From: Daydream59 <daydream59@aol.com>
Date: 13 Aug 1998 02:20:14 GMT
Subject: **NEW** Memory: Recovery 01/02 by Daydreamer

Title: Memories:  Recovery of the Man 01/02
Author:  Daydreamer
Author E-Mail:  Daydream59@aol.com
Rating:  R - for violence and disturbing imagery
Category:  SA
Archive: Yes, please
Feedback:  Yes! Please!

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are owned by Chris Carter,
1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc.  They are
wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny and 
Gillian Anderson. I will make no profit from this, and 
neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have 
nothing material they can profit from.

Comments:  This is part one of a trilogy.  The stories are
connected and should be read in the order listed.
Memory:  Recovery of the Man
Memory:  Restoration of the Mind
Memory:  Reclamation of the Soul
Thanks to my X-Phriends - Vickie, Rory, and Kate - for help on
all the little things that go into making a story.  Thanks guys!

Summary:  Mulder is abducted, beaten, and given a serum to 
stimulate memories of the night Samantha disappeared.  Scully
finds him, tends him while he recovers, then helps him deal 
with new memories of that fateful night.

Memory:  Recovery of the Man  01/02

"Sir, I don't *know* where Agent Mulder is!"   Scully took a deep 
breath and gripped the arms of the chair.  "That's what I've been
trying to tell you.  I'm not avoiding the issue, I'm not covering 
for him, I'm not trying to be difficult - I really don't know where 
he is."

Skinner leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on the 
desk.  He looked intently at the young woman before him. 
"Agent Scully, he has to be here for the review board tomorrow.  
The X-Files have only just been reinstated, and given his 
history, they are not going to accept that he is legitimately 
missing."

"I understand that, Sir, but I think we - you and I, that is - 
need to move on trying to locate him.  Because, he *is,* as you 
say, legitimately missing."

"All right."  He gazed at her for a long moment as she met his
eyes and stared back, unflinching.  "Tell me."

Scully gave a small sigh of relief. She straightened in her 
chair and folded her hands in her lap.   "After receiving
notification last Friday that the review board would be 
calling him, Agent Mulder was somewhat concerned at having 
to offer testimony that would go against a fellow agent, 
especially since he had his own theory as to why Brandon had 
acted the way he did."

"It was a clean shoot - everyone agrees to that.  There was
no doubt Brandon was going to shoot Mulder if he hadn't 
shot first."  Skinner looked closely at her.  "Mulder 
understands that, doesn't he?"

"Yes, Sir, I believe he does."  She paused, searching for 
the right words.  "I think he was most concerned that, once 
again, no one would believe his interpretation of the events, 
and Brandon would be perceived as having gone completely 
round the bend.  Mulder didn't - doesn't - want that 
perception to be the final memory Brandon's wife and
children have."

She stopped and looked at her lap.  Her right hand was
tightly clenched inside her left.  She studied both hands
for a moment, then forced herself to relax and looked up.  
She met Skinner's gaze again and continued. 

"Mulder just wasn't himself when he left Friday.  No bad
jokes, no sly remarks.  He just said good-bye and left.
I spent the weekend at my mother's - my brother and his 
family were in town - but when I tried to reach him 
Saturday and Sunday,  I never got an answer and his cell
was turned off.  I left early on Sunday so I could drive
to Alexandria to check on him."  

She lowered her eyes and paused introspectively, then 
said in a low voice, "He'd hate knowing I was checking
on him."

Skinner nodded, and she went on.  "He wasn't at his 
apartment."  She looked at Skinner, then clarified, "I have 
his key and he has mine.  For emergencies."  

Skinner nodded again.  "I know.  You took me there,
remember?"  

"Yeah, well, anyway, it didn't look like he had been there 
all weekend.  I looked around.  The suit he was wearing 
Friday wasn't in the closet, and his travel bag was 
still packed and still in the closet.  Wherever he was, 
he didn't change before he left, and he didn't pack 
to go.  I spent the rest of Sunday searching his usual
haunts, calling a few friends, digging around trying 
to see if he could be found."

"So where do you think he is, Scully?  What do you 
think happened?"

"I'm not sure, Sir, but I don't think he's taken off 
on his own this time. We've had a number of talks about
his communication skills, or lack thereof, when he's on
a tear, and he's gotten a lot better about at least
leaving me a message when he takes off in the middle of
the night."  

She gave a small laugh. "He even invites me to come 
along sometimes now."  She shook her head, then added, 
"I'm really concerned about him, Sir."

"All right, Agent Scully," Skinner stood and walked 
around the desk to take the chair next to her.  "Take 
the rest of the day and see what you can find.  Check 
any place you think he might have gone.  Call his friends
again, relatives, whomever." 

As she opened her mouth to object, he waved her silent.
"I know you've done all this.  But if he has gone 
off on his own, and we call out the cavalry, it will be the 
end of his career."

She closed her mouth and nodded in agreement.
  
"See what you can turn up today.  If he's still missing
in," he checked his watch, "eight hours - by 1600 - we'll
see what we can do about finding him officially."

******************************************************

*CRACK*  The back of a hand slammed into Mulder's jaw
again, and his head twisted sharply to the right.  He
drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and remained unmoving. 
The bonds holding him securely to the chair made 
too much movement impossible.  Very slowly, he lifted his 
head, caught his assailant's eye, and spit a stream of saliva, 
phlegm, and blood in his direction.  "I.   Don't.   Know," 
he said, very deliberately.

"That's too bad, Agent Mulder," the man responded, 
"because my superiors think you do know, and now, after
25 years, it's time for you to remember and to share 
those memories with us. Now, you can tell me what 
happened the night your sister disappeared, or we can 
continue this *discussion* as we have been."

"And just who - *spit* - are your superiors?"

"Agent Mulder," the man used a soft, placating tone, 
velvet over steel, "You really need to stop asking 
questions, and focus on providing answers.  It would 
be so much better for your overall health.  I understand
you don't like drugs."  

Mulder's guts went cold, but he didn't make any move to 
acknowledge the statement.

His captor turned, walked to the door of the room and
opened it. "He's not co-operating," he called softly into the 
hallway. "Get that syringe for me, willya?"

Mulder's panic got the better of him for a moment.  He 
focused on his breathing in an concerted effort to calm 
himself, and said,  "Look.  I've told you what I remember
about that night.  There isn't any point in drugging me."  

He shifted in the chair briefly as if trying to escape the 
memories, then settled and continued, "They did that 
often enough after Sam was taken: I still couldn't remember
anything."  His shoulders slumped and his gaze shifted to the 
floor in defeat.  "I tried to remember.  I really did.  I -"  His
voice broke.  He sighed, then whispered,  "Just.  Don't.  
Remember."

"Well, Agent Mulder," the man began, "I reviewed your 
file and I agree that the drugs they used back then didn't
seem to help to help your memory.  I advocated the use of
more, shall we say, *physical* persuasions.  But that seems
to be ineffective as well."

"Yeah, well, you're not the first person to think he could
beat me into remembering."  Mulder shrugged in his bonds.  

"Really?" the man questioned.  "Now that's interesting.  
And it isn't in your medical records.  Why do you suppose
that is?"

Mulder shrugged again.  Somehow, the thought that he had
revealed something previously unknown worried him.  The 
beatings from his father, and the times his mother had 
lashed out in anger too, were times he didn't think about.  
And he never talked about them.  So why had it slipped out 
now?  But the man was still talking.

"Now you are being more cooperative, Agent Mulder."  He
smiled at Mulder, a twisted parody of good humor.  "Perhaps
I underestimated the value of pharmaceuticals.  Since your
first dose when you arrived, it has taken almost 12 hours for
the new serum to enter your system and for your inhibitions
to break down to the point that you would share previously
unknown information."

"You drugged me?"  He was quiet for a moment, studying
the man before him.  "What did you give me?"

"Something of our own devising.  It lowers inhibitions, 
reduces self-restraint, not exactly 'truth serum' but a 
similar derivative."

"Good, if it lowers self-restraint, then I won't have any
problem killing you, will I?"

The man suddenly struck, hands pounding into Mulder's face, 
arms, chest, and stomach.  Mulder hunched in the chair, 
bending as far forward as he could, until a particularly 
vicious blow to the right side of his head rocked him back 
and over, and the chair toppled.  

His body exploded in agony and time seemed to slow as he 
watched the floor racing upward to catch him.  'This doesn't
look good, Scully,' he thought.  'You better hurry up and 
rescue my sorry ass, while there's still something to rescue.'

The next thing he was aware of, he was laying  on rough 
concrete, his hands and feet bound tightly.  He woke slowly,
and tried not to move or make a sound.  He knew that as soon
as his captor was aware that he was awake, the *discussion* 
would continue.

His nose was stuffy, full, and he couldn't breathe through 
it.  Blood, from where he had been hit, and snot, from where 
he had cried.  Either or both were enough to block the 
passageways.  He took small breaths through his mouth, and 
even those were painful. Broken or cracked, rib or ribs.  
He could taste blood as well.  His lip was swollen and split
in at least two places.

A cursory check on himself revealed that he *hurt* everywhere.  
Apparently the man had continued to beat him after he had 
lapsed into unconsciousness.  His legs, his back, his chest
and abdomen, everything was a mass of welts, bruises, and 
broken skin.

His arms were tied behind him, and he lay on his left side.
His whole left arm felt as if it were on fire.  Dislocated 
shoulder?  Probably.  Before he could finish cataloging his 
injuries, he involuntarily shifted to try to relieve some of
the pressure on the arm and shoulder. He immediately knew 
that was a mistake when he heard a voice say, "Oh, look, he's 
awake again."  

The man advanced and Mulder whimpered as a foot reached out 
and toed him in the groin.  "You received the next dose of 
the new serum while you were *resting,* Agent Mulder.   It 
appears that the effects of the serum may be heightened 
by physical stimulation.  Isn't that interesting?"

He toed Mulder again, then walked around and planted several
hard kicks in the small of his back.  Mulder moaned, then 
gasped out, "I don't know what you want me to say!"

The man responded, "We still need to know what you saw, 
what you really remember from that night.  And recovering 
those memories from you allows us to test the efficacy 
of the new serum."

"How efficient of you," Mulder muttered.

The man reached down and grabbed a handful of Mulder's 
hair, pulling his face up.  "I would advise you to focus 
on recovering the memory and not making smart remarks."  
He let go abruptly and Mulder's face slammed into the 
concrete floor.  He kicked out again, connecting with 
Mulder's left shoulder.

At the same time, agony shot through Mulder's body and he
gasped.  "Scully," the name escaped his lips without direction 
from his brain.  It was a primal reaction to pain, and need, and
the bedrock knowledge that only one thing - one person - 
could save him now.  

He began screaming, calling for Scully unceasingly.  He
thrashed on the floor, giving in fully to the mindless panic
that had been threatening to overtake him since this whole
ordeal began.  "Scully, Scully, I'm here, Scully,"  he cried,
over and over again.

Suddenly, there were hands restraining him, his body was 
slammed down against the floor and held there.  A voice 
was telling him to stop, but he was too far gone in the pain,
the anger, the fear, the panic to listen.

Large hands circled his throat, and he stopped screaming.
He began to struggle again, this time for air.  He tried to 
beg, but no sound could escape his throat now.  And no
air could get in.

His mind dimly grappled with the thought that since Scully 
wasn't here to save him, and he didn't think he could take any
more of this, it was fortunate the pain and the panic and the 
fear were enough that he felt the blackness of unconsciousness 
beckoning him.  Once again, he fell gratefully into her 
welcoming arms.

***********************************************************

"I don't know what else to do, Sir.  I've looked everywhere
I can think he might have gone.  I even called his mother - 
now she's worried, too - but he's not there, and hasn't 
been there."

Skinner frowned, then passed a folder over to Scully.  "I 
had his place dusted, just in case someone wasn't careful. 
It came up clean."  He waited as she scanned the negative 
report.  "Do you want to issue an APB for him?"

"I don't think we have any choice, Sir."  She straightened, 
and placed the useless folder on the desk.  "I am convinced
that Agent Mulder is not absent of his own volition, and I 
need help to find him."  She slumped dejectedly in her chair.

"All right."  He opened the intercom.   "Kim - can you 
join us, please?"  

When his assistant was in the room and the door had been
closed, he began.  "Agent Mulder is apparently missing.  
I need you to get out an APB on him - Agent Scully can give
you his vital statistics if you need them."  

This last was offered with a questioning look in Scully's
direction.  At her nod, he continued, "I also need to 
assemble a team to look for him.  Find out who's here in 
Missing Persons and Violent Crimes.  I also want someone
from Domestic Terrorism and Fraud.  In other words, I want 
a mixed team, with experience.  Find out who's in town,
and get them in here.  Then get DC Metro Police to send me
a liaison.  I want to meet in,"  he looked up, gauging her
reaction, "an hour."

Kim swallowed hard, then nodded.  "I'll get started 
immediately, Sir."  As she walked toward the door, she 
stopped by Scully's chair, and took her hand.  "You'll 
find him," she murmured, then she walked briskly out of
the room.

"Agent Scully."  Skinner paused when there was no reaction.
"Scully."  When she once again did not answer, he walked
around the desk and knelt in front of her.  "Dana . . ."

She lifted her eyes, and startled to find him so close.  
Her usually clear blue eyes were swimming in unshed tears.
"I knew he was upset when he left on Friday.  He was 
distracted - worried about the Brandon shooting.  I'm 
sure he was an easy target."

She closed her eyes tightly, and two crystalline tears 
slid slowly down her cheek.  "I shouldn't have waited so 
long to check on him.  He could have been gone for 72 hours
by now.  They could have taken him anywhere, done anything
to him."

"Scully - Dana - this is not your fault.  You are not responsible
for Fox Mulder.  You have to know - to understand - this
is not your fault."

She opened her eyes again and met Skinner's patient 
look.  "Partners watch each other's backs," she said very
quietly.  Her eyes were filled with pain as she lowered 
them to her lap once more.  "We have to find him, Sir. 
We have to."

"And we will, Scully, we will."

************************************************

Kim's skills were amazing.  By the time the hour had 
elapsed, she had made her list of who was in town and 
available, contacted them all, and most of them were 
present, with only a couple still en route.  

DC Metro was present as were representatives from the 
Maryland and Virginia State Police.  Skinner was pleased
Kim had thought to include representatives from the two
states bordering the District.  There was a also a detective
from Alexandria.  He nodded approvingly.

Skinner quickly briefed the officers, detectives, and 
agents on the situation, then made assignments.  The
group divided into pairs to make inquiries of Mulder's
neighbors and see if anyone had seen anything.

As the teams departed for Alexandria, Scully rose to 
join them. Skinner restrained her with a firm grasp 
on her arm.

She turned to look at him, anger in her eyes.  "You are not 
going to keep me from looking," she began.

Skinner's eyes were gentle when he looked at her.  "No, Scully,
I'm not.   I just want you to wait a minute."  He released her and 
stepped quickly to the closet, taking out his own coat.  "I'd
like to work with you, if you don't mind."  He pulled the 
coat on, then lifted hers - forgotten in her rush to get out the
door, to be doing something - and helped her into it.

She looked up at him gratefully and said, "Let's get going,
Sir."

***********************************************

Mulder woke again to a booted toe pushing insistently against
his hip.  He groaned, then rasped, "Water."

"Why certainly Agent Mulder," a voice responded.  There
were the sounds of hard soles against floor, then a tap
being turned on and water running.  Soon the steps returned
and a glass was held to his lips.  

He drank deeply, holding the water in his mouth for long 
seconds before painfully swallowing.  He took several more
sips, then lay back, panting.

"How kind of you to assist us in the delivery of the serum
into your system."

As Mulder groaned again, the man went on.  "Don't try
to rid yourself of it.  I'll only bring the syringe in and give
you another dose.  You might as well reap the benefits of
the water while you can."

Mulder lay huddled on the floor, curled into as close an
approximation of fetal as he could get.  His hands and legs
were still tightly bound and he knew the circulation had
been restricted for so long that he should be concerned
about damage.  His eyes were swollen shut, but he felt
that he had been moved sometime while he was unconscious.
There seemed to be a familiarity about this place.

He fumbled through his clouded memory, trying to 
piece together what was going on.  He had vague 
recollections of sitting and answering a lot of questions -
and of being punished when he got them wrong.  But
wait a minute - he was just a kid when that happened.

"Hey," a sharp kick to his knee jolted him back to the
present.  "Listen to me.  You really need to pay better
attention, Agent Mulder."  Another kick. 

"Now, are you listening?"

Mulder tried to nod, then made an affirmative grunt.

"Very good.  Do you know what day it is?"

Negative grunt.  Mulder could hear the man moving around.

"Enunciate, Agent Mulder."  Kick to the back.

Mulder moaned, then forced the word "No," from his
punished throat.  Where was Scully?

"Do you recall what we've talked about?"

"Sam."  The word was torn from him, half moan,
half grunt, as he struggled to clear his mind and figure
out what was happening.  "Scully . . ."

"Not Scully.  Sam.  What happened to Sam?"

"Taken."  This was getting harder.  Harder to focus, 
harder to think, harder to remember.  What had happened
to Sam?  Sam was taken.  No that wasn't right.  Scully
was taken.  He had looked for her and she had come
back.  Where was Scully?

"What happened to Sam?"

Mulder frowned.  Sam?  He knew that name.  What happened
to Sam?  When he waited too long to answer, his head was 
pulled roughly from the floor, and he was slapped.

He cried out, "Scully," then moaned as his head impacted 
the floor again.  "Sam?" he questioned, forcing the word out.

"What happened to Sam, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder began to panic.  Something was happening - he 
felt like he was losing something vital, but he couldn't 
remember what it was.  And he could remember everything,
couldn't he?  Why couldn't he remember Sam?  Scully 
would know.  She would make it all right.  But where
was Scully?

"What happened to Sam?" The voice was relentless.  

Mulder began to cry.  "I don't know, I don't know, 
I don't know," he sobbed, over and over.  Tears spilled
from his swollen eyes and made tracks through the blood
and grime on his face.  "Please, I don't know.  Please, 
where is Scully?"

"Not Scully.  Sam.  Who is Sam, Agent Mulder?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," he sobbed
again.  "Please leave me alone.  I don't know."  He was
breathing in huge shuddering gulps, crying almost
hysterically, uncontrollably.  "I want Scully."

Finally, a hand touched him, and he flinched.  But this time
the hand was gentle and patted him softly, as a master would
pat an obedient dog.  "All right, Mulder, it's all right.  You've
done very good."

He felt a needle against his neck, and something cold and burning
flowed into him. 

The hand continued to stroke his arm gently, and the voice
said, "Go to sleep now, Mulder.  It's going to be all right."

Mulder felt himself hovering on the verge of sleep or 
unconsciousness, or both.  Dimly, as if from far away, he felt
the hand leave his arm, and the voice said, "It seems to have
worked.  Mention of his sister causes him panic and great 
distress, and he has apparently deleted her from his memory
as well as the events of that night.  Though Agent Scully 
is still a prominent force within him it would seem."

Scully?  Of course Scully was important.  Scully was
everything.  She would take the pain away and explain
everything and it would be all right again.  Only -
where was she?  As he struggled to reconcile the words 
he heard and his own foggy, confused thoughts with anything 
that was familiar to him, sleep overtook him, and he faded
away into the darkness.

End of part 01/02

Memory:  Recovery of the Man  02/02

The teams of agents had dispersed on Hegel Place and were
going through the homes and apartments up and down the
street looking for anyone who may have seen Mulder.

Skinner and Scully had taken Mulder's apartment building 
and were working door to door through it.  They had finally 
reached the neighbor across the hall from him, and were
waiting from a response.

Slow, shuffling footsteps came to the door, there was a pause,
and then the door was thrown open by a tiny, smiling elderly 
woman.  "Well, hello, my dear," she said to Scully.  "How are 
you?"

Scully was taken aback by the woman's familiarity, but responded
graciously, then added, "This is Assistant Director Skinner, of the
FBI, and I'm . . ."  

She was cut off as the old woman said, "I know who you are, dear.
You're Fox's young lady."  She beamed up at Scully. 

Scully flushed and shot a quick glance at Skinner but his attention
was on the elderly woman.

 "Is he feeling better?"

"Feeling better?"  Scully repeated; she raised her eyebrow at
Skinner and continued, "Was he sick?"

The old woman looked at them.  "I assume he was.  The men that
took him out Friday practically had to carry him."  She frowned
when she saw Scully stiffen.  "Is he OK?"

Skinner answered, "Actually, Ma'am, he's missing."

The elderly woman sagged and reached out for the door frame
for support.  Skinner quickly took her arm and said, "Perhaps
you should sit down, Mrs...?" 

"Thompson," the woman responded absently.  "Melva Thompson.
I've known Fox since he first moved here.  Such a sweet young
man," she paused, then continued, "except for the basketball in
the middle of the night, that is."  She turned and headed back 
into her apartment, Skinner still holding her arm, and Scully
closing the door and following closely.

Skinner helped the woman to the couch and seated her, then sat
beside her, as Scully took a chair.  

"Mrs. Thompson," Skinner said gently, and the woman turned
her head to look at him.  "Agent Scully and I work with Mul. . ., 
um, Fox.  We're concerned about him, too."

The woman nodded, then gave a tentative smile in Scully's
direction.  "I'm sure you're very worried, dear.  I know
how close you two are."

Scully flushed again, then said, "I'm his partner, Mrs. Thompson.
I'm supposed to be concerned about him."  She softened her tone
and added, "Can you tell us anything about the men who carried
Mul - Fox - out on Friday?  And what time it was?"

"Well, let me see," Mrs. Thompson began.  "It was about 7:30, 
because Jeopardy was on.  They made such a noise over there 
I went to the peephole to see what was going on."  She stopped 
and looked at Skinner, then Scully.  "I wouldn't want you to think 
I was an old busybody with nothing better to do than spy on my
neighbors."

"Oh, no ma'am," Skinner said solemnly, biting back a chuckle
despite the situation, "we would never think that."

"Good," she said, and then went on.  "Well, there was all this noise
from Fox's apartment, but I have gotten rather used to that, what 
with the basketball, and the strange people he keeps company 
with."  She stopped and smiled at Scully.  "Not you, of course,
my dear, but some of the others. . ."  

She turned back to Skinner.  "This was louder than usual, so I 
went to the door and peeped out.  Nothing happened for a bit, 
and then two men came out with Fox in between them.  They 
were half carrying him."

She paused again and shook her head ruefully.  "I just assumed
he wasn't well, maybe too much to drink or something, and his
friends were taking him somewhere to take care of him.  I should
have realized."  She looked up, a guilty look on her face.  "I just
didn't realize."

Skinner patted her hand and said, "We all misunderstood what 
happened Mrs. Thompson.  You've helped us a lot.  At least now
we know for sure that Fox didn't leave of his own accord."

Scully spoke up.  "Descriptions, Mrs. Thompson?  Can you tell
us what the men looked like?"

"Well, they were tall, like Fox, but built more like you."  She
nodded at Skinner.  "Muscular, you know?  Not so slim as
Fox."

Scully was getting impatient.  "Hair color, eye color, what were
they wearing?"

"They both had on black, I remember that, but I don't remember
anything else.  I'm truly sorry."  Mrs. Thompson got up and walked
to the chair where Scully sat.  She laid her hand on Scully's shoulder
and said, "Your young man speaks very highly of you, you know.
I'm sure you will find him."  

Scully reached up and squeezed the older woman's hand, then rose.
"Thank you, Mrs. Thompson.  If you remember anything else, please
call me at this number."  She handed the woman a card with her cell
number written on it and headed to the door.

When Scully and Skinner were outside the door, she turned to him.
"I knew he was in trouble.  He HAS been missing since Friday - we
have to find him soon."

"I know, Scully, I know," Skinner soothed.  "Let me see if anyone
else has discovered anything."  

He pulled his radio and made a general broadcast asking for
updates.  Only one team answered in the affirmative, and Skinner 
told them to meet him and Scully outside Mulder's building.
As they walked down to the meeting place, Skinner looked
at Scully's stiff back, and sighed.  'Oh, Mulder, what have
you gotten yourself into now?' he thought.

****************************************************

When Mulder came to again, he was engulfed in darkness.  
He bit back his panic when throbbing pain around his eyes 
reassured him that he wasn't blind--yet, anyway--his eyes 
had just swollen shut.  His hands and feet had been untied 
at some point and he was now handcuffed around his ankles
and wrists, with his hands in front of  his body.  He lay on 
his side, on a clean sheet, on a sofa.  

He pried his swollen eyes open enough to see that night
had fallen.  Faint light in the house, and it was a house of
some kind, and no light outside the one window he could 
see without moving.  He wore only a pair of clean, white
boxer shorts, not his own. 

He instinctively knew it was imperative not to move for 
as long as possible, because movement attracted attention
and attention, he was sure, would not be good.  He lay 
perfectly still, breathing as evenly as he could, and tried 
to make an assessment of his condition.

This felt familiar, this internal catalog of what hurts,
as if he had done it before, but he couldn't remember
when, or where.  It was obvious he was someone's
captive, and had been injured, either in being captured
and subdued, or deliberately, after he was taken.

Assessing the injuries he could feel, broken rib, possibly
broken nose, serious injury to shoulder - dislocated?  Maybe,
it certainly hurt enough to be out of the socket.  Bruises 
everywhere, and though he was clean now, he felt sure he
had been very bloody in the recent past.  There were many,
many scrapes, scratches, and open wounds on his torso,
his arms and legs, everywhere he could see without moving.

Where was Scully?  As soon as the thought crossed his
mind, his right side of his head seemed to explode.  He 
moaned loudly, and pulled his hands up to cover his eye
and rub his temple. His eyes immediately began to tear.
All plans of not moving were gone.  Why did thinking of
Scully hurt so badly?

But again, with the thought came the pain, and he pushed
the name away, crying and moaning.  I won't think
about the things that hurt me.  I won't.  He clutched his
face, pain radiating down from the eye through his
cheek and into his chin.  He began to rock in an attempt
to assuage the agony.

A light came on, and he kept his hands over his eyes,
but he couldn't prevent the shaking that started when
a voice asked, "How are you feeling, Agent Mulder?"

He slowly lowered his hands and looked up at the man
who stood by the couch.  The man was smiling, and
held a glass of water.  Mulder eyed the water greedily.

"Would you like a drink?" the man asked.

Mulder nodded slowly and the man carefully placed
the plastic cup in Mulder's hands.  He raised his head
and lifted the cup to his lips and drank.  It tasted
wonderful.

When he finished he looked up, and the man gently
took the cup.  

"Now Agent Mulder, I need to ask you some questions."

"I'm hurt," Mulder said in a small voice.  "I don't feel
good."  He sounded like a small child, sick and in pain, 
and not understanding any of it.

The man smiled again.  "I know.  But the sooner we finish,
the sooner you can go home."

"I can go home?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, you can go home.  Just as soon as you tell me where 
Sam is."

"Who's Sam?"

***********************************************

Scully and Skinner met Agents Gornto and Laskowski right
outside Mulder's building.  Both agents were excited, and 
Gornto spoke first.  "We've found someone who saw Mulder 
being put into a car," he said.  He turned and pointed across
the street to where a man sat on the steps of a townhome.

Skinner and Scully immediately headed across the street,
the other two agents following.  As they approached the
man on the steps, Skinner began.  "Sir, I'm Walter Skinner
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  I understand you 
have information about one of my agents, Fox Mulder."

The man stood and shook Skinner's hand, then offered
his hand to Scully as he replied, "Yes, Sir, I guess I do." 
He looked closely at Scully and said, "I've seen you before.
Do you live around here, too?"

Scully shook her head and answered impatiently, "No, I'm 
Agent Mulder's partner.  You may have seen me around when 
I've been working at Mulder's place."  She gave the man a
steely look.  "You saw something?"

"Ah, well," the man turned his attention back to Skinner.
"You know, your Mulder has a bit of a reputation around 
here so it's hard for any of us to get too concerned at strange
things happening to him or his place."  

Skinner nodded impatiently.  "But you saw . . ." he prompted.

"Yeah, well, I saw two guys drag him out and put him in a
black limo Friday evening."  He flushed and looked down.
"Looking back on it, I should have known it was strange,
even for Mulder, but . . . "

"I don't suppose you got a license plate, did you?" Scully
asked.

"Actually, I did."  The man looked very pleased with himself,
and Gornto and Laskowski looked annoyed.  It was obviously
the first time they'd heard this.

"It was a specialized plate - Virginia - and it said  SPCIAL1.  
I remember thinking it was cute."

Laskowski was already calling it in, and the agents thanked the man
and walked back across the street as they waited for the info on the
plate.  "Gotta be a service - limo - plate like that."  Gornto was
muttering to himself.  

Laskowski stopped, then pulled a note book and began wrting.
"And the number?" she asked.  "OK, got it.  Thanks."
She turned to face the other three.  "It is a service, Gor, and
I've got the number.

Scully grabbed the pad from her and began dialing.  She soon
had confirmation.  The limo had picked up two businessmen at 
the Capitol, and then taken them to Hegel Place in Alexandria to 
pick up a third party, and then to National.  A few more inquiries
yielded the driver's home address and phone number.

Skinner took in the new facts and sent Gornto and Laskowski
out to the airport to see what they could find there.  He and
Scully would go see the driver.  A quick call confirmed he 
was home, and he lived in Arlington, not too far away.

*********************************************

Mulder was confused.  The man had beaten him - he was 
pretty sure of that.  He was still in a lot of pain and he
felt pretty sure he needed a doctor.  A doctor - his mind
skittered away from that thought as though it would
burn him.  

He shook his head - oh yeah - he was hurt.  He was still
handcuffed, but he no longer felt like fighting the man.
His hands were in front of him and his arms were free.
The man had helped him sit up, leaving himself totally
vulnerable to attack, and yet he hadn't used the opportunity.

He shook his head again.  His mind seemed filled with
cobwebs.  His normally clear thinking patterns were a 
jumble.  The questions the man kept asking just seemed
to confuse him more.

"Who is Sam?"

"I don't know."  Who was Sam?  It seemed important somehow.

"Who are you?"

"Fox Mulder."  Ah, this one was easier.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"What department do you work for?"

"Violent Crimes.  No wait."  Mulder stopped.  Why had he said
that?  That wasn't right.  He didn't work for VCS anymore.
He hadn't worked for VCS since . . .  since when?

Mulder looked at the man.  "I -" He licked his lips nervously.
"I'm not sure.  I don't work for VCS anymore, do I?"

"No, Agent Mulder, you don't.  Do you know where you
work?"

Mulder thought frantically.  For some reason, the thought
of not giving this man the correct answer frightened him.
"I'm a field agent . . ." he began tentatively.

"That's right."  The man smiled.  Mulder smiled.  Everything
was all right again.

"And to whom do you report?"

"AD Skinner."

"Who is your partner?"

"Scully."  Mulder said the name and then screamed.  Agony
ripped through his skull, the right side of his face engulfed
in pain.  He clutched his head, his cheeks slick with sweat.  As
he began to rock again, he saw spots before his eyes, and
then he passed out.

When he came to, the man was talking to someone.  "The
conditioning seemed to have worked.  He can't even say 
her name without passing out, and he doesn't remember his
sister at all.  Funny that we had to use a pain conditioning
on the partner and not the sister."  Mulder sniffed, and the man
turned.  "Oh, you're awake again.  How's your head?"

"Hurts."

"I'm sorry," the man said insincerely.  "Let's get on with
this so you can go home."

"I want to go home."

"I know you do.  But first, can you tell me how old you
are?"

"Thirty seven."  

"Do you know where you are?"

Mulder looked around.  It looked familiar but . . .
He shook his head.

"This is your summer house.  Do you remember now?"

Mulder looked around again.  It did look familiar.  The
furniture was covered in sheets, but out through the
french doors, he could see the water.  This was all so
hard.  He hurt everywhere, and he wanted  - someone -
to come get him.  Where was she?  He tensed, half 
expecting another bolt of pain from a forbidden thought,
but none came.  Who was she - this she he wanted to come
and get him?  He looked around again, then nodded.
That seemed to satisfy the man.

"I'm tired," he said.  "And I hurt.  I don't want to talk
anymore."  

A flash of anger crossed the man's face, but he suppressed
it and said, "Very well, Agent Mulder.  Why don't you
go back to sleep for a while and when you wake, we will
try to finish up."

Mulder nodded and started to lay back on the couch, when 
something slammed into his head from behind and he toppled
onto the floor.

*************************************************

The limo driver recognized Mulder as the man the other two
had carried out to the car.  They had indicated he was a
business associate who had had too much to drink and 
they were doing him a favor by making sure he made the 
flight out.  No, the guy didn't seem injured, just passed
out.  And he did reek of alcohol, the driver could smell it.

When she realized nothing more could be learned, Scully
turned and stalked away.  Skinner apologized, then
thanked the man, and followed her.

He hit the street in time to watch her swipe quickly
at her eyes as she climbed into the car.  She sat
stiffly behind the steering wheel for all of thirty 
seconds before she collapsed, her head falling
forward to the wheel, her shoulders heaving as
she sobbed.  

Skinner watched from a distance and longed to go to 
her, but he knew she would never allow it.  Special
Agent Dana Scully would never forgive him, or
herself, if he admitted to seeing her breakdown.  Skinner
imagined that Mulder was the only person who had ever
seen her this vulnerable and been allowed to offer
comfort or support.  He sighed, and turned his back, 
opening his phone to check in with the teams and see
if anything else had turned up.

When a decent interval had passed, Skinner
turned around again, and, sure enough, Scully
was once again erect behind the driver's wheel.
He approached the car, and got in on the passenger
side.

She looked at him and he noted she had repaired 
her make-up, for the only sign of the tears he knew
had fallen were slightly red and puffy eyes.  "No
news from anyone else," he said shortly.

She nodded.  "Back to Mulder's?"   At Skinner's
agreement, she started to put the car in gear, but
was interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone.  She 
opened her purse, pulled out the phone and answered,
"Scully."

A tremendous scream ripped the air from the phone, 
audible even to Skinner, and causing Scully to jerk the
phone away from her ear.  As they looked at each other
the wailing continued and turned into sobs. 

Scully lifted the phone again and Skinner leaned in
to listen as well.  The sobs were slowing and between
them they could just make out a man crying  "No, no,"
repeatedly.  Scully looked at Skinner, then pulled the
phone to herself and asked, "Mulder?  Is that you?"

*******************************************

When Mulder woke again, he was no longer cuffed or
tied.  He started to get up, cradling his injured left arm
carefully, but as he put weight on his left ankle, pain 
shot up his leg, and the ankle twisted and collapsed,
dropping him back on the couch.  When had they 
broken his ankle?

He looked around through pain clouded eyes. His eyes
were swollen from the beatings he had endured, and
he felt the right eyelid droop.  He was confused, injured, 
unable to think clearly.  But he was alone.

He looked at the sofa and was surprised to see a cellular 
phone - his cellular phone - laying there.  He lifted it with 
his right hand and flipped it open.  He looked at it for a 
long moment, trying to decide who to call.  

There were always the speed numbers.  Surely
whoever was on his phone as number one would
be able to help him.  Someone important enough
to be number one would know what to do.  

Where was he?  Oh, yeah, the summer house.  But
where was that?  He could call the FBI, but he 
couldn't remember the number.  He could call 
information, but he didn't even know what state
he was in.

He looked at the phone, waiting for him to make a 
decision.  Finally he just pushed speed one.

A brisk, professional voice answered and said, "Scully,"
and the world exploded again.

********************************************

"Mulder, Mulder, it's me," Scully was practically
screaming into the phone.  "Mulder, listen to me.
Where are you?"

On the other end, Mulder was calming.  The voice
was soothing, and familiar, and as long as that other
word or name wasn't said, he would be all right.

"I'm here," he said dazedly.  "Are you coming to get me?"

Skinner was on his phone trying to arrange for the geek
squad at headquarters to triangulate on the signals of  the
cell phones and pin down Mulder's location, in the event he
couldn't tell them where he was. 

Scully softened her voice.  "Yes, Mulder, I'm gonna come
get you.  Just hang on, partner."  At the word partner, Mulder
gasped, and began to cry again.  "What is is, Mulder?"

"I'm not allowed to have a partner," he said.  "You're
number one.  Are you coming to get me?"

"Yes, Mulder, I'm coming to get you."  Scully tried to calm
the frightened man.  Wasn't allowed to have a partner?  What
had they done to him?

"Mulder, can you tell me where you are?" she gently asked.

"Summer house."  He sounded like a child who knew he had
given the correct answer and was awaiting praise.

"Your summer house?  In Quonochontaug?"

There was a long pause, then a sniffle.  "Summer house,"
he said again.

"All right, Mulder, you're at the summer house.  It's OK."
She could feel his relief through the phone.  She looked at
Skinner and said, "Get the locals out to his family's summer 
house in Quonochontaug.  Medical too, just in case."  At 
Skinner's quizzical look, she added, "Rhode Island."

She spoke into the phone again.  "Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"Are you hurt?  Are you bleeding?"

He began to cry again.  "Yeah - everything hurts.  The bleeding
stopped."  His voice grew quiet and he whispered, "I don't have 
any clothes."

"It's all right, Mulder.  The paramedics are coming.  You'll be
all right."

"Why aren't you coming?  You're number one."

Scully shook her head.  What had been done to him?  He didn't
sound like himself at all.  He sounded like a little boy, alternately
hurt, or whiny, or petulant.  She said, "I can't come, Mulder, 
because I am too far away to get there quickly enough.  The
paramedics will take you to the hospital and then I will be there
as soon as I can, OK?"

"Oh,"  Long pause. " 'kay,"  Sniffle.  "It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"I told you, everything!"

"Can you be more specific, Mulder?  So I can tell the hospital
what to look for?"

"My head.  My shoulder.  My chest.  My ankle.  Everything."
He started to cry again.  "You're number one.  Who are you?"

"It's Scully - "  She was interrupted before she could go any further
by another ear splitting scream.  Mulder wailed into the phone,
crying, sobbing.

"Mulder, Mulder, calm down.  If your chest hurts you may have 
a broken rib.  You need to calm down so you don't hurt yourself
more."

The wailing continued for several minutes, while Scully
cooed comfort into the phone.  Finally the sobbing began
to cease, and she could hear Mulder's breathing even out.
What was that all about?

At last he was responsive and he offered, "I didn't hurt
myself.  The man hurt me when I didn't answer the questions 
right.  But I know all the answers now, and I don't miss any, so 
I can go home.  Are you coming to get me now?"

"Not me, Mulder, remember?  The paramedics will take you to
the hospital and I'll meet you there."

"Oh. Right. I knew that."

Scully was puzzled.  He sounded better, more mature.  What the
hell was going on?  "Mulder, can you tell me what happened?"

Skinner had gotten out of the car and walked to the driver's
side.  He nudged her and she moved over, covering the handset.
"I've got a small plane waiting for us at National.  Let's go."

She nodded and returned to the phone.  "Mulder,  can you
tell me what happened?"

He was crying again.  "Who are you?  Who are you, my number
one?"

Through the phone, in the distance, Scully could hear the wailing
of a siren.

"Mulder, do you hear the siren?" she asked.

"Yes."

"They're coming to help you."  A sudden thought crossed
her mind.  "Mulder, do you have your weapon?"

"Weapon?  I don't know that question."  He sounded confused,
his voice verging on  panicky.  "I'm a field agent for the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Yes, Mulder, that's right."  Scully praised him quickly
then moved on.  "But do you have your weapon?  Your
gun?"

He began to cry again.  "I don't know this one.  You have
to stop asking new questions.  It isn't fair.  I can't learn
the answers if you keep changing the questions."  He sobbed
quietly into the phone, then said, "Please, I want to go home."

Scully and Skinner exchanged a glance.  Skinner waited for
her decision and finally she shook her head - no.  Skinner 
opened his phone again and called an order to not enter the
summer house.  

"Mulder," Scully began.  "I'm coming to get you after all. 
I've got to fly up there; it'll take a little while, but then I will be 
there.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, you're coming to get me.  You are my number one."

"All right, Mulder, here's what I need you to do."  She took
a deep breath. "I'll stay on the phone with you as much as
possible, but we may get disconnected while I'm in transit.
If we do, I need you to close your phone and wait for me to 
call you back.  Can you do that?"

Scully settled in for a long two hours as she headed up
to Rhode Island and her partner.

*********************************************

Skinner and Scully stood outside the Mulder summer home.
Several local law enforcement officers were with them
and an ambulance and two EMTs were in the drive.
She was still talking to Mulder, though the connections
had been sporadic throughout the flight.  But now, she
was here. 

"Mulder," she said, "I need to talk to Skinner for a minute."

He had been crying on and off for the last two hours.  Now,
he sniffled again. " 'kay."

She looked up at Skinner and said, "I think I better go in 
alone, Sir."

"All right, Agent Scully, but I am only giving you a few 
minutes and then we're coming in too.  And if I hear shots
or any kind of commotion, we're coming in."

"Understood, Sir.  But, Sir, he won't hurt me.  I know it."

She picked up the phone again.  "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm here.  I'm coming in now."

"Good."

She went to the door and entered.  She went down a short hall
and found herself in a living room.  Mulder was sitting on
the couch, facing the french doors, his back to her.

"Mulder," she said very softly.

He jumped, then turned slowly.  "Are you my number one?"

"Yeah, Mulder, I am."  Scully walked slowly around the 
couch and then gasped when she saw him.

He was one large bruise, swollen, purple, broken
skin everywhere.  He cradled his left arm against his
body and moved slowly and with obvious effort.

Scully opened her phone again, and called Skinner.
"It's OK, he's not armed.  Get the paramedics in here."

She went slowly over to Mulder, watching him as he
watched her.  When she stood in front of him, he reached
out to her, saying, "Please . . ."

She stepped forward and gently put her arms around him,
pulling him to her as he began to sob.  "Please take me
home, please take me home.  I don't want to be here anymore."

She stroked his hair gently and caressed his back.  "Shhh, 
it's OK, Mulder.  I'm going to take you home.  Shhhh."

Skinner and the paramedics were in the living room too, now,
and Mulder lifted his head from Scully's chest to look
around.

"Hello, Sir," he said in an almost normal voice.  "You're
here too."

Scully and Skinner exchanged a look of complete bafflement.
What the hell was going on?

"Er, well, yes Mulder, I am."  Skinner cleared his throat, then
added, "And I'm glad to see you are alive.  You gave us all
a scare."

"Sorry, Sir, wasn't my fault this time."  Mulder was sounding
more and more like himself.  

"Yes, well, Agent Scully - " Skinner was cut off in mid-sentence
as Mulder screamed and collapsed into himself.  He buried his head 
Scully's abdomen and wailed. 

"No, no, no, no, no . . ."

Once again Skinner and Scully exchanged confused looks, as Scully's 
hand pulled Mulder to her and she began to murmur, "Shhhhh, now, 
shhhh, it's all right.  Calm down.    Hush, now, hush."

Mulder continued to wail for a few moments then the combination 
of Scully's words and her comforting touch seemed to help settle 
him.  The sobs quieted and then stopped completely.

Skinner looked at Mulder, then at Scully, and whispered, "What the
hell just happened?"

"I'm not sure, Sir, but it may be my name that triggered it.  He screamed
like that when I answered the phone, and again when I answered his
question of who I was."

She looked down at Mulder, his head buried in her belly, and she gently
touched his hair.  He lifted his head slightly, and she tucked her hand
under his chin and lifted it a bit more, until she could see his eyes.  His
eyes were swollen, and the right lid drooped.  Tears still hovered in both
and the right one was bloodshot as well.

"Mulder, do you know me?"

"You're my" - sniff - "number one."

"Your number one?"

"On the phone.  I couldn't remember the numbers so I pushed
number one.  You're my number one."

"Oh."  One mystery solved.  "Do you know my name?"

He immediately grew agitated, pulling away, and twisting in
his seat.  "You're my number one," he said stubbornly.
"You're taking me home."

"I'm your partner, Mulder."  At the word partner, he whimpered,
his eyes filled again, and he shook his head - no.

"Yes, Mulder, I'm your partner.  It's OK.  You can have a 
partner."  His eyes skittered across the room, searching, then
settled on Skinner.  When Skinner nodded - yes - he relaxed.

"Mulder," he looked at her.  She still held him loosely, 
tight enough that he wouldn't feel alone, but not so tight
as to hurt him.  "Mulder," she repeated, "My name -"

He tensed.  She could feel him tighten.  Every muscle, every 
tendon, every bone pulled taut.  He squeezed his eyes tightly
shut and leaned heavily against her, his head buried in her 
belly.  The tension was palpable and he actually quivered as he 
waited for her to finish.  

"My name is Dana."

End of part 02/02