From: TexxasRose <texxrose@flash.net>
Date: Wed, 18 Oct 2000 21:01:20 -0500
Subject: Guarded Secrets 1/2
Source: revision

GUARDED SECRETS
sequel to Verlassen
by TexxasRose
(a.k.a. Laura Castellano)

lauritaC@excite.com

February 17, 1999

Classification: S, A, MSR

Disclaimer: If I owned Fox Mulder I'd keep him much too busy to
solve cases. If I owned Dana Scully she'd be my shopping buddy.
If I owned Kersh I'd use him for target practice.  Who knows what
I'd do with Skinner or the smoking man... However, they all
belong to Chris Carter, and 1013, and Fox Broadcasting, and all
those other lucky entities.

Spoilers: for Fight the Future

MAJOR thanks to my long-suffering beta-reader, Julie, who makes
them intelligible.

Rating: R for language

Archive: No, thank you

Summary: It's been two months since Mulder's return from
Verlassen, and he is almost fully recovered.  Just as things seem
to be working out for the happy couple, danger strikes again from
unexpected sources.

It's strongly recommended that you read Verlassen before this or
you won't know what's going on.

**********

JUNE 14

**********

Only two things in life mattered to Fox Mulder:  freedom, and
Dana Scully. Anything else, including his own existence, he could
take or leave. For months he had been deprived of both, and it
had surprised almost everyone involved--except him, of
course--that he'd come near dying from the loss. Faced with the
prospect of lifelong imprisonment, Mulder had begun to slowly
perish, little by little, both inside and out, his will to live
disappearing along with his prospects of being released and
reunited with the woman he loved. In the end, those who had
exercised the option of locking him away rather than killing him
outright were forced to make a decision. Release him or watch him
die. He had been supremely disinterested in the outcome.  For
reasons known only to himself, the man with whom that decision
rested had chosen to release him--for a price.  That had been two
months ago.

They had been long months.  Now Scully watched him sleeping and
smiled easily. His ribs were no longer prominent, and his face
had at last fleshed out to its former fullness.  She admired his
handsome form, noting the way his arms had regained their shape
and, as she knew, their strength as well.  Mulder was finally, at
long last, back.  Body AND mind.  He'd been taking care of
himself, eating nutritious foods instead of the junk that had
been his steady diet before his abduction, and Scully was proud
of him.  Since their marriage he seemed to take a greater
interest in maintaining his health, and she sometimes thought
that before, when he was alone, he'd considered his own
well-being of little consequence.  She shuddered when she thought
of the times while imprisoned at Verlassen that Mulder had tried
to take his own life--attempts he had only admitted after much
probing by his therapist. She probably wouldn't have known about
any of it if she hadn't practically forced him into the therapy.
She hadn't wanted to nag, but she'd been so frightened for him.
Mulder had insisted that he didn't need it, that he could recover
on his own, but they had been married less than twenty-four hours
when she had realized he might never find his way back without
professional help...

**********

APRIL 6 

**********

"Mulder?"  Scully felt around in the bed for her husband of one
day and was surprised to find an empty space.  It was the first
time they had been out of touching distance since his return--he
had clung to her with a ferocious need that surprised even her,
and at first the idea that he might have been taken from her
again flashed uneasily through her mind. Raising up on her elbow
she scanned the room.  (All right, Dana, people get up at night
all the time to use the bathroom or get a drink of water or just
because they can't sleep.  That fact that he's not here beside
you doesn't mean he's gone.)  The dim light shining through the
open bedroom door relaxed her a bit. Mulder was still here.  He
was simply up and about.  She hoped he hadn't gone out alone at
this time of night.

With a rueful smile and a shake of her head, Scully slid out of
bed, padded into the kitchen and discovered her husband leaning
against the counter, wearing only the boxers he'd been sleeping
in, slowly sipping a glass of orange juice. His eyes roamed the
room constantly, as if searching for something--or someone--and
when he caught sight of her he froze.

After a second Mulder quickly removed the glass from his lips
and, with a guilty look and a swipe of his hand over his mouth,
set it carefully on the counter top.  "I'm sorry," he muttered.
He lowered his gaze, as if afraid to meet hers, and Scully
wondered if, during his captivity, he'd been punished for some
similar action.  Mulder hadn't yet gotten accustomed to the idea
of autonomy. He was constantly asking her permission to leave a
room, go to the bathroom, or go outside.  Meals were left to her
discretion, as if he had neither the right nor the ability to
make himself something to eat, and she wondered how long he'd go
without food if she didn't mention it. Sneaking out at night to
get a drink was, apparently, something he rarely indulged in.
His look of fear at being caught in the act was one she'd not
quite grown used to.  He'd told her repeatedly that he had been
well-treated, but there definitely hadn't been a kitchen in that
small apartment they'd had him locked in, and she doubted that
midnight snacks were on his daily schedule.

Partly to put him at ease, but mostly to make that awful
expression leave his eyes, she reached into the refrigerator and
extracted a carton of milk. "Hungry, Mulder?" she asked, forcing
herself to sound casual.

Mulder watched her warily for a few seconds, and then seemed to
realize how bizarre his own reaction was.  A look of
embarrassment crept over his features, and he rubbed his face
with both hands for a moment as if to hide from her.

"Sorry, Scully," he mumbled sheepishly from behind his shield.
"For a minute there I thought you were going to threaten to tie
me to the bed."

Scully stared, the obvious sexual comment driven far from her
mind by his haunted look.  At any other time this would be
innuendo. At any other time this would be a joke, his gentle
poking of fun at her more staid attitudes.  With a feeling of
regret tinged with real anger, Scully realized that this time
Mulder was totally serious.

"Did--did they tie you to your bed, Mulder?" she asked
hesitantly, afraid to say anything that might cause an unpleasant
memory for him--but avoiding that was impossible, wasn't it?  His
entire mind was chock-full of unpleasant memories now, it was all
he had of the last seven months, courtesy of the man who had
insisted Mulder be kept alive but locked away in order to protect
his secret.

Mulder closed his eyes for a second, retreating somewhere deep
within, and then forced himself back to the present.  "Only
once," he said softly in answer to her tentative question. "But
the threat was there. I learned to behave."  He laughed shortly.
"Can you believe that, Scully? Me, being a good boy?"

His desperate grin revealed how hard he was trying to cover his
nervousness with his usual self-deprecating humor, but it was too
late to salvage the moment. He was slipping into it again...his
eyes darting frantically around the kitchen, seeking out a
window, a doorway, freedom...slipping into IT. The Zone.  The Bad
Place, or whichever of a hundred other names they wanted to call
it.  In his mind, in this place, Mulder was still a captive.
Almost before she'd realized it was happening, he was pushing
past her and practically racing into the bedroom, murmuring
urgently, "I've got to get out of here."

Scully sighed, put the milk away and quickly followed him. They'd
played this scene a dozen times in the last few days.  He would
be fine, often for hours on end, and then suddenly that feeling
of panic would overtake him and he would flee.  Mulder had never
coped well with being shut in, unable to come and go at will, but
since his release from confinement he'd attained a level of
claustrophobia that she'd never envisioned.  Scully had known
people with this problem before, even dealt with a touch of it
herself on occasion.  Most of the time they were fine in their
own environments--homes, offices, etc.  It was only when they
were thrust into elevators, crowded stores, overly noisy,
populous parties, or something such as the stereotypical 'small
closet' situation that a problem developed. Mulder, on the other
hand, (the Mulder of today anyway, not the Mulder of before) was
likely to go off in completely unpredictable scenarios, those
sometimes no more threatening than sitting on the couch talking
with his wife.

Scully found herself hating the people who had done this to him.

When she entered their bedroom she discovered him throwing on the
clothing he'd removed before climbing into bed that night,
hastily buttoning his jeans and pulling a shirt over his head.
"Mulder," she ventured.  "It's the middle of the night."

He gave a weak grin and sat down to tie his shoes. "What?  Is
there a curfew now?"

She shook her head impatiently.  "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," he mumbled into his shoelaces, distressed by his
own sudden, desperate need but feeling forced to give in to it.
"I just have to get out."  Looking up at her, standing, he
reached out for her. "Please try to understand, Scully."

She let him fold her into his embrace, then pulled back and
reached for her own discarded clothes, sliding her legs easily
into the pants.  He watched her for a moment, his face
inscrutable.

"You don't have to come with me," he began, but she smiled at him
and he stopped, finding he was still amazed that she was there
with him, and that he had an actual, real, legal and moral claim
on her.

"I want to," she said, and took his hand as they left the
bedroom.  He squeezed the wedding ring on her finger briefly, as
if to assure himself that she did indeed belong to him, and
allowed her to lead him out of the apartment.

They walked quickly through the hallway and down the stairs,
Mulder beginning to press ahead a little.  He glanced hurriedly
over his shoulder a time or two, and Scully was struck with the
thought that he was not looking to see if she was keeping up with
him, he was not looking at her at all--no, Mulder was making sure
nobody was following who might try to stop him.

They reached the ground floor and he pushed out the front door of
the building almost fearfully, then stopped short. She gave him a
puzzled look and stepped out beside him.  A light rain was
falling, almost a mist, and it clung to her skin like the
whisper-soft kiss of a tender lover. Scully looked up at Mulder,
expecting to see wonder and joy on his face, and was astonished
to find a look there that she didn't recognize.  If she hadn't
known him better, known how out of character such a thing would
be for Mulder, Scully would have said it was an expression of
utter defeat. Dejectedly he turned as if to walk back inside, and
with a sudden rush of insight she understood. He thought his
freedom was going to be curtailed now by the weather.  Instantly
Scully decided she wasn't going to let a little moisture in the
atmosphere make him look like that.

"Hey," she said softly, catching at his hand again.  "Want to
take a walk in the rain with your wife?"

He paused, unsure.  "You mean--you'll let me stay outside?" he
asked hesitantly.

She shrugged.  "Your decision.  What do you want to do?" she
asked him seriously, staring into his eyes and waiting for his
answer.

He didn't have to think twice.  "I want to walk.  But Scully, I
don't want you to get sick or anything..."

She slipped an arm around his waist, tugging gently on him, and
they started off down the sidewalk.   "Come on, Mulder, it's
barely misting." When he still seemed doubtful she reassured him,
"I won't stay out long enough to catch anything, all right?  How
about if we just walk around the block, will that give you what
you need?"

"That should do it," he nodded and they started off.  They were
almost to the end of the block when he stopped and pulled her
into his arms for a completely unexpected, passionate kiss.  "YOU
are what I need, do you know that?" he asked vehemently. "All
that time I was locked away I needed freedom, but most of all I
needed you."  His arms around her were strong and unyielding, and
she snuggled closer to him happily, reveling in their protection.
She knew that Mulder would die before he let her go again, and it
was a comforting knowledge.

Scully wondered how to tell him of the agonies she had gone
through while he was away. Wanting and waiting for him to come
home; knowing how miserable every waking moment of life was; how
it had almost ripped her heart in two to walk away from him that
day, leaving him in hell and knowing she couldn't rescue him from
it. Finally she looked up at him and said simply, "I needed you,
too."

Her words were cut off as his mouth descended on hers again, and
this time his hands were all over her, uncontrollable, and his
kiss left her breathless.  He was turning wild again and Scully
knew that had they been inside, he would have had her out of her
clothes in three seconds flat.  She shivered, wondering if his
lovemaking would always be this excitingly animalistic or if it
would tame once he grew accustomed to having her.  She fervently
hoped for the former.

Clinging to him, Scully wished suddenly that they had never left
the safety of their bedroom.  He seemed to have the same thought
at the same moment, and when he growled in her ear, "Home. Now."
she nodded in blessed relief and pulled him back toward the
building they had left only moments before...

**********

JUNE 14 

**********

...She finally managed to convince him to seek the professional
help which had forced him to face the ordeal he'd been trying to
forget. Some sessions the therapist had wanted her to sit in on,
and some Mulder had told her about later when he'd felt more
confident discussing the experience. He had glossed over the
suicide attempts, but Scully knew Mulder and his tenacity of
life.  If he'd been pushed to the point of wanting to do himself
in, it had been bad--worse than she could imagine.  She tried to
picture herself locked away, day after day, her entire world
consisting of three small rooms and the view of an ocean that did
nothing but torture her by its proximity and unreachability, and
found herself unable to even comprehend what confinement must
have been like for Mulder, a man who thrived on freedom and the
outdoors.

Scully had always been a bit of a homebody, content to stay in
her own apartment on her days off, bemoaning the necessary
errands she'd been forced to run.  Mulder was just the opposite.
He could stay at home for a little while, and then he had to get
out--to run, to work, to pursue an investigation on his own time,
to visit friends, to visit her--he just couldn't stay shut up
inside. She'd seen it get to him time and again when they were
cooped up in the office with no active cases pending. Those were
the days his pacing and fidgeting drove her crazy. Those were the
days she was tempted to handcuff him to his chair. Those were
also the days he insisted on taking her out to lunch, even if it
meant he had to buy in order to coerce her away from the yogurt
and fruit she'd brought from home.  Anything, whatever it would
take, just to get out.

Then they'd taken him to Verlassen where he hadn't been able to
get out for weeks and weeks that had finally turned into months,
stretching on into what looked like forever. She shook her head
sadly at the thought. No wonder Mulder had wanted to kill
himself. He had come to believe that his captivity was permanent,
and those holding him had been able to give him no definite
answer to the contrary.  They'd have kept him there for the rest
of his life if it meant their project would be safe, if only
Mulder's depression hadn't brought him to the point of simply
willing himself to die. Scully had tried to tell the man who
acted as her informant, bringing her occasional news of Mulder,
that her partner couldn't live indefinitely in a prison but no
one had seemed to believe it until they'd seen it with their own
eyes.  For whatever reason, they didn't mind the idea of keeping
Mulder locked away for years and years and years, but they didn't
want to be responsible for his death.

Scully still didn't know what it had cost Mulder to obtain his
release, and she had all but resigned herself to the idea that
she never would...

**********

APRIL 14 

**********

...Scully raised up on one arm and regarded her sleeping husband.
Even now, two weeks after his return, he was still so incredibly
thin.  His facial bones were more prominent than she had ever
seen them, and she knew that underneath the sheet his ribs were
countable.  His skin was a milky white color that looked out of
place on the usually-tanned Mulder, and even now his eyes were
only just beginning to regain some of their former brightness.
She smiled fondly. In spite of all that, he was still the most
beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

In all the months without Mulder, Scully had found herself
playing scenes over and over in her mind like endlessly looping
videos, and berating herself for always being the cautious one.
And what, she had to ask herself, had her caution been for?  The
truth that she'd finally admitted was that she'd been afraid. The
fact of their love changed everything, changed it irrevocably,
and Scully hated change.  They had such an easy, comfortable
friendship, such an intuitive partnership, they already had so
much more than most couples--why risk it all for physical
intimacy?  Her analytical mind kept telling her that what they
had was enough, and it had almost convinced her heart it was the
truth, until the day, believing he was about to lose her, Mulder
had raised the stakes.

He'd almost kissed her.  He'd intended to kiss her and would have
completed the act had that freeloading bee not intervened. And as
she had stood there in his hallway, watching his lips draw slowly
closer to hers, Scully had known that what they had wasn't
enough, and never would be again from that day forward. This was
a chance to have more, to change the face and nature of their
relationship, and her heart had been singing to her that this was
one change she would welcome.  Scully hadn't fully realized how
deeply she had repressed the longing, the needing, the WANTING
Mulder until his hands had cupped her face and she'd seen a look
of pure, smoldering desire in his wonderful eyes.  Scully knew
she would always be able to pinpoint that particular moment in
time as the one in which they confessed their love, even though
no words were spoken. Then, since after all it was Mulder she was
dealing with, all hell had broken loose and the moment had been
lost.

The very fact that he had gone to the ends of the earth to rescue
her told her how deep his commitment was, but by the time they
had made their way home, recovered from their respective injuries
and returned to work things had changed again.  Diana was back,
the X-Files were still forbidden, and they had both had a chance
to push those feelings back down where they'd been storing them
for years.  The opportunity to grab their chance at happiness was
past.

Scully knew that had she given him any encouragement when they
returned from Antarctica, Mulder would have responded willingly
and wholeheartedly.  She had always been the one to set the
timetable for their relationship, both of them seeming to have an
unspoken acceptance of the knowledge that Mulder ached to consume
all of her but would be content with whatever pieces of herself
she felt comfortable giving. He had silently handed her his heart
in its entirety long ago, and she had been overwhelmed, unable to
reciprocate fully although they had both understood at the time
that her eventual, total capitulation was inevitable.

In short, Scully had known for a long time that Mulder loved her,
but she had never guessed the depths of his passion for her--just
as she had known that she loved him but never realized the
strength of her need for him. She was never one to rush into
anything, and even with the life-and-death situations the two of
them had encountered, Scully had always believed that they had
time.  Time to explore their feelings slowly, nuance by nuance,
without rushing headlong into the whirlwind that was their
declared love for one another.  After his abduction she
understood how foolish she had been.

There was no time.  There was never time.  Time was an illusion.

She had a sudden impulse to wake him with a kiss and, resolutely
thrusting away her natural hesitancy (shouldn't disturb him, he
needs his rest) she decided to surrender to her spontaneity.  No
more wasting of that time that was so precious.

Her lips on his woke him instantly, and with a small murmur of
surprise he reached out and drew her into his arms. He held her
tightly, as always, as if to keep her from slipping away again,
and Scully felt herself crushed to his undernourished body as
though she were a quintessential part of his being.  His hands
stroked softly over her back as his desire pressed into her
thigh. There was no question that they would make love now, only
whether it would be the tender give-and-take that they sometimes
shared or the fierce, untamed possession of her that he usually
seemed to need. He caressed her face and she sank into him,
always willing to be whatever he needed from now on, no matter
the cost to herself.  Tender expression won out, and when they
were both completely sated she sighed in contentment and cuddled
close to him. Still sometimes, when she opened her eyes, she
expected to find him gone.

A thought occurred to her that had been playing in her mind for
some days now, and she hoped that with their newfound closeness
she would be able to find the answers that had niggled at her
consciousness. Mulder was a noble man, a righteous man, but he
was still only a man, one who had stood on the brink of despair
and been pushed over, and because of that Scully needed to know.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" he questioned lazily, running his fingers absently through
her silky hair.

"Why did they let you go?"

He froze, and when she raised her head she saw him staring grimly
at the ceiling, his face a mask.

"Why, Mulder?" she asked again, and knew with a cold realization
that her suspicions had been correct--there had been a deal made,
promises exchanged. What essential part of himself had Mulder
been desperate enough to sacrifice...?

**********

JUNE 14 

**********

Mulder opened his eyes and gazed up into the beautiful face of
his wife and for the thousandth time thanked the heavens for her.
Her face broke into the smile that always melted him, and he
reached for her, pulling her down to lie on his chest.

"And what are YOU lookin' at?" he asked playfully, his hands
finding her hair. Mulder loved Scully's hair.  Not just the color
of it, but the softness, the feel of it slipping between his
fingers.  Now that he had the right to touch it whenever he felt
the urge, he found he couldn't get enough.

She shrugged.  "Nothing much.  Just the most gorgeous, sexy man
I've ever seen," she responded, reaching up to kiss him.

"Mmmm...better than Hunt?" he asked when she released his lips.
Allen Hunt. The partner Scully had been paired with in his
absence.  Mulder had met him on several occasions; he'd hated the
man instantly.  It hadn't seemed to occur to Hunt, when Scully
introduced Mulder as her husband, that this meant he shouldn't be
touching her so proprietarily--it was as if Hunt thought he had
some sort of claim on her person.  Mulder would bet that the
bastard wouldn't hesitate to take Scully to bed, wedding ring be
damned, had she given him any encouragement.

"Well, Allen was okay while you were gone, but now that you're
back--hey!" she squealed when he rolled her over and pinned her
to the mattress.

"Is that right?" he asked with an evil grin, holding her small
wrists together with one hand while the other slid slowly down to
her waist. He ignored her kicking legs and as she fought to
escape his tormenting fingers he began tickling her mercilessly.

"Allen was all right while I was gone, was he?  All right at
what?"

"Nothing!" she howled, tears of laughter streaming down her face.
She squirmed helplessly beneath him and Mulder found himself
becoming incredibly aroused as her body rubbed against his.  "He
was nothing!"

"Was he better at solving cases?" he inquired, his fingers
finding her ribs and digging gently between them, sending her
into paroxysms of screaming laughter.

"No!"

His grin grew wider.  "Was he better at making your coffee?"

"No! Mulder, stop!" she demanded, and his hands stilled
immediately.  The memory of being held immobile while someone
else tortured his body was as fresh as the day it had happened
all those months ago, and Mulder had no intention of letting a
playful game with his wife turn into something he would regret
later.

Scully looked up at him trustingly, understanding in her eyes,
and he couldn't resist taking advantage of his position.  He slid
his fingers again through that hair that he loved, holding her
head gently in place beneath him. Her lips were the softest,
sweetest thing he had ever felt, and as he took them Mulder felt
himself drowning in her as he did every time they lay like this,
bodies pressed against one another.

"Was he better at this?" he murmured, nuzzling her neck and
trailing his tongue slowly toward her ear.  Ears were Scully's
thing, he had discovered early in their intimate relationship,
and he never tired of his ability to drive her wild with so
little effort.  As she sighed and whimpered beneath him he knew
it was already working.

"Hmm?  Who?  Oh God, Mulder--" she gasped, her arms gripping him
firmly around the waist and her hands caressing his back and down
the gentle slope of his behind.  She pressed him downward and he
could feel her soft heat against his hardness.

"Mulder, please, I need you now--" she whispered against him, and
he found he couldn't tease her any longer. What Scully wanted,
Scully got. It would always be that way with them, he knew.  No
holding back, no lies, no secrets.  Except those she was willing
to allow...

**********

APRIL 14 

**********

...He closed his eyes briefly and lay for a minute in quiet
anguish at her question. He had known that sooner or later it
would come to this and she would demand to know.  Mulder had
already made his decision--Scully must never learn the terms of
the agreement he had made with the smoker. If she were to
discover that her life was, quite literally from that day
forward, in his hands...how would she ever be able to trust him
again? How could she be honest with him, disagree with him, argue
with him, even fight with him--how could she continue to be the
Scully he loved if she knew that he had the power to end her life
horribly, simply by revealing his knowledge?

Mulder knew that he had proven time and again that he would
always protect her, cover her, watch out for her, and sacrifice
himself for her.  He also knew that having this level of power
over her--even though using it against her would be the
antithesis of his being--could foster in her a subconscious fear
that would manifest itself in ways that might eventually destroy
their marriage. Therefore, in order to protect a relationship
that was based on honesty and trust, Mulder did the only thing he
felt he could do.  He lied.

"They knew I was dying," he explained slowly.  "I'm not sure what
Cancerman's reason was for wanting me kept alive, but he realized
that I couldn't survive if he didn't let me go."  The smoking
man's possible reasons for wanting him kept alive had haunted
Mulder.  He remembered the man's final words to him, remembered
the casual 'As soon as you're strong enough, Son,' that had been
thrown at him.  It hadn't been until hours later that Mulder had
realized the implications of that simple statement, and he had
fought hard not to let the idea demoralize him. He'd reminded
himself repeatedly that nothing that man said could be trusted.
Now he found himself uncomfortably wondering just exactly who he
was.

He had, in fact, confronted his mother with this very question
some time ago, and had received unsatisfactory answers and a slap
in the face for his impertinence.  After the sting of her hand on
his face had faded but the ache in his heart had not, Mulder had
eventually decided to have faith in his parents, if only for his
own peace of mind. Until he was shown irrefutable proof he
refused to believe his horrible suspicions could be the truth.
Bill Mulder may not have been anyone's idea of Father of the
Year, but he would never have cruelly teased, tormented and
tortured his son the way this man had done for so long.  He was
more likely to ignore him altogether. There was no question that
the man had been closely involved with the Mulder family at one
time, but there was absolutely no evidence, no reliable evidence
anyway, to indicate that he was anything more than a family
friend. Besides, Mulder found the idea of his mother having an
affair too repugnant to dwell upon.  As far as he was concerned,
until he could no longer deny it, it simply had not happened.

Now he wondered how much longer he could continue to deny.

Scully lightly rubbed his fingers, still tangled in her hair. "It
seems strange to me that he would suddenly release you after
keeping you captive all those months," she observed, and he'd
known even then that she wasn't fooled. "He was afraid that you
would tell what you know.  Why isn't he afraid of that now?"

"Because I promised him I wouldn't," he told her, unable to meet
her eyes.

"And he believed you. Just like that."  He made a small noise of
assent, and she reached over to take his chin in her hands,
gently turning him toward her, forcing him to face her.  "Mulder,
you have to trust me," she said softly.  "I know there's
something more involved here.  Can't you tell me what it's
about?"

When her gentle voice washed over him he knew he was lost.  He
had no choice now but to reveal everything or obtain her
permission to keep it a secret. If she insisted, he would be
forced to talk.

"You're right," he finally confessed.  "There was something else
I promised him, but Scully--I really don't want to talk about it.
It wasn't anything I can't live with.  It was just a small
agreement between us, nothing really."  Please, his eyes begged,
don't make me tell you...

**********

JUNE 14 

**********

...She knew that he adored her.  She knew she could trust him.
She knew he would never, never do anything to hurt her, no matter
what.  The thing that troubled her the most was that he might, in
his zeal to protect her, hurt or endanger himself in some way. He
would willingly walk back into his luxurious cell at Verlassen if
it meant she would be protected.  Scully knew, beyond any doubt,
that she had been used in some way as leverage against Mulder.
Some threat or promise concerning her well-being had been made to
him--something they could be certain would prevent him telling
what he knew, for they couldn't afford to take any risk.
Therefore, whatever bargain they had made with him was absolute.
Scully lay there, content in her husband's arms, and wondered
again how long their peace together could last. Sooner or later,
she was afraid, whatever sacrifice of his soul he had made to
Cancerman would come back to haunt him.  She only prayed it would
not tear them apart...

**********

APRIL 14 

**********

...She could see it in his face--his promise had something to do
with her and he didn't want her to know.

Scully briefly considered pressuring him to reveal it to her, but
his bottomless eyes prevented her, the haunted grey-green of
them, only now starting to regain a hint of their former sparkle.
She felt the loss of his eyes deeply. Everyone in his life, they
reminded her, for the last seven months had taken every choice
and every decision and all power from him. How could she become
one of them?  He was silently asking her for control of this,
requesting her permission to keep his secret. She rested her
forehead on his arm wearily for a second, feeling his tight
breathing as he waited for her answer, knowing if she insisted,
he could refuse her nothing. Finally she raised her face to his
and nodded, and felt him noticeably relax as she gave him the
trust he needed. She knew that someday this secret of his would
be revealed to her, maybe when they were old and tired together
and his eyes had become their natural, beautiful hazel again, but
for now she bowed to the greyness.

**********

JUNE 14 

**********

...At long last, today he was going back to work.  Not just any
work, either. Real work.  HIS work.  And Scully would be beside
him, in life as well as in work, where she belonged.  Mulder
didn't know how the smoking man had managed to arrange it, and he
certainly didn't know why--wasn't sure he wanted to know--but
today he would take his old place as head of the X-Files
division, and Scully would resume hers as his partner. In spite
of rules, either written or unwritten. People would gossip, of
that Mulder was sure, but then they always had, hadn't they? At
least now when people called her 'Mrs. Spooky' it would be
accurate, he thought with a smile as he released her and watched
her make for the shower.

He looked around the room, amazed at what Scully had been able to
do with it in such a short time.  They had only had the house for
three weeks and she had already managed to make it into a home.
When he'd first broached the subject of them buying a house
together, starting anew to mark the beginning of their
relationship (not to mention the fact that things were getting
quite a bit cramped at his apartment and wouldn't be much better
in hers), Scully had been uncertain. He didn't even have a job at
the time, and she had depleted her savings by continuing to pay
his rent, utility and credit card bills while he'd been away. She
agreed that buying a house was a good idea, but informed him
doubtfully that she was afraid they wouldn't be able to get a
loan. Mortgage companies were becoming stricter all the time, and
at first glance they didn't really look like a good risk, in her
opinion.

Mulder had reminded her that both of them had excellent credit
ratings, and then had gently broken the news about his
inheritance to her.  Money had been left to him, he explained, by
his grandparents as well as his father, and he had tucked it
away, not wanting to dip into it except on occasions where the
circumstances seemed to warrant it.  A down payment on a new car,
for instance, or to buy himself a really nice suit--one of his
admitted weaknesses.  He wanted to live on his own nickel as much
as possible, he told her, but at the same time he wasn't foolish,
and he certainly didn't intend to live in poverty or drive a
junker while he had money in the bank.  He didn't tell Scully
this, but he also had held onto the bulk of his inheritance in
anticipation of needing it to take care of his mother in her
advanced years.  While that could still be a consideration in the
future, he told himself that now he also had a wife to think of.
Scully deserved the best, and she was going to have it. So,
combining her salary with what Scully called his 'magic bank
account', they had been able to buy a nice house in a decent
neighborhood, and had gone about setting up housekeeping
immediately.

Finding just the perfect home had taken more than two weeks--and
they had been very busy weeks, with Mulder checking out literally
dozens of houses while she was at work and taking her along later
to see anything he thought was promising.  At first he hadn't
been able to impress upon his real-estate agent the importance of
finding a house with many, preferable very large windows, but
eventually she had caught on.  The first few she had taken him to
had windows with small panes of glass separated by wood, an
uncomfortable reminder of steel bars. He was determined not to
sink his money into a place that made him think of Verlassen in
any way and so, no matter how suitable they might be otherwise,
Mulder had rejected those homes out-of-hand. Finally Mrs. Andrews
had understood that he didn't want to feel penned-in, although
Mulder hadn't elaborated, and she began showing him places with
spacious rooms and many windows.

The house they'd finally settled on had four bedrooms--a little
large, he agreed, for a couple unable to bear children, but
Mulder had reminded Scully that he wanted his own office, and she
might like a room of her own to use as she saw fit as well.  They
would, of course, share the master bedroom, and that left one to
fix up as a guest room.  There was a small, formal living room
with an enormous picture window that Mulder adored, a larger
family room, a cozy kitchen with a well-lit eating area, and a
good-sized separate dining room.  A laundry room and
two-and-a-half baths completed the house, and Mulder was entirely
satisfied with their new home.  Very well-lit.  Windows
everywhere.  Big ones.

The first thing Scully had done was hang curtains at all the
windows, telling him she hated the idea that the neighbors could
look into their house at night when the lights were on, and
Mulder allowed the closed curtains after dark to make her happy.
Once the sun was up, however, he engaged in his morning ritual of
opening them at every window, and in a way it broke Scully's
heart to see him.  When she closed them in the evenings, she
tried to do it as unobtrusively as possible.

If the weather was cooperative they often spent the evening
outside anyway--at least part of it. They had a large patio off
the kitchen, and it was a good place to sit and talk over their
day, have a cool drink, and just enjoy being together.  They had
nice neighbors who would occasionally visit over the fence with
them, and all-in-all, life was good.  Mulder often shook his head
in amazement at the seeming normalcy of it, and wondered when the
other foot would fall...


**********

APRIL 7 

**********

"Mulder, I absolutely have to go back to work today.  Allen's
getting really suspicious and if I don't show up soon he's liable
to call out the troops.  Besides, sooner or later we're going to
have to break the news to everyone about our marriage." Scully
looked at him in the bathroom mirror.  He had come up from behind
and put his arms around her, and now she melted back into his
embrace, sadly acknowledging the fact that they didn't have time
for anything more.  What she'd like to do to Mulder right now...
She'd seen a look of insecurity cross his face when she'd
mentioned her new partner, and it was all she could do to keep
from dragging her husband back into the bedroom in order to prove
to him exactly which of the two men would be on her mind today.
Sighing, she straightened up and reached for her clothes.  She
had to get dressed, she had to go to work, and she had to earn a
living.  One of them had to have a steady paycheck.  Two days
after their marriage, and already reality had to be dealt with.

Neither Scully nor Mulder knew what was going to happen as far as
Mulder's further employment.  She'd told him about the forged
letter of resignation that Kersh had shown her, and he'd been
predictably upset, but they both knew at this point Mulder wasn't
able to work anyway. Not when he still had to jump up and rush
outside fifteen times per day just to prove to himself that he
could.

Mulder, on the other hand, didn't want to explain to Scully that
the smoking man had told him he'd get it all back--his job, her,
the X-files--as soon as he was fit to return.  He was certain any
conversation like that would lead to more questions about the
deal he'd made to get himself released, and he wanted to avoid
that topic altogether.

With a tender caress to his cheek, Scully released herself from
his arms and went into the bedroom to finish dressing.  Mulder
followed her, of course, flopping himself down on the bed
pathetically.

"What am I supposed to do with myself all day while you're off
chasing the bad guys with Hunt?" he mumbled, and she smiled at
his obvious jealousy.

"Sleep, eat, and walk," she told him.  "Work on making yourself
healthy again, work on convincing yourself that you're a free,
autonomous man again.  The sooner you're able to pull yourself
together the sooner we can see about trying to get your job
back."

"I can think of better types of exercise than walking," he
reminded her as he watched her brush her hair. She sat down
beside him on the bed and he reached up to stroke it now,
enjoying the way it fell softly back into place as it left his
hands.  "More fun, anyway."

Scully smiled and bent down to place a kiss on his lips.  "I'll
try to be home early," she told him. "We need to go over to my
place tonight and pick up some of my things.  I do believe it's
time for us to choose a permanent residence."

He regarded her seriously for a moment.  "Maybe we should look
into buying a house," he said.

She stared.  It hadn't occurred to her.  They'd been staying at
his apartment since his return, because Scully wanted him to be
around familiar settings as much as possible, but running
constantly over to her place to pick up clothes and feed the fish
was becoming a chore. She realized she had unconsciously assumed
they would move into her apartment once things settled down,
simply because it was larger, but now she found the idea of a new
house appealing to her.  New beginnings.  Something that belonged
to both of them, together.  It sounded better all the time...

**********

JUNE 14 

**********

...And it was better.  They were happier, if that were possible,
in their new home, and they couldn't get enough of each other's
company. Three or four days a week Mulder would arrive at the
Hoover building to take Scully out to lunch, ignoring the looks
of venom that he would receive from Hunt.  He simply put his hand
in its customary place at the small of her back and guided his
wife out of the room as her partner (soon to be ex-partner,
Mulder hoped) glared at them and she looked up at her husband
adoringly, something completely out of character for her. Mulder
relished those moments, even though he suspected Scully was
playing the worshipful wife role to the hilt in order to massage
his ego.  He wasn't proud, he'd take what he could get.  He'd
been jealous of Hunt at first, unreasonably so, Mulder knew, but
still--it was there. Scully had taken great pains to remind him
on those occasions how stupid he was being, and her efforts
usually landed them in the bedroom, a situation which Mulder
could not bring himself to resent.

Now, lying here in their bed, he stretched, yawned, and
deliberately prevented himself thinking of Scully taking her
shower all alone.  If he joined her they would be late, and they
were due in Skinner's office at 9:30 sharp.  Which would just
give them time to settle back into their old, but newly
remodeled, office.  Mulder hadn't asked where Spender and Diana
had been reassigned.  He really didn't want to know.  He didn't
even care.  As long as they weren't interfering in his life any
longer, they could be in heaven or hell for all it concerned him.
He supposed he could have asked the smoking man that question,
but he didn't want to delve too deeply into those topics.  He'd
all but decided the promise of his work was a lie when, to his
shock and slight dismay, the man had paid him a visit on Scully's
second day back at work...

**********

APRIL 8 

**********

...Mulder stretched himself out fully on the bed and lay there,
postponing opening his eyes for another few minutes. What was
there to open them to except another day of steel bars and
captivity, another--his eyes flew open suddenly as he realized
that there was noise coming from his bathroom.  Who was taking a
shower?  Martin? George?  Why?

When his gaze fell on the window beside the bed he inhaled
sharply and blew out a long sigh of relief. Clear glass. Even
after six days of freedom he still found himself expecting to see
bars at every window.  Raising to a sitting position he looked
around his bedroom with something akin to delight.  It was small,
it was cramped, it was messy--and it was HIS. And most
importantly, he could leave it at will.

The sound of water running ceased and Mulder heard the noise of
the shower curtain being drawn back.  Scully. His salvation.  His
wife.  Sweet Jesus, she was finally his wife. It was a fact his
heart and mind still balked at accepting, for deliriously happy
things did not happen in the life of Fox Mulder.

They had been married three days earlier, privately, in the
presence of witnesses they had never met, by a Justice of the
Peace whose name Mulder had already forgotten.

When he'd asked Scully to marry him, quite on the spur of the
moment in a desperate attempt to ensure that she was never parted
from him again, he had been more than surprised to hear her
agree.  All the same, Mulder had expected their engagement to
last for months--he was unwilling to saddle her with a husband
who had no job and no options and who was, in his own opinion,
incredibly messed up from the ordeal he had just endured. Scully
had other ideas.  She insisted that they proceed with the
marriage as quickly as possible, telling nobody their plan until
it was completed.  It occurred to Mulder now that Scully had been
as anxious to attach them permanently to each other as he had
been, and this was her way of making certain she never lost him
again.  She simply wasn't going to give him a chance to back out,
or allow anyone to try and talk them out of it.  She hadn't even
told her mother yet.

It had been a simple matter to reclaim his legal identification.
The only really important things that had been destroyed by his
captors were his driver's license and his Visa card, both of
which had been tucked away in his wallet. His Social Security
card, birth certificate, F.B.I. identification--all of those been
left in his apartment when he'd been abducted.  He simply claimed
that his wallet had been stolen--not a lie, it had been taken
from him without his consent--and they'd replaced his stuff
without question. Which had made obtaining the marriage license a
piece of cake.

The two of them had been together for the entire six days since
he'd been returned, spending most of their time in bed, either
making love or just talking, catching up.  Occasionally they
would get dressed and go for long walks, because Mulder couldn't
seem to get enough of the outdoors.  The doors in his apartment
stood open at all times now, and it was all Scully could do to
convince him that leaving the front door open simply wasn't safe.
They went for drives, and Mulder would open the car window and
allow the wind to blow through his hair, turning his face toward
it and inhaling deeply, much like a contented puppy. She drove,
because he wasn't ready to tackle that just yet.

Easing back into life would be slow, but it could be done. Mulder
was determined to avoid formal therapy, a decision which
irritated Scully, but she was reluctant to wrest control of
anything from him at this point.  He was so tentative about
everything he did, and he tended to ask for the strangest things,
rather than simply getting them for himself, as if he'd forgotten
what autonomy felt like--or perhaps was afraid of being punished
if he exercised it. The fact that they had been staying at his
apartment only made it worse; it unnerved Scully to have Mulder
ask her hesitantly if he could have a glass of water.  She was
working very hard to remind him that he was free now, but the
mindset of captivity was still strong in him.

Now, with a territorial grin, Mulder slipped out of bed and
padded into the bathroom, happily hoping to catch site of a naked
Scully before she dressed for the day. She had wrapped her towel
around herself and had just finished brushing her teeth when he
opened the door.  Scully smiled at him in the mirror as she stood
up and wiped a stray bit of toothpaste from her lip.

"Good morning, Husband," she said with a voice that made him want
to drag her forcibly back to the bed.

Willing himself to remain civilized, Mulder gave her a light kiss
on the lips.  "It is a good morning," he agreed, encircling her
with his arms. He hated the fact that she was going off to spend
the day with another man, even if it was strictly professional.
Even though he knew she loved him, the last thing Mulder wanted
was to send his new wife off into the clutches of a man who was
intelligent, good-looking, employed, and not fucked up from a
recent ordeal.

Scully, watching in the mirror, saw his feelings register on his
face and turned to him.  "Mulder," she began, but he pulled her
to him for a sudden, deep, ravishing kiss.  When he let her come
up for air, Scully clung to him weakly, leaning against his chest
and feeling the heat of him through her towel.  She knew that he
wanted to take her back to bed--hell, she wanted it too--but she
had to go to work, and she had to be on time. She'd called in
sick on Monday, the day they were married, and she'd left work
early on Friday after getting the mysterious call informing her
of Mulder's return.  Each time she had reported to her new
partner that she wasn't feeling well he'd voiced growing concern
for her.  It had been all she could do to prevent him coming to
her apartment to check on her.  Which had been a good thing, she
thought, since she hadn't been back to her place since she'd
found Mulder here, drugged to the gills on his couch, except to
grab a few clean clothes.

"Think about me when you're working alongside HIM today," he
whispered in her ear, his hands caressing anywhere on her body
they could reach.

"I'll be thinking about what I plan to do to you when I get home
tonight," she promised, pulling back and starting for the
bedroom.

He followed her.  "Ooh, Scully, tell me more!" he smirked, but
she ignored him and began dressing for work. Finally Mulder
decided he could at least make himself useful, so he went into
the kitchen to throw together some breakfast for her.  They had
made a trip to the grocery store after their marriage ceremony
(didn't everybody?), so luckily there was food in the apartment.

It was a simple matter to prepare Scully's breakfast.  Yogurt,
some of that healthy cereal she liked so much, and a banana.  He
set the carton of yogurt and the banana on the table and poured
the cereal in a bowl for her, placing the milk carton within
reach.  As for himself--Mulder still hadn't gotten his appetite
back, and the idea of making a decision as to what to eat for
breakfast and then actually following through on it suddenly
seemed overwhelming.  Decisions had been denied him for such a
long time.

Scully came into the room, still fastening one of her earrings,
and smiled when she saw the table. "Thank you, Mulder," she said
quietly as she seated herself, and then noticed his confusion.
"What are you having?" she asked.

He just shook his head.  "I'm not really hungry--" he began.

"Don't start with that!" she interrupted, more sharply than she'd
intended, and her face softened at his startled look. "I'd really
like it if you would try to eat something," she said gently,
caressing his arm.  "I want you to regain your health, and
believe me, lover, you are going to need your strength!"

Mulder smiled at that, and sat down in the chair next to her.
After a moment he pulled the box of cereal over and inspected it.
"So, what does this "fruits, nuts and flakes" cereal taste like?"
he asked casually.

In answer she held her spoon to his lips and he swallowed the
bite obligingly.  "Not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "But I don't
think I've ever eaten cereal before that wasn't sugar coated."

Her response was to place her bowl of cereal in front of him and
hold out the spoon determinedly. "Go ahead, Mulder," she said at
his hesitation.  "It'll be a defining moment of your life."  When
he took it from her, she rose, extracted a fresh bowl from the
cupboard and poured herself more cereal.  The two of them sat
munching away in companionable silence for a few minutes and
before Mulder knew it his bowl was empty and he was reaching for
more. Scully watched him hopefully, not daring to say a word that
might cause him to back off, but he noticed her look.

"What?" he demanded around a mouthful of cereal.

She smiled happily.  "Nothing.  It's just that this is the most
I've seen you eat since you came home."

He shrugged.  "It's the most I've eaten in one sitting in a long
time, I suppose," he said nonchalantly, and she squeezed his hand
before returning to her breakfast.

Soon after, Scully left for work, still reeling from the goodbye
kiss her husband had bestowed upon her.  Mulder showered,
dressed, and after downing half a glass of tea wondered what to
do with himself all day. Might as well clean up a bit, he
decided, and was just about to clear the dishes from the table
when he was startled by a knock at the door.

He almost didn't open it. He couldn't imagine who would be
visiting him at this time of day, and his hand shook slightly as
he released the lock.  Grimacing at his own nervousness, he
forced himself to swing the door open.  A moment later Mulder
stepped back reflexively, his face losing its color.  He might
have slammed the door in his visitor's face in the next instant
had not a well-placed foot prevented it.

"May I come in, Mr. Mulder?" the smoking man asked pleasantly.

"What do you want?" Mulder demanded after taking a moment to
catch his breath.  He knew it was irrational to think that the
man was here to renege on their agreement and haul him back to
Verlassen, but having been free for less than one week, Mulder
also knew he wasn't exactly thinking rationally. He forced
himself to calm down, take deep, slow breaths, and listen to what
the man had to say.

"We need to discuss some things.  I must inform you of certain
arrangements that have been made." The man slipped easily into
Mulder's apartment, casually walking into the living room and
motioning for Mulder to take a seat on the couch, as if he were
the host and Mulder the guest.  After a short hesitation, Mulder
complied with the unspoken request and waited to see what the man
would say.  He wished fervently for his weapon, but he knew
without asking that Scully had taken it to her apartment.  She
wasn't willing to risk losing him should he have an anxiety
attack while she was away and do something stupid.

"I've kept my part of the bargain, so why are you here?" Mulder
asked again, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the man in front of
him.  He tried desperately to suppress the feeling of panic
creeping over him, concentrating instead on his slow and steady
breathing.  This man had released him from hell, whatever his
purpose may have been, and there was no reason to think he had
changed his mind, Mulder insisted to his inner, frightened self.

The older man gave a small smile and reached into his pocket for
his ever-present pack of Morleys.  Mulder watched him light up
without comment.

"There's been a slight change in circumstances."

Mulder clenched his fingers together to keep them from shaking.
He was determined not to let this man see his fear, even though
he felt its coldness creeping through every part of his body now.
The smoker was going to cancel their deal.  He would try to take
him back there. Mulder could feel it. Despairingly he realized he
should have known freedom and happiness couldn't last.  "What
change?" he asked in a voice that sounded much braver than he
felt. "I've done as you asked. Nothing's changed."

The man took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke
thoughtfully out his nose.  "We never envisioned you marrying
her," he commented mildly.  "That changes things somewhat."

Mulder's fingers were going numb from being squeezed together so
tightly.  His marriage to Scully--the biggest dream of his life
finally come true--was this man here to tell him he must give it
up?  He wouldn't. He couldn't.  It would destroy him completely,
and God only knew what it would do to Scully.  Her need for him
wasn't as obvious as his for her, but Mulder knew it ran just as
deeply.  Shaking his head in confusion, he said, "I don't
understand--how can it change anything that you and I agreed to?"

His eyes flicked amusedly over Mulder, as if he were reading the
younger man's thoughts.  "Our agreement stands, Mr. Mulder."
Reassuring.  "But now you and Agent Scully--or should I say Agent
Mulder?--" he grinned knowingly, "--are at greater risk.  Now she
can be used against you."

Mulder made a noise of disbelief.  "You and your people have been
using the two of us against each other for years," he retorted.
"What makes the circumstances any different now?  You threatened
each of us to buy the other's silence, and we've given you what
you asked for.  What more do you want from us?"  His eyes found
the smoker's again, holding them steadily.

The old man flicked his ashes onto the floor and smiled again.
"Nothing more. Only to warn you that you should be careful. There
are still those out there who would jeopardize the project, and
your silence is as essential as ever. If you should tell what you
know, even under duress, our agreement is null and void."

Mulder dropped his gaze then, rubbing his forehead with tired
hands and nodding.  He knew this to be true.  It was one reason
he didn't want Scully to know about the deal.  (Deal with the
devil), his mind told him quietly.  "I understand that," he said
in a weary voice.

"Good," the man commented finally, dropping his cigarette butt
into Mulder's almost-empty glass of iced tea.  "Just so long as
you're clear on what the risks are."

"Perfectly clear."

"You'll be expected back at work the third week of June."

Mulder raised his face angrily at that.  "What work?  I don't
have a job any longer, remember?  It seems I resigned without
giving any notice.  I don't think AD Kersh is going to be too
keen on rehiring me after that."

"You won't be working for Assistant Director Kersh any longer,"
the older man replied in his mild voice.  "And as for your
resignation... anyone checking your personnel file will find a
request for a ten month leave of absence filed last September.  I
don't believe there's any record at all of a resignation, in
spite of persistent office gossip."

Mulder simply stared, amazed at the things this man could
accomplish. "Who will I be working for?" he asked finally.

"Why Assistant Director Skinner, of course," his visitor
responded.  "He is still in charge of the X-Files."

"I'm--I'm getting the X-Files back?" Mulder asked, incredulous.

"And Agent Scully--or is it Agent Mulder now?--as your partner.
As promised.  Per our agreement."

Mulder just shook his head, still in shock.  "Wait a minute," he
finally asked, suspicious.  "What more is this going to cost me?"
It was inconceivable to him that this man would give him any more
than absolutely necessary to buy his silence.

"Nothing more," was the answer.  "Only your continued
cooperation.  But you should be aware, it may be more difficult
to keep this secret than you imagine." He made his way to the
door, and then turned back for a moment. "Third week of June,
Agent Mulder," the man repeated, and then he was gone, leaving a
thoroughly dazed Mulder behind...

*****

JUNE 14

*****

...So far keeping the secret hadn't been difficult, for he had
spoken with few people other than Scully, and they had reached a
tacit agreement not to mention it.  They simply held on to one
another and thanked heaven and earth that they were together
again.  Some things simply didn't bear too much discussion.  Even
with his therapist Mulder had been intentionally vague in his
explanations for why he had been held captive, informing her that
it wasn't relative to the situation or his recovery from it, and
that matters of national security forbade him going into great
detail.  He simply explained that he possessed knowledge that
wasn't to be revealed, and it seemed to satisfy the good doctor.

Occasionally Mulder wondered what the smoker's cryptic comment
had meant, but as weeks had passed and nobody had tried to force
any information out of him, he'd decided the man was being
deliberately intimidating. Not that he didn't need to be careful,
he told himself, but he was at least able to breathe normally for
the duration of his recovery period.  He stopped looking over his
shoulder for Martin, George, Kenneth, Amelia...or anybody else
who might be a threat to his freedom...

*****

MAY 11

*****

Since he'd begun running again Mulder had plenty of uninterrupted
time to think, and he finally began to believe his therapist, who
told him that confronting the painful memories was better than
holding them inside.  So he'd been kidnapped and held captive for
seven months.  So he'd thought he was going to die in that place.
So what?  It didn't change who he was now, did it?  So he'd
tried, on four separate occasions, to end his own life, actually
managing to cause himself harm on two of them and a good bit of
discomfort as a result of the last...no.  Mulder's thoughts
bounced skittishly away from that track. He wasn't quite ready to
deal with his attempted suicides yet, having dismissed them
lightly during the therapy sessions and with Scully. Mulder knew
that deep down within himself he was disappointed.  He'd been
threatened before, certainly, and even tortured and had come
close to being murdered once or twice, but never in his life had
he felt the desire to end it himself, except on a few occasions
when it all seemed completely hopeless.  After Samantha's
abduction, after Scully's abduction, one horrible night while
Scully was so ill with cancer...these episodes had all concerned
someone else, someone he cared for deeply. So why, he asked
himself yet again, had he felt the need to end his own life when
he was simply being kept indoors?

Mulder shook his head, angry at himself as he turned a corner and
started back toward home.  It was not simply a matter of being
kept indoors and you know it, he retorted inwardly.  The despair
he had felt, the agony of depression he'd sunk into, had robbed
him of much more than his freedom to come and go.  His very
essence had been sacrificed, and it was damned hard to get back,
as he was discovering.  If he hadn't had Scully here beside him
every step of the way, if she'd refused the marriage proposal
he'd thrown at her almost as soon as he'd been returned, if she'd
told him she wanted to continue working with Hunt...any one of
those things and Mulder knew he might never have come out of the
downward spiral he had been in.

Slowing down, stopping to catch his breath, Mulder consciously
pushed those thoughts away. You could only analyze yourself for
so long without losing your mind in the recovery process, he told
himself grimly.  It was time to think of other things, like what
color carpet he wanted in his new office at home (that yellow
stuff simply had to go), and what they were going to have for
dinner (it was his job to cook as long as he was unemployed, and
Mulder took great satisfaction in presenting Scully with a nice
meal at the end of the day, even if a large portion of it came
frozen in a box with a name like Marie Callender's or Stouffer's
on the label).  He began walking briskly, but not too briskly,
toward home in order to cool down.

Mulder was about two blocks from his house, comparing the nice
residential neighborhood where he lived now with his wife to the
place he'd spent the last umpteen years of his life, when he was
startled out of his thoughts by a commotion just ahead.  An
older, brown station wagon with chipped paint and several visible
dents pulled over to the curb a little past the next house and
the driver rolled down the window.

"I told you I ain't takin' care of no pets!" a woman's voice
drifted vehemently from the car, and in the next instant, over
the loud protests of the child beside her, the woman tossed a
screeching bundle of fur onto the sidewalk and the car roared
away.

Mulder stared at the disappearing vehicle, unwilling to believe
what he'd just seen.  Someone had actually thrown out--was it a
cat?  He drew closer and was able to see that the animal in
question was indeed a very young kitten, barely old enough to be
away from its mother in Mulder's uneducated opinion.  It looked
trustingly up at Mulder as he approached it and knelt down,
holding out his hand in a friendly gesture.  The kitten sniffed
Mulder's fingers curiously for a moment, then rubbed its forehead
over them, beginning a loud, ratchety purring sound.  Mulder
absently stroked the animal's fur, coal black except for an
arrow-point of white on its forehead, and glared after the
offending car.

"Hey, buddy, looks like you've been abandoned," he said to the
kitten. (Verlassen) his mind whispered, and he forcibly shoved
the thought, spoken in Amelia's musical voice, far away.

The kitten purred in response, marking Mulder's legs with the
side of its face.

"Now I suppose you'll want to come home with me," he remarked
casually, wondering if Scully was a cat-person or a dog-person or
not an animal person at all. She'd had that dog, Queequeg,
briefly, but that had sort of been thrust upon her.  It wasn't as
if Scully had ever spoken to him about actually going out and
adopting a pet.

The small cat was now trying to climb the leg of Mulder's sweat
pants, and he winced as the tiny claws dug into his flesh. "Hey!"
he protested, picking it up and cuddling it close to his
shoulder, and laughed as it promptly snuggled up to his neck,
reminding him vaguely of Scully.

"Looks like you got yourself a new friend," a voice said from
behind him, and Mulder swung around to find an elderly woman
standing on the porch of the house whose lawn he was occupying.

Mulder looked fondly at the kitten and then back at the woman.
She was about eighty years old, he guessed, and had a kindly
face.  Just the type to adopt unwanted animals, if he judged her
character correctly.

"Would you like him?" he asked her eagerly, starting across the
lawn toward her.  He certainly wasn't going to leave the kitten
to fend for itself, but if he could see that it was taken in by a
caring person it would mean he didn't have to explain to Scully
why she was suddenly a surrogate mother.

The lady laughed at Mulder's obvious attempts to pawn off his
newfound admirer on her.  "No thank you, Son," she said.  "I've
raised seven children, one husband, and countless dogs, cats,
fish and turtles over the years.  Even a mouse once, although I
hated the nasty thing.  I'm quite happy just taking care of
myself now." She reached out and petted the kitten, who nuzzled
closer to Mulder's ear, tickling him with its whiskers.

"He seems to like me," Mulder commented.  "I'm not sure how my
wife will take to him though."

"You sure it's a 'him'?" the woman asked with a twinkle in her
eye, and before Mulder could answer she plucked the kitten from
his shoulder and turned it upside down, inspecting its privates.
Mulder grinned, a little embarrassed, but she returned the cat to
his shoulder seconds later.  "That's a little girl kitty," she
crooned, petting its fur, and Mulder hoped for a second that she
would relent.

She pulled back in the next instant, though, and reached for the
doorknob.  "I've got to be getting back inside," she told him
politely. "I only stepped out to see what all the shouting was
about.  I was in the middle of my daytime stories."  She patted
Mulder's shoulder comfortingly.  "I can tell you're new at this,
but don't worry, young man. There's not much to taking care of a
cat.  Whatever they need, they'll be sure to let you know about
it!"  She winked and smiled and in the next instant disappeared
back inside her house, a bemused Mulder still standing on her
front porch holding the kitten.

"Well," he said to it finally.  "It looks as though you've
managed to wangle yourself a new owner. I certainly can't abandon
you." (Verlassen) his mind sighed, and he ignored it.  Tucking
the kitten safely against his body, Mulder made his way home...

*****

JUNE 14

*****

...Mulder was about to force himself to get out of bed--he had to
get ready for his first day back at work--when a purring furrball
suddenly landed on his chest.

"Good morning, Reject," he said, smiling again at the name Scully
had suggested.  He'd been scared to death by the time she had
made it home that day, and had already thought up at least a
dozen reasons why they should keep the kitten, who in the space
of a few hours had wormed its way firmly into Mulder's heart, but
Scully had taken one look at the small bundle of fur and gathered
it up into her arms, crooning to it sweetly.

"Someone ab--threw her out," he'd told her, quickly changing his
choice of words in order to prevent his mind whispering to him
again.  "I didn't know how you'd feel about it, but I couldn't
just leave her so I brought her home."  When Scully kept stroking
and cuddling the kitten, Mulder kissed her on the cheek and put
on his best puppy-dog face.  "Can I please keep the kitty,
mommy?" he'd asked in a wheedling tone, and Scully smiled up at
him.

"Well, I think we'd better," she'd told him, and Mulder knew with
relief that the battle was over.

Now Reject was a part of their family, and there was no question
that she ruled their home with an iron paw.  She had taken to
Scully right away, but Mulder was her special toy, and she was
never far from his side when he was home.  He got a kick out of
Scully carefully admonishing her every morning, "Now you take
care of Daddy, Reject, and don't let him get into any trouble
while I'm away.  You know how difficult he can be," and the
kitten listening to her words solemnly, then coming over to brush
up against his legs insistently.  Of course, Reject's attention
to him in the morning might have a little bit to do with the
spoonful of tuna he would sneak into her bowl after Scully left
for work, but he preferred to believe that she took her
Mulder-sitting duties very seriously.

"I have to get up," he now told her sleepily as she began to
knead his chest with her sharp little claws.  "You're going to be
on your own today."

Reject purred happily in answer, refusing to let her toy up to
get dressed, and they were still there when Scully emerged from
the bathroom.

"You'd better get a move-on, Mulder, you don't want to keep
Skinner waiting," she said, seeing her husband still lying
comfortably in bed.

"I can't," he reported.  "I'm trapped."

Scully crossed over and picked up the cat, and Reject transferred
her attentions from Mulder's chest to Scully's shoulder easily.
"I'll take care of Daddy today, sweetheart," Scully told her.
"You can have the day off.  You deserve it."

"Just stay out of the tuna," Mulder admonished as he disappeared
into the bathroom.

"Mulder!  Have you been feeding this cat tuna?" Scully's voice
followed him but he pretended to ignore it, turning on the water
and stepping under the warm spray.  He fought down a nervous
shiver as he began shampooing his hair.  Back at work after so
many months away--Mulder hated to admit it to himself, but he was
a little scared. Scully had told him about Kersh's involvement in
his kidnapping, and now Mulder wondered, no matter how minor his
former supervisor's connection may have been, how he would react
upon seeing the man.  At least he didn't have to work for him any
longer, he reminded himself with relief, and reflected again upon
what it would be like to wield the kind of power that the
cigarette smoking man appeared to possess.  The benefits might be
enjoyable, he decided, but the cost would be too great.

*****

"I don't understand," Spender complained sulkily.  "I thought you
wanted to break Mulder, and now you've given him back everything
you took from him in the first place!"

His father sighed, silently wondering at the gods that had given
him such a moron for a son.  On the other hand, he had to be
fair--he hadn't been exactly honest with Jeffery where Mulder was
concerned.

"He's married to Scully now," he reminded Spender mildly.  "That
partner you found for her while Mulder was away couldn't do the
job.  She was never interested in him at all."

"He did the best he could, he--"

"He came on too strongly!  Scully needed to be comforted over
Mulder's disappearance, she needed someone with a gentle hand to
lull her into a sense of trust.  Instead he tried to get her into
bed within the first week!"

Spender's face reported his emotions accurately.  He'd been so
certain that Scully and Mulder were involved with each other that
he'd told Hunt to come on strong with her.  He believed that
Scully would welcome the attentions of another man, a strong,
attractive man, while Mulder was out of the picture and that soon
he would have eclipsed Mulder in her life entirely.  He'd been
desperately wrong.

"You seriously underestimated Agent Scully," his father informed
him, "and so did Hunt.  It was a plan that didn't work.  Now we
move on to something else."

"So you're giving him back the X-files.  Doesn't that clash with
your objectives?"

"You don't want to stay there, do you?" the older man countered,
amused.

Spender snorted in disgust.  "I want to do real work, work that
makes sense.  And you know how I feel about Diana Fowley."

"Agent Fowley has been quite helpful to us," his father reminded
him sharply.  "You'll have to put aside your personal differences
with her in the future if you're going to assist me."

"As long as she's not my boss," Spender mumbled.

"And with both you and Agent Fowley removed from the X-files,
there is a vacancy created.  One that only Mulder and Scully are
truly qualified to fill.  Their superiors at the FBI are
beginning to realize that, since you and Agent Fowley have
been...less than successful in solving cases while assigned
there.  They haven't forgotten your predecessors' closure rate.
It looks good.  It therefore makes them look good."

"But they're married, how can they work together as partners?"
Spender argued.

His father blew a long breath of smoke out and crushed his
cigarette butt in the ashtray on the desk.  "That's easily
arranged.  And they'll be more readily controllable this way.  If
Mulder steps out of line again, we can simply tighten his leash.
We've done it before."

Spender regarded his father thoughtfully.  "Yet you still don't
want him killed.  Why?"

The man played idly with a pencil on his desk.  He wondered how
best to explain this to Jeffery, which answer would least upset
the man in front of him.  He needed his son's loyalty right now.

"I have several reasons, actually.  First of all, because his
father was a very old friend of mine. Bill Mulder and I may have
had our differences in his later years, but we had a lot of
history together.  I was once very fond of Bill's wife as well."
He smiled a cryptic smile.  "Also, because I have a certain
admiration for the type of man Mulder is. He has courage,
strength, tenacity, integrity.  In some ways he reminds me of
myself...in my youth."

Spender stared.  "You're thinking of having him join us, aren't
you?" he asked angrily.  "You want to pull Mulder into the
project."

The smoking man nodded slightly.  "I've tried before and been
unsuccessful.  But I haven't tried everything.  A man with
Mulder's fortitude would be a great asset to us."

"He'll never join us."  Spender's voice was positive.  "He'll die
first."

"Perhaps.  That doesn't mean I should stop trying.  Giving up is
the surest way to failure."


*****

Mulder sat back in his chair and looked hungrily around the
basement office.  He was a man who had it all.  A job he loved, a
wife he adored, a home, and most of all, blessed, blessed
freedom.  And all it had cost him was his silence.  At first
Mulder would have said it had cost him his integrity, but each
time he looked into Scully's face and knew that she was his, each
time he stepped outside his front door and knew that he could
come and go whenever he pleased, he realized how little Dr.
Steinmetz' journal and the information contained in it meant to
him now. After everything that had been taken from him, Mulder
knew he would have given a lot more than his silence to get it
all back.  He'd almost given his life for it.

Mulder had finally come to terms with himself and his attempted
suicides, something which his ego told him was the height--or
depths--of weakness.  He was no longer disappointed in himself
because of them.  He recognized that he was a person who held on
as long as there was hope, but once hope had been lost he knew
when to cut and run. Some people, he knew, would have lived for
years inside the prison that was Verlassen.  Mulder was not like
some people.  When life ceased to be worth living, Mulder wanted
out.

Now he had it all back, and life was good.  It was worth living
again. So he maintained his silence, as promised, in order not to
lose the things that made his life worth living, in order not to
reach that state of despair again.  Mulder had been there too
many times in his young life--he never wanted to go there again.

Their meeting with Skinner had gone well, with him welcoming
Mulder back to work as if the fictional "leave of absence" had
been gospel, but Mulder could see in his supervisor's eyes that
he knew the truth. Maybe not all of it, and Mulder would never
believe that Skinner was involved in his abduction, but he knew
something.  Skinner was certainly aware that Mulder had not taken
a ten month leave of absence in order to do "research", which was
apparently the lame excuse that had been officially offered up.

Also, the dreaded meeting with Kersh was behind him now.  He'd
run into the man as they left Skinner's office, and when Kersh
uttered a gruff "Welcome back, Agent Mulder," he had felt
Scully's firm, comforting hand on his arm. Mulder had merely
glared at Kersh's retreating form, relieved at the fact that he
felt no fear, only a slow burning anger at the man who had been a
part, although an insignificant one, of his imprisonment at
Verlassen.

"Let it go, Mulder," she had advised him gently, and after a
moment of hesitation he'd turned away from Kersh and the two of
them continued toward their office.

Now Mulder surveyed his domain happily, and when Scully presented
him with several case files that Skinner had sent down for them,
he took them anxiously and began reading.  Mulder hadn't gotten
more than a few paragraphs into the first one when he wordlessly
set it aside and reached for the next. Scully watched in
amazement; she'd never once in all the years they had spent
together seen her partner do that.  She reached for it, and
Mulder's words stopped her.

"Leave it, Scully," he said.  There was just a hint of uneasiness
in his voice, almost too little to detect. "There's no case for
us there."

"I'd like to take a look at it, if you don't mind," she told him
evenly, and he shrugged, unwilling to argue with her about it.
She didn't miss the way he turned his back on her slightly as he
dug into the next case file. Sighing quietly, Scully flipped open
the file folder.

A small town in South Dakota.  Elementary school children.  Odd
behaviors.  One school counselor suspected of influencing those
behaviors.  Strange illnesses.  Disappearances.  At first glance
it seemed to be a straightforward case, not an X-file at all.
Unless you knew the things they knew and had seen the things
they'd seen.  Scully looked up at Mulder to find him studiously
ignoring her.  He could feel her gaze on him--she knew it by the
way he kept his own carefully fixed on the papers in front of
him.  His eyes were unmoving. Mulder wasn't reading, he was
avoiding.

"Mulder?" she questioned.

He shook his head slightly.  "No, Scully."

She put the folder down and came around to face him, leaning her
hands on the desk and getting deliberately in his face.  "Why?"
she demanded bluntly. "This is the type of case that you've
always thrived on."

He leaned back in the chair, removing himself from her accusing
influence, eyes firmly cast downward.  He saw the wedding ring on
her finger and played with the one on his own hand, still not
speaking.

"Why?"

"Scully, am I still the senior agent here?  Am I still the one in
charge in this office?" he asked, his voice a little harsher than
intended.

"Don't pull that on me, Mulder, not after all these years.  If
you have a particular reason for not wanting to pursue this case,
fine, but don't try to pull rank on me, and don't run away from
it just because you're afraid!"

"Yes, Scully, I do have a particular reason."  He stood and came
around the desk angrily to face her.  He planned on using his
height to intimidate her, but he should have known by now that
trick didn't work with Scully.  She would stare up at him from
her eleven-inch disadvantage and never back down.

"And what is that reason?" she demanded, not wavering a bit as he
towered over her.

They faced off for a few seconds, and finally Mulder said,
"Because I don't want to."

Scully had a minute of disbelief.  "You don't want to?" she
repeated, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it. He
gave her a wry grin, silently thanking her for allowing him to
save face.

"Right," he agreed.  "I examined it and I think there's every
reason to believe it is what it appears on the surface to be.
There's a case there, Scully, but it's one the local field office
should handle.  It's not an X-file. This, on the other hand," he
said, waving the file he was holding at her, "is definitely
weird."

"Weird?"

"Interesting weird."

"What is it?"

"Ghostly murders," he told her in his best Bela Lugosi voice.

Scully stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and tossed
the object of their disagreement into a basket on his desk.
"Fine.  Ghosts. Welcome back, Spooky."  Her small smile took the
sting out of the words.

"Thank you, Mrs. Spooky," he countered.  "Now, do you want to
insult me, or are you going to read up on this case?"

She held out her hand with the smile still in place, and as he
handed her the folder he bent down to give her a quick kiss on
the lips. "Thanks," he muttered, turning away before she could
see his embarrassment.

"Don't thank me yet, Mulder.  This isn't over."

He watched her peruse the file for a few seconds, then worriedly
buried his face in his computer. She wasn't going to let it die,
she was only giving him a reprieve.  He exhaled heavily.  He
should also have known that Scully wouldn't let him run away, but
the last thing Mulder wanted to do right now was investigate any
case that smacked of government conspiracy.  He'd had way too
much of that recently.  He'd felt the consequences deeply.  The
price was just too high.

*****

End part 1