood that she had caused, when a voice behind her made her spin around. The injury under her ribs tore as she did so, and she cried out in pain. Walter Skinner stood inside the doorway, his own gun leveled in front of him as he took in the carnage that greeted him. The sight of Mulder was shocking enough, but the look on Scully's face was almost more terrifying. He had never seen her look like that. It was as though she were not in control of her own actions, and when he allowed himself to look in to her eyes he found them to be alarmingly blank, devoid of the emotion that usually sparkled from them. He did not lower the gun. "Agent Scully? What happened here?" Scully frowned at the sight of her superior, and her voice wavered slightly. "He came to kill me." Skinner followed her gaze to where Mulder lay, and he suddenly understood so much as to what had transpired here - who had fired the single shot he had heard and who had been the target. His eyes came to rest on the weapon she still held in her hand, and with a sinking heart he leveled his own gun squarely at the one woman he had come to respect above all others. "Scully, drop the gun." Scully shook her head slowly. "You don't understand, sir. He came to kill me." "Agent Scully, Mulder came here to save you. I came here with him for that very same purpose. Now *drop* the gun." Skinner held his breath as he watched his Agent clearly trying to come to the right decision, and also to fit him in to the picture she had formed in her mind. He was all too aware that every second he wasted was a second wasted that might be getting the medical help that both Agents obviously desperately needed. He had already noticed the blood that was soaking through Scully's flimsy hospital gown and the sweat that beaded her waxen skin. As for Mulder, he had not had any kind of chance to even speculate as to the nature of his injuries, and wouldn't until Scully was disarmed and under control. Finally, to his intense relief, Scully loosened her grip on the gun and allowed it to clatter to the floor, stepping backwards as she did so. Skinner stepped up close to her for the first time since entering the room and gently grasped her elbow, guiding her back to the bed. Before he reached it though, he felt her go limp, and caught her just before her legs gave out. Her eyes fluttered though, and for a moment before she finally lost consciousness, her gaze locked with his and her expression cleared as she whispered a single word to him. It told him all he needed to know. Continued chapter 28/30 Genesis 28/30 Mercy Hospital San Diego, CA. Sunday. Scully lay back against the pillows of the hard hospital issue bed and fought to keep her eyes open. A numbing fatigue had settled over her, and more than anything else she wanted to succumb to it, but she forced herself to stay awake. Since checking in to the hospital three days ago, she had seemed to spend the majority of her time sleeping, and she knew that it was a combination of the light tranquilizers that were being fed in to her system. She now had a good idea as to what had happened to her. She had regained consciousness to find Skinner by her bed, looking more tired and used up than she had ever seen him before. He had filled her in, silently passing her the results of a Toxicology screen that had been run to determine the reasons for her bizarre behaviour. Despite her training, Scully had never encountered a mix of drugs like this, and although most of the separate elements could be identified, some could not. Scully doubted that they ever would. The memories planted in her head were fading, although some re-surfaced in her dreams - dreams that were plagued with the one image she couldn't shake - the sight of her partner laying bleeding on the floor of the room in which she had been betrayed for so long. She had received only sketchy details of his condition, and although she had been assured by Skinner that he would suffer no long term effects from his injury, she could not shake the over whelming sense of guilt at what she had done. Skinner had been supportive, but he was in an awkward position, having as he had to explain how one of his agents had come to shoot her own partner, and Scully knew that the Brass in Washington wanted answers that they just couldn't give them. She needed desperately to see Mulder herself, but Skinner had gently persuaded her that it might not be such a good idea until she was feeling more like herself. Initially, Scully had argued, but had slowly come to realise that Skinner was right. Until her condition was fully understood, and under control, it was best for all concerned if she were segregated from her partner. Scully frowned, she wasn't even sure if she still had a partner. How would they continue to work together after everything that had happened? They had been through a lot together, but she had tried to kill him, and the reasons for it just didn't seem to cut any ice with her anymore. She should have trusted him, and despite the drugs, she should have realised that he would never betray her in the way that had been suggested to her. Her body was healing. The wound had turned out to be nothing more than a surgical incision, designed to reinforce the lies being fed to her. But her mind was taking a little longer as she continued to torture herself as to what she had done and she didn't know whether or not she would ever be able to let the images rest. She wouldn't know until she saw her partner again. His reaction would tell her everything. ******************** 12:47 p.m. "So how are you feeling?" Skinner eyed Mulder suspiciously as the younger man shrugged. "I'm OK, I guess." He narrowed his eyes. "I'd be better if you'd let me see Scully." Skinner shook his head firmly. "Out of the question, Mulder. But we've already been through this, right?" Mulder laughed hollowly. "Yeah, right. You still think my life's in danger if she sees me? C'mon, Skinner. That's bull and you know it. I need to see that she's alright." "She's alright. I want to make sure she *stays* alright." "And you think if she sees me she won't be alright. Is that it?" Skinner looked down at the younger man and frowned. Mulder had, for the last two days, insisted that he was healing rapidly, but the waxen tone of his skin and the Doctor's absolute refusal to let him up out of bed all spoke otherwise. Not to mention the fact that he was suffering from far more than a simple gunshot wound. He could try and hide it as much as he wanted, but Skinner could see it plainly displayed on his face every time the subject came up. It was betrayal. Plain and simple. He had been betrayed in the worst way by the one he trusted the most and until he was given the opportunity he needed, to speak to Scully and see for himself that she was indeed okay, that feeling wouldn't go away. "How is she doing?" he asked Skinner for what seemed like the hundredth time since he had been brought here. Skinner shrugged. "She's still weak. They're keeping her lightly medicated to ensure she gets some rest. She's not sleeping well." "I want to go to her." Mulder reminded Skinner of a petulant child, denied access to a favorite toy. Told over and over that the toy was broken but still wanting it regardless. But right now, it was a risk he wasn't prepared to take. Not until they were both stronger. "No way, Mulder." Mulder closed his eyes briefly, remembering the look on Scully's face as she had leveled her gun at him. The hurt in her eyes as she pulled the trigger. It was all he remembered of that night now. The other memories were sketchy, faded in his mind. But his partner's face was still there. She haunted him every time he relaxed his thoughts. Her bullet had passed straight through him, miraculously missing all his major organs. But the soft tissue damage had been intense and painful. For two days he had floated along on the back of a drug induced haze and, by the time he had regained any semblance of normality, Skinner had effectively taken over the investigation. Investigation was possibly too weak a word now. *Manhunt* would be more accurate as the search for SAC John Wickham intensified. Not surprisingly, they had turned up nothing. Mulder doubted they ever would. In all probability he was already dead because, although Mulder was still slightly unsure as to what had been the purpose of his old Academy buddy's involvement in all of this, he had no doubt that whatever it was, he had failed. Mulder had unique insight into the way these men worked. He doubted that such an failure would be taken lightly. He also knew that Skinner had ordered a full and thorough search of the abandoned medical facility where Scully had been held. That too had turned up nothing. Pramgen Pharmaceuticals had been thoroughly questioned and had remained adamant that the lease on the sanatorium had been made ahead of time in order to acquire the necessary authority from the city planners for a complete renovation of the building. The purpose of which was to eventually turn into a private facility to house patients during drug tests. They had covered themselves well, presenting the necessary documentation when it was requested of them. The organisation was apparently, squeaky clean and above reproach. There had been no trace of the child that Mulder could remember seeing so clearly staring back at him from within the communications room. Skinner had questioned him gently, suggesting that maybe his perceptions had been clouded after everything he had been through. Certainly, the information given to him by Mulder had been sketchy at best as the younger Agent briefly regained consciousness as they waited for the EMT's to arrive, gasping out the words as he struggled against the pain. Similarly, there had been no sign of Christine Stevens. On checking the San Diego database Skinner had discovered that no woman of that name or description had been placed in protective custody within the last month. Mulder had simply nodded when he had been enlightened of this fact. He had obviously been expecting it. Skinner regarded the younger man in front of him worriedly. It had been four days now since the shooting and Mulder still appeared to be extremely ill. It took time to recover, Skinner knew that, but while the younger man was allowing himself to wallow in self-recriminations over what had happened, he was just prolonging the healing process. Just like always, Mulder was blaming himself. Skinner got to his feet. "You need to rest. I'll see you later." He headed for the door, pausing before reaching it. "And Mulder? You get up out of that bed and I'll shoot you myself." Continued chapter 29/30 Genesis 29/30 Mercy Hospital. San Diego, CA Mulder slept. He found himself sleeping at odd times of the day and night, his injury and the pain relief in his system had made staying awake for longer than a few hours at a time an impossible luxury. When he awoke again, he realised that somehow, without his knowledge, night had once again fallen. The lights in his room had been dimmed, a tray with a snack atop it placed by his bed. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Food at the moment held little appeal. Besides which, he had much more pressing matters to attend to. Earlier in the day he had placed a call to Frohike who had ummed and ahhed before finally furnishing him with the information he needed. Mulder had plainly heard the doubt in the little man's voice, but loyalty had finally won over common sense and he had called back ten minutes later with the number. Scully's room number. Mulder eased his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as he did so. The wound was still new enough to make moving around difficult but four days of rest had taken the edge off the burning pain and Mulder decided it was at a manageable enough level for him to be able to do this. He was being foolish, though. He was aware of that. Bed rest meant bed rest. Not gallivanting around the hospital in search of his partner. And as the injury twinged again he knew that in all probability he would pay for this later. But that was okay. It was worth the cost. Being separated from her like this was unthinkable. He couldn't remember a time recently when he had spent so much time away from her. Especially in light of what they had been through over the last couple of years. He had admitted to himself a long time ago that he loved her. On what level, he was less sure of and he didn't question it often. He just accepted it as a part of who they were. And knowing she was here somewhere, hurting as much as he was, almost tore him in two. The enforced separation was far more painful than any physical wound and tonight, now, Mulder aimed to alleviate that pain for the both of them. Without sparing another thought as to the potential consequences, Mulder eased the IV slowly from the back of his hand and gingerly allowed his feet to make contact with the linolium floor beneath him. For just a second his head swam and he stood for a minute, waiting for his vision to clear. He was amazed how easily it was to slip out of the room unnoticed. Just another patient dressed in the anonymous gown and robe taking a walk along the almost empty corridors. And if any of the medical personnel noticed that he walked with a peculiar shambling gait, hand pressed against his side as a support, no one questioned him on it. They all had better things to do it seemed. It wasn't difficult to locate Scully's room. Frohike had given him fairly precise instructions which was fortunate for Mulder, if only for the fact that by the time he reached her door, he was just about ready to collapse. The twinging pain he had experienced when he had first got up out of bed had escalated rapidly into white hot agony as he made himself concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Several times along the way, he had had to stop. To lean against the wall for a moment until the world came back into focus and he was able to carry on. He would have liked to have rested in one of the chairs that lined the corridor walls, but had rapidly nixed the idea, realising that should he succumb, he was unlikely to want to get up again. He stood, indecisive outside the door. Unsure as to whether to knock or to walk right in. The sweat poured off him and he was aware that he had pushed way too hard, perhaps for the first time realising just why he had been confined to his bed. The short trip here had left him exhausted and shaky. A combination of the fatigue and the throbbing pain in his side leaving him feeling nauseous to a point where he was terrified that if he opened his mouth he would throw up. His breathing was shallow but rapid and he was unaware that much of the dizziness he was experiencing was as a direct result of the fact he was now hyperventilating in an effort to temper the pain that washed over him in waves. But he had got this far and was damned if he was about to give up now. So instead, he curled his fingers around the door's handle and turned it slowly, pushing against it as he did so. The first thing he saw when he entered the room was an empty bed, it's coverings rumpled and thrown to one side as though it's occupant had recently awoken and decided to vacate it. The second thing he saw was the figure who stood by the window, silhouetted by the blue moonlight that poured through it. Her arms were folded against her chest, her head tilted to one side as she regarded the stars thoughtfully. She looked so much smaller than he remembered. The fact that her feet were bare against the tiled floor took inches off her usual height. Sometimes he forgot how tiny she really was. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail that just brushed the nape of her neck and Mulder's eyes widened as he caught sight of the piece of medical gauze that covered the area beneath it. All of this information slammed in to his brain within the space of a couple of seconds, and in the meantime, Scully began to turn in response to the sound of the door opening. Her eyes widened when she saw him. The expression in them a combination of concern, surprise and something else that Mulder couldn't quite put his finger on. "Hi." He offered weakly. She took a step towards him then stopped abruptly, her eyes scanning him rapidly. "Mulder, what are you doing here? You shouldn't be out of bed yet." Mulder shrugged, his hand groping for the edge of the door that had begun to swing shut, suddenly needing something to hold on to as the room began to tilt crazily beneath his feet. But his fingers grasped ineffectively at nothing more substantial than fresh air and he gave up, hearing the door click closed behind him. "I needed to see you were okay." Scully's eyes filled with hot tears that closed her throat and made her conscious of the rapid beating of her heart as his whispered words registered. The knowledge that -- even after what she had done to him, how she had hurt him -- his first concern was for her, hurt her more than she could ever tell him. She didn't deserve his understanding. Not now. Not ever. She turned away as the tears began to slide down her face. "I'm fine, Mulder." And then he realised what that undeniable something he had seen in her eyes had been. *Guilt* So much guilt that she couldn't even bear to face him. He forced himself to take a step toward her, conscious of the rigid set of her body as she kept her eyes fixed on the window ahead. He could see his own reflection in it and knew she could too. Just by the way she tensed he knew she could see him advancing toward her. "Scully, please." Somehow he had to get through to her, to make her understand that none of this was her fault, that he didn't blame her even a fraction of how much she apparently blamed herself. She shook her head from side to side, denying his words. Denying him. Her ponytail swayed gently, the bright flash of color discernable even in the half-light. Her voice when it finally reached him was cracked and strained. "Leave me alone, Mulder. You shouldn't be here." And it was enough for him to ignore the pain, to ignore the way her voice seemed to come from far away, to ignore the way the ground was falling away from beneath his feet as he began to bridge the gap between them both. A few feet that suddenly seemed like miles. And he so very nearly made it. He was close enough to touch her gently with his fingertips before he lost the battle with consciousness and began to fall, crumpling to the ground even as she spun around, her face a picture of anger that he had ignored her words. But as he fell, his eyes fixed on her face, he saw her expression subtly change. In the blink of an eye concern flooded her delicate features and she reached out for him, managing to catch him for just long enough to lessen the impact on his battered body as he hit the floor. And somewhere deep inside him as he hovered on the fringes of consciousness he heard her voice, felt her hands come around his back as she knelt beside him, cradling him in her arms as her tears burned his skin. Her words came from far away, but it was enough. Enough for him to finally let go as darkness enveloped him. Continued chapter 30/30 Genesis 30/30 He knew she was there. Before he even opened his eyes he could sense her presence. Watching over him, soothing him with her touch as he fought against the darkness. He could vaguely remember losing consciousness, of falling to the floor even as she tried to support him with her own fragile weight. To lessen the potential injury he might have caused himself. But the pain was still there, escalating with every second he became more aware. But he was no longer in her room. The mattress beneath him was hard and unyielding but a vast improvement to the floor onto which he had crashed. He could hear her breathing beside him, could feel her hand covering his own, her fingers curled around his thumb as she stroked it gently. He would recognise her touch anywhere. Not yet able to open his eyes he squeezed his own fingers in to the back of her hand, rewarded when he heard her voice, drifting towards him like a summer breeze. "Sshhhhh, it's okay. Don't try to move. It's okay." He could hear her tears and the knowledge she was crying was enough to force his eyes open. It took a while for her face to swim into focus. He felt groggy, out of himself somehow. But he silently watched her as a tiny, tremulous smile twitched across her lips. Her blue eyes were clouded with concern, her pale skin streaked with tears she had no doubt shed for him as she watched over him. Waiting for him to awaken and for the first time he was aware of the sunlight that streamed through the gaps in the blinds drawn closed at the windows. He ran his tongue over lips that felt dry and cracked. "What time is it?" he managed finally. Scully shook her head. "It's Tuesday, Mulder." Mulder's mouth dropped open as he attempted to sit up, Scully's hand placed firmly against his chest effectively blocking him. He gave up and dropped his head back down. "Tuesday?" She nodded "*Tuesday?*" He repeated numbly. "But . . ." Scully reached up a shaky hand and smoothed a strand of hair from where it had fallen towards his eyes. Eyes which were now clouded with a combination of confusion and pain. "You've been unconscious for almost two days. When you fell, you opened up the wound. They got you down to surgery in time but you lost a lot of blood." Her eyes shone with fresh tears as her tone hardened slightly. "You almost died, Mulder. How could you be so stupid?" He shrugged, wincing as he did so. "I needed to see you." Scully snatched her hand from his, her anger finally boiling to the surface as she looked down at him. Saw the way he just shrugged off his own well being for the sake of hers. And she was angry, so damn angry she could shake him. "I'm not worth dying for, Mulder. I don't deserve for you to give up your life just because you worry about how I'm feeling. I'm not worth it. No one is." He didn't even flinch as the harshness of her words hit him. Instead he simply shook his head. "You're wrong, Scully." She dropped her gaze from his, her anger evaporating as quickly as it had come. "I almost killed you," she whispered brokenly. "I pointed a gun at you and pulled the trigger without a second thought." She was crying hard now, all pretence at composure abandoned as she choked out the words. Words that had been haunting her since that terrible night and Mulder grasped her arm, feeling the delicate bones beneath his fingers. She had lost weight since he had last seen her. "You didn't kill me, Scully. You couldn't have known what they did to you. We were played - the two of us. You know that. You had no more control over your actions than a pawn in a game. Besides . . ." he grinned crookedly, "we should be thankful your aim was off." Scully didn't return his smile. "Mulder, don't. Don't joke about this. Shout at me, curse at me, hate me even for what I did. But don't reduce it down to something we should just dismiss. Because I can't dismiss it. Every time I close my eyes it's *there*. I can't escape it." Mulder swallowed heavily, feeling his eyes begin to burn with his own unshed tears. "Is that what you believe? That I should hate you? Is that what you really want?" Scully turned her gaze back to him. The sight of him lying there, so pale and tired and used-up brought the guilt sharply back into focus. *She* had done this to him. Because regardless of how much he tried to alleviate her guilt, she knew she was responsible for him being in this bed. For yet another scar left on his body to remind them constantly of what they had gone through. "You should hate me. God knows, I hate myself right now..." Mulder cut her off, raising his voice for the first time and ignoring the pain the added exertion caused him. "Don't lay this at my feet, Scully. If you want to wallow in self-pity, then go right ahead. But don't you expect me to help you justify it. Because I can't. I won't." He paused, taking a deep breath as the pain washed over him once again. "This isn't your fault. None of it." She met his gaze squarely. "Then who's is it, Mulder? If it's not mine, if I'm not *responsible* then who the hell is?" But this time he didn't answer. He simply reached for her, drawing her towards him until she could lay her head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat reverberating in her ears, it's cadence strong and regular. "You hear that?" Mulder whispered, not waiting for her to respond. "That's the only thing on this earth you're responsible for. Because without you it would have been silenced long ago." His voice was hoarse as he battled the tears that threatened to spill over, trying with all his heart and mind to make her understand how much she meant to him. That without her by his side, he would have died years ago. That the thought of losing her scared him so much sometimes that it stole away all rational thought. "Nothing you could ever do will change that, Scully. Nothing." He was rewarded when her arms snaked around him, holding him against her as she listened to the sound of his heartbeat, telling him without words everything he needed to know. Telling him that she understood everything he was trying to say. Telling him that somehow, everything would be alright between them again. Concluded epilogue From ally112038@aol.com Tue Apr 17 22:24:59 2001 Date: 16 Apr 2001 16:24:05 GMT From: Ally112038 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW 'Genesis' By Ally - Epilogue DISCLAIMER - The X-Files remain the sole property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and FOX. No infringement intended. Genesis Epilogue Three weeks later. On Scully's insistence, Mulder had agreed to spend the early part of his first week's release from the hospital safety ensconced in her apartment. He hadn't argued much when she had suggested it, seeing the sense in her words. His recovery had been slow and he was still in the hospital by the time she had been pronounced fit and well and up on her feet. She had left him briefly, attending the OPC review where she had been questioned at length regarding her actions in San Diego. The hearing had dragged on for three days while the medical evidence was discussed at length. She had coped admirably with most of it, but on the second day, when they had begun questioning her relationship with Mulder, she had lost her habitual cool and stormed out of the conference room. Skinner had been sent to retrieve her and had been horrified to find her sobbing against a wall, hands covering her face, so appalled was she that they could even think that her actions had been in any way premeditated or independent from the drugs that had been fed into her system. In fact, she had been almost ready to go back in there and tell them to go to hell. Not a very smart course of action and one which Skinner had managed to talk her out of. And she had managed to make it through the remainder of the hearing with her professional facade firmly back in place. When the verdict had finally come through that no disciplinary action would be forthcoming, he had immediately granted her a leave of absence to recover from the ordeal she had been through. He also recognised her unspoken need to take care of her partner through his recovery. To make amends maybe. And make amends she had. Mulder had been faintly amused by the way she had hovered around him but had played along, knowing that she needed to do this to help heal them both. On the third day, though, he had managed to persuade her to leave the apartment for a while. To go shopping, to go for a walk, to get her nails done. Anything really, to let her escape all this for a while. He was fine. Getting stronger every day and whilst any sudden movement reminded him to take it easy, the pain had all but disappeared and he had managed to get it through to her that he was fine to be left to his own devices for a while. But she hadn't stayed away long. A couple of hours maybe before she was back, face slightly flushed from the sunshine that had caught her pale skin. Immediately she had known something was wrong, had looked at the expression that clouded her partner's pale face and dropped the bags she held in her arms unceremoniously on to the kitchen table. "What?" Mulder had passed her the newspaper that had been delivered shortly after her departure and which he had folded in such a way as to make the article easily discernible from the rest on the crowded confines of page four. *Body of FBI Agent found* The accompanying article spoke of the grim discovery by a guy walking his dog of the 4X4 parked amongst the trees in a wooded area off the beaten track in the Oregon countryside. The decomposing body was still sitting at the wheel of the car. The hose that snaked from the exhaust and into the vehicle had made cause of death a forgone conclusion, although there was no suicide note to be found anywhere. No other suspects were being sought in connection with his death. Special Agent in Charge John Alan Wickham was to be buried with full honors after a small private ceremony confined to members of his immediate family. There was a small accompanying blurb by the article's author on the stresses that law enforcement professionals were forced to deal with on a daily basis and the grim statistics of suicides within the various police agencies. Scully stepped towards Mulder. "Do you believe it?" she asked softly. Mulder shook his head. "Do *you*?" But she didn't need to answer. They both knew that Wickham had failed the men he had pledged his allegiance to. And the cost of that failure had been to die at their hands. Another senseless death to add to the multitudes that these men were responsible for. Scully wondered whether they ever managed to successfully wash the blood from their hands. Did they return to their families at the end of the day and sit amongst them feeling smugly justified in their actions? She didn't even want to contemplate that the answer might be yes. The potential knowledge was just beyond her as a human being. She grasped Mulder's hand, placing the newspaper gently atop the table. Later she would throw it in the trash. But right now, she simply stepped in to his embrace as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. So many deaths. So many lives cut short. But so far they had both been lucky. They were together still. Alive and breathing, listening to the sounds of their heartbeats as they merged into one. And that was enough. It had to be. End Thanks for reading. If the urge takes you and you're at a loose end feedback to Ally112038@aol.com Fic page - http://www.geocities.com/ally_fic/ Thanks go to - Meg and Peggy who as always made all the difference to this process. I could never do it without you guys and even 3000+ miles away you give me such support it's like you're right there with me. :-) Pam - you know I love you. Goes without saying - but NIANCW of course. 'Genesis' came about after a germ of an idea grew in my head and somehow got out of control. It refused to be quiet but now that this thing is finished it's all gone now!