From: lhoward388@aol.com
Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2000 18:41:32 EDT
Subject: xfc: Misinformed (part 1 of 2)
Source: xfc

Title:  Misinformed
Author: Agent L
Classification: S, Mulderangst, MT
Rating: Probably PG, except for one really bad word 
Spoilers: Requiem, of course
Distribution: Archive anywhere, but keep my name and 
e-mail attached please! (Previously sent to MTA list)
Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Fox:
I know they're not mine, and no money, gifts or even chocolate would be
expected or accepted for this. 
Summary: Mulder is abducted, but the experience isn't quite what he 
expected.
Author Notes: There's no mention of Scully's pregnancy here, although
Scully does make an appearance. I just couldn't find a good place to
work it in. 
Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com. 

~Misinformed~

There is no truth here, Scully. Only more lies.

The so-called spaceship that we traveled in is a government 
issue stealth project -- made with alien technology, no doubt -- 
but definitely produced right here in the good ol' US of A. 
As soon as we were airborne, I was separated from the others, 
and a group of government goons wearing ski masks strapped 
me down to a gurney. The blood from Goon #2's nose was as 
red as the stripes in the flag. And I'm pleased to report a couple 
of those guys will be walking with a limp for a day or two. I didn't 
see much of anything but those WWF rejects, since they threw a 
hood over my head as soon as I was securely tied down.

Judging by the brief flight time and the bumpy landing, I'm guessing 
we're still on Planet Earth, although I have no idea where. They 
left the hood on as I was carried off the plane -- again by humans, 
unless aliens use colorful four-letter words and wear Old Spice 
cologne -- and put me wherever I am now. That was 
at least an hour ago by my calculations. 

The hood muffles any outside noise, but as far as I can tell 
there's nothing and no one in the immediate vicinity to make 
any sound, and the room has probably been soundproofed, 
as well. That would explain why they didn't bother to gag me, 
in addition to this medieval torture device over my head. 
It's like being trapped inside a Brillo pad except it smells like 
stale sweat instead of dish soap. 

The gurney would seem to be a standard issue piece of psych 
ward equipment -- basic wrist and ankle restraints, supplemented 
by several tough leather straps to hold my arms and legs down. 
After rubbing my skin raw in several places and nearly dislocating 
my shoulder, all the while suffocating under this stifling hood, I 
have finally conceded that for now, at least, resistance is indeed 
futile... unless I start channeling Harry Houdini. 

With nothing else to do, I lie here and think. Mostly about you, 
Scully. I wonder what caused those fainting spells and hope you're 
okay. God knows I never would have left you if I hadn't thought 
the activities in Bellefleur had something to do with what was 
happening to you. 

But at least I was able to protect you from this. 

Maybe now that they have me, you'll be safe.

"Safe, Mr. Mulder? No one is safe."

The voice startles me out of my maudlin reflections. Some 
special agent *I* am, not even hearing the bad guy approach. 
I don't recognize him immediately, but there's the trace of an 
accent. Dutch? German?

"South African."

What the hell...? He's reading my mind.

"No, Mr. Mulder. I'm *in* your mind. I am communicating 
telepathically. Something you have some experience in, I understand."

"I was a receiver, not a sender. And I no longer have that ability." 
I try to raise my head, feeling at a distinct disadvantage, trapped 
on my back like an overturned turtle. "Who are you? What am 
I doing here?"

He ignores both questions. "You always had the ability, both to 
send and receive. You still do, but it's been altered. Harder to 
access. You have to let go, free your mind from its artificially 
imposed constraints. Reach out and embrace the cosmic energy..."

"What do I look like, Luke Fucking Skywalker?" 

Something clamps down over my mouth and the voice fills my 
skull. "You seem to forget who is in control here, Mr. Mulder. 
But it's nice to see that legendary bravado isn't exaggerated." 

I start to struggle, the cloth from the hood clogging my nose, 
unable to get air. 

"Tell me what you want."

I scream against his hand as my lungs pound frantically against 
my chest, demanding air. I try to turn away but he tightens his grip.

"Tell me."

*I can't BREATHE --*

The obstruction is instantly gone. 

"See? You just needed the proper motivation."

A chill runs down my spine and I have a sudden urge to 
scream again. Cold sweat soaks my armpits as I realize for 
the first time how completely helpless I am. A bug writhing 
on a pin, a frog stretched out for dissection.

*If this is one of my nightmares, I'd like to wake up now, please.*

A soft chuckle. 

*So glad I can amuse you.* Suddenly I remember Billy Miles 
and the group from Bellefleur. *Where are the others? The people 
I was with?*

"They are safe."

*I thought you said no one was safe.*

A chuckle. "Touche, Mr. Mulder. They are in a different area, 
undergoing the usual procedures. We have not yet decided 
what to do with you."

I should probably be scared by the threat implied in his casual 
comment, but his arrogance in presuming to decide my fate just 
pisses me off. This isn't an abduction, it's kidnapping, plain and 
simple, and he's just a man -- with an extraordinary talent, granted -- 
but still just a man, playing a sick game.

*What do you want from me?*

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You were simply in the wrong 
place at the wrong time. Yet again. You're quite a nuisance 
that way."

*You make me sound like a mosquito.*

Silence. 

I've been put neatly in my place in the universe, it seems. 
His footsteps start to move away. 

*Wait.*  

He stops.

*Could you at least take the hood off?*

More silence. Apparently he has the ability to block his 
thoughts from me when he chooses. Or maybe fear and 
anger are interfering with my reception, like some lightning 
storm in the brain.

*Please...?* My stomach heaves at the idea of begging for 
some small favor from this man, but if I can see, maybe I can 
figure out how to get out of here. 

"And that's why I won't remove the hood, Mr. Mulder."
___________
I think I'm going to die here, Scully. 

That thought in itself is nothing new. It's occurred to me more 
than once over the past seven years in a variety of situations, 
generally accompanied by a calm acceptance, a willingness to 
sacrifice myself to the truth. My quest...My choice.  I've been 
aware of the risks, although it might not seem that way to those 
who would try to pull me away from the edge of the abyss. 
But I've always thought I'd go out fighting, face to face with 
my adversary -- not with a whimper, but a bang, so to speak. 
I don't want to be an inconvenience...an afterthought, left in 
storage like some old piece of furniture. I don't want to 
just disappear.

He came back a little while ago. Maybe an hour, maybe a day...
I'm losing track of time. There was a stinging in my neck, just 
above my collar bone, and the numbness started almost 
immediately, like novocaine at the dentist. The painful tingling 
quickly moved into my arms and legs, as if my whole body 
were asleep. It's hard to swallow now, and my lungs feel tight -- 
breathing is a focused effort rather than a natural act. I can 
only hope he measured the exact dosage -- assuming he 
wants to keep me alive. 

A few minutes later I felt the release of pressure on my body 
as the straps were removed, but I couldn't even lift a finger... 
literally. I think I preferred the restraints. As painful as they 
were, at least I could feel something, I could struggle, which 
gave me some small hope of escape, however unlikely. 

The drug seems to only affect me physically, however. 
I can still think clearly, as much as I'd like to be unconscious 
right now. But they left the hood on, so I'm assuming my 
chances of being released are still good. If they were going to 
kill me, it wouldn't matter if I could identify them, right?

The hood is yanked off and a bright light shines directly into 
my face. I automatically try to turn my head, but the muscles 
in my neck remain locked, so I close my eyes tightly in an 
attempt to escape. 

"Turn the light off." The South African -- Darth Vader without 
the wheeze -- gives the order to someone else in the room. 
His companion shuffles over to obey. I sense the change in 
light behind my closed eyelids and open my eyes cautiously. 
The room is dimly lit now, but my eyes still hurt.

*What did you to do me?* At least I can still communicate, 
and I suppose our previous "conversation" was to prepare 
me for this. 

"It's an animal tranquilizer, Mr. Mulder, very effective on 
humans in the proper dose. We'll be monitoring your vital 
signs closely in case of respiratory distress, and your - uh - 
physical needs will be taken care of. You wanted the 
restraints removed."

*This isn't quite what I had in mind.* I peer up at him through 
the darkness, unable to see much more than a shadowy face 
and pale hair -- light blonde or white. He's a big man, probably 
over 6 feet, broad shoulders, arms straining the sleeves of his 
shirt. Even if I could get up, he could probably overpower me, 
especially with his accomplice in the room, who I assume is 
of a similar size and weight. Again I try to turn my head, forced 
instead to shift my eyes to see my other visitor, who obligingly 
steps closer, his shadow falling ominously across my face.

The bounty hunter gives me a smile.

End Part 1


*You transmogrifying son of a bitch. I'm going to kill you.*

His smile widens at the ludicrousness of this threat. So far he 
has soundly won every encounter we've had. 

*Who are you? Why did you take those people? 
Why did you take me?*

"So many questions, Mr. Mulder," he says aloud, with a little 
tsk tsk sound. "Always the same."

"He can't be blamed for not remembering."

*I've been here before?*

Vader moves into my line of vision and smiles down at me 
as if he's just cured me of cancer. "Oh yes, Mr. Mulder. 
Although you and I -- and our friend here -- are nearly the 
only players left in our little game."

*You're part of the consortium.*

He nods. "*Was.* But they were weak, short-sighted, too 
prone to panic. And that cigarette smoking bastard Spender 
was convinced he could just murder anyone who got in his way. 
A shame he didn't end up dying a slow, painful death from lung 
cancer..." He shakes his head. "Their extinction simply allowed 
some new terms for an old alliance, a minor adjustment in the 
timetable. For all your incessant interference, you did me a favor, 
exposing them, taking them out of the picture. They had become 
useless, squeamish...too caught up in their own desire for survival 
to see the big picture. With them gone, new groundwork can 
be laid."

*For colonization?*

Silence. 

*Are you going to kill me now?*

"Why should I? He grins -- like a shark. "You won't remember 
any of this, Mr. Mulder, just as you can't recall any of our 
previous meetings. It's a relatively simple procedure -- if not 
an exact science. I believe you experienced something similar 
several years ago while investigating activities near Ellens Air 
Force Base...?" 

The bounty hunter moves forward.

*No. Please -- Wait --*  Suddenly I can't remember what 
I was going to say that was so terribly important only seconds 
ago. My head feels like someone stuffed it with cotton. 
The men staring down at me waver in and out of focus 
and I can barely keep my eyes open...And I hear his voice 
as if he was at the end of a long tunnel...

"You've already been given the injection."
_________
"Mulder, it's me."

Scully's voice drifts to me through the darkness and I can feel 
her hand on mine. This is familiar -- too familiar. Before I'm 
fully awake I know something bad has happened. She saves 
me the effort of trying to use my foggy brain.

"You're in a hospital near Bellefleur. You were hurt in the 
woods, but you're going to be okay." She pauses and I hear 
her murmur something to someone else in the room. "Mulder, 
can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?"

I apply all my focus to my fingers and manage to press them 
against hers. Then, because I need to see her, to see her face 
to really know how I'm doing, I lift my eyelids, which suddenly 
feel like they've got 10 pound weights attached to them. But 
the sight that meets my sore eyes is Scully, so what's a little pain? 
I'd crawl across the room right now if she asked me to. She 
looks concerned, pale, but she gives me a warm smile, not the 
tremulous curve of her lips that greets me when I'm still not out 
of the woods yet.

The woods. There's something I need to remember about 
the woods.

I shift in the bed and my body screams in protest. I hang on to 
Scully's voice, follow it back through the thick fog, and come 
back to full consciousness retching into a kidney-shaped silver 
bowl. Just the kind of impression a guy wants to make on his 
woman. She pushes me back against the pillow easily, her 
brow furrowed, in full Dr. Scully mode. Still beautiful. I'll never 
know how she does that.

"Mulder, lie still. You've been unconscious for several hours 
and you've got some seriously bruised ribs and a broken leg -- 
not to mention more than your usual number of cuts and abrasions." 

Yes, my ribs are still letting me know I have done 
something unspeakable to them. I can't feel the leg yet, 
but I know from past experience I soon will. I look down 
at myself for the first time, feeling as if I'm seeing someone 
else's body, covered with scratches and bruises, tiny welts 
and something that looks suspiciously like...

"Poison ivy." Scully grabs my hand as I start to scratch. 

"Scully..." My voice is weak and raspy. She immediately 
holds a straw to my lips and I try not to suck the cool water 
down in one gulp. When I'm finished, I sound a little better 
than I did just after they vaccuumed tobacco beetles out of 
my lungs. "What happened?"

She sits back in her chair for a moment, regarding me 
with those serious blue eyes. I can tell she's trying to 
decide how much to tell me of what she knows, or how 
much she wants to hear of what *I* know. As I'm trying 
to unscramble that thought, she asks me a question. 
"Why don't you tell me, Mulder. What's the last thing 
you remember?"

My head has begun to hurt, a dull throbbing as it matches 
time with my heartbeat, but I dutifully reach past the pain 
and try to recall the last thing I saw or heard before I woke 
up here. 

"Skinner." 

Scully gives me an encouraging nod. "He came out to 
Bellefleur with you."

"Um...We were driving...." The pain in my head increases, 
as if someone is turning a vise clamped to my temples. But 
Scully wants to know what I remember. "We stopped. By 
the woods." I squeeze my eyes shut. The dim light in the room 
has become too bright, like the sun piercing my skull. Moments 
later there's a cool, damp cloth on my head. 

"Sssh. It's okay. Don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? I'm missing time. How can someone 
break their leg and not know how it happened?

"I need to know, Scully."

She gives a long-suffering sigh. "You and A.D. Skinner 
went into the woods to try to locate an alleged downed 
craft of some kind. You were setting up the laser grid when...
something happened."

She pauses. 

"Gee, Scully, thanks for filling me in. I feel much better now."

She ignores my sarcasm, as usual. "We suspect there was 
some kind of stealth aircraft in the area. Skinner saw a bright 
light and the next thing he knew, you had disappeared."

Her words strike a spark, like flint on flint, at the back of 
my mind. Something just beyond the borders of my 
conscious memory, but it's gone almost immediately.

"From what we can tell, you got out of his direct line of 
sight and fell down a pretty steep ravine nearby. In the 
darkness, with your black clothing, you would have been 
nearly impossible to see. By the time we got a search party 
together, you had somehow managed to crawl away from 
the site and ended up about a half mile away."

She doesn't look at me as she tells me this story. 

"I fell down a ravine only a few feet away and Skinner 
didn't hear or see anything? Then I crawled a half a mile 
with a broken leg?"

"We've found you under stranger circumstances," she shoots 
back. I can't argue with that. Nor do I want to, suddenly 
filled with a lassitude that leaves me content just to lie back 
and watch the sun glint off Scully's hair...

"Mulder..." she says in that voice half between a purr and 
a growl. "Why don't you tell me *your* side of the story?"

I reach back in my memory, but the last thing I clearly 
recall is standing in the woods with Skinner, wishing I was 
back home with Scully. "Uh...I saw a bright light." Did I 
really see it or am I just repeating the standard abduction 
story? My head starts to hurt again, almost as if my brain 
is posting a "keep out" sign on top of those buried memories. 
"They must have done something to me, made me forget."

Scully raises an eyebrow. Just one. I don't know how she 
does it. "Are you suggesting you were abducted by aliens 
and they threw you down a ravine to cover their tracks?"

It seemed much more plausible before she said it out loud.

"Mulder, you show no physical signs of alie - *alleged* alien 
abduction. Believe me, by now I know what to look for."

"What about the others? Billy Miles, Theresa Hoese? 
Surely they -"

She shakes her head, the mask of composure slipping 
a little. "They're gone, Mulder. There's no trace of them." 

At that moment, the door opens and a man enters. He's a 
big guy, ex-jock or ex-military, making those normally 
shapeless green surgical outfits look fitted on his large frame. 
He wears his pale blonde hair in a short, blunt cut and would 
be an imposing figure except for the broad smile.

For Scully.

She smiles back, then turns to me. "Mulder, this is Dr. Schmidt. 
He's been taking care of you."

Dr. Schmidt picks up the chart and reviews it quickly before 
finally acknowledging my presence. "Agent Mulder, nice to 
see you awake."

As he turns back to Scully to discuss my condition, I try to 
place his accent. German? Swiss? But it's been a busy day 
and there's a little man inside me using a pick ax to climb 
around on my ribs, so I whimper to get Scully's attention. 
A few minutes later the little man and I are on the verge of 
unconsciousness. Scully absently strokes my hand as she 
talks to Dr. Schmidt. I drift along on the cadence of their 
voices, safe in my drug-induced haze.

"No one is safe, Mr. Mulder."

Dr. Schmidt's voice startles me back into wakefulness 
and I open my eyes, feeling a sudden chill that has 
nothing to do with the thin hospital gown. The monitors 
start beeping out warnings as adrenalin momentarily 
overtakes the painkillers. Scully winces at the sudden 
pressure of my hand on hers. 

"Where's Dr. Schmidt?" 

"He left five minutes ago, Mulder. What's wrong?"

If I tell her, she'll explain it away as some kind of auditory 
hallucination brought on by the drugs or the trauma, and 
run another battery of tests to check for concussion. So I 
simply smile and shake my head. "Bad dream."

She smiles back and strokes my cheek. "Just relax, Mulder. 
Get some sleep.You're safe now."

I want to believe her.

The End