From: KiMeriKal@aol.com
Date: Sat, 6 May 2000 03:29:23 EDT
Subject: Wind River
Source: revision

Sadly, Tristan reached up and took Mulder's face gently in his 
hands. He kissed his forehead softly, just making a caressing 
contact. As he drew away, he saw two tiny round scars near 
Mulder's hairline. He had no intention of asking about them. 
Instead, he simply nuzzled his lips against Mulder's skin, just 
laying down gentle touches, wishing he knew a way to keep him 
safe, to keep him here with him. He was beginning to fear that 
both desires were impossible.

"Those were a mistake," he heard Mulder say quietly.

Tristan sighed inwardly, but if Mulder wanted to talk about it, 
they'd talk about it. He drew Mulder's head down against his 
shoulder, cradling him against his body. "A mistake?" he asked.

"They're from a medical procedure. It was a mistake." There was a 
lonely, desolate tone to Mulder's voice and Tristan knew the 
tiny, tiny scars covered a very large wound. He felt Mulder's 
arms slide around his body, holding on to him and he pulled 
Mulder even closer in his arms.

"A procedure for what, Mulder?"

It took him a long time to answer. Tristan looked down and saw an 
expression in the older man's eyes that he'd not seen before. It 
was dreamy look, almost as though he had gone somewhere else for 
a bit and his eyes looked at something Tristan couldn't see.

"I've been searching for a memory for what seems like almost my 
whole life," he finally said but as though talking aloud to 
himself. "I thought that the procedure would help me find it. But 
I was wrong." There was another long silence and Tristan felt 
Mulder's hand stroke up and down his back, seeking comfort in the 
touch of skin. "It was a mistake," Mulder added for the third 
time with a shake of his head.

Tristan closed his eyes in despair, when he opened them he looked 
back to the man in his arms. "Mulder, why do you do this? This 
job is going to kill you someday," he said.

Mulder held his gaze a long time, looking openly him. "It might," 
was all he would answer.

Deep sadness washed over Tristan at the resignation he heard 
behind the words. "Mulder..." he started before realizing he had 
nothing to offer him, no other words to say. And then because he 
didn't know what else to do, he kissed him completely. They 
stayed that way together a long time; the only sound in the room 
was the soft sound of their breathing as they sought their solace 
from the other. 

After a moment, Mulder drew away. He seemed to rouse himself out 
of his reverie and he turned in Tristan's arms so that he lay 
with his back pressed to Tristan's chest.

"Hey, you didn't ask me about this one." Mulder's voice had 
turned lighter, he was very deliberately making a effort to ease 
the melancholy between them as he pointed to a long thin scar 
that curled around his calf. "Ask me about that one."

Tristan smiled tenderly and played along. "OK, Mulder, how did 
you get that scar?"

"I was attacked by a phone booth when I was a kid."

"A phone booth?"

"Yeah. Me and my friends were having a squirt gun war at the 
park. I was running full speed, only I was running backwards 
because I was shooting at the other kids. When I turned around 
suddenly there was this glass phone booth about six inches in 
front of me. I swear to you, it leaped out and attacked me. I 
slammed full speed into it and shattered all the glass. The other 
kids told me I bounced off of it like I was Wyle E. Coyote from 
the Roadrunner."

Tristan laughed at the picture in his mind. "God, Mulder. You ARE 
Wyle E. Coyote." It was the perfect metaphor now that he thought 
about it. "That's it? No demons, aliens or mutants? Just a close 
encounter with the Acme Phone Booth Company?"

The man in his arms was laughing too and it was a good sound. 
"Hey, it's not every man that does battle with a big glass box 
and lives to tell about it."

Their laughter faded and Mulder settled back to sleep against 
him. Tristan knew he wouldn't sleep much, if at all, but he 
didn't fear the possibility of sleep as much as he had. And if he 
stayed awake, it gave him time to think quietly and just feel.

Tristan now knew that like the Coyote, Mulder would always be 
back for more, despite the odds. He wasn't about to permit any 
kind of defeat. He suspected that Mulder had some sort of 
personal quest also, he was too driven for his actions to be 
entirely altruistic. But whether it was personal or not, he still 
wore the very visible proof of his obstinacy on his body and 
Tristan could only begin to guess of the scars he wore on the 
inside.

He was filled with great pride and admiration for Mulder; he'd 
never known anyone quite like him. Hell, he never even knew 
people like him even existed.

But the thing he admired also scared the shit out of him. And 
Tristan wondered if he was up to the responsibility of loving 
this man. He wasn't at all sure he had the courage to stand by 
and watch Mulder live the life he did.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It was Sunday. Officially Mulder's day off. Actually Saturday was 
officially his day off too, but it rarely worked out that way it 
seemed. He'd taken refuge from the heat of the afternoon over at 
the tavern where he sat in a back booth drinking a beer and 
working on his laptop. Tristan wasn't there at the moment.

He and Tristan had spent the entire morning in bed. Reading the 
paper, drinking coffee, talking of the small things in their 
lives like movies or sports or favorite foods. He'd told Tristan 
everything he knew of California from the few visits he'd made 
there. In between, they'd spent the time making love. Mulder was 
ready to call it that now. He hadn't said it to Tristan, but 
that's what it was. He needed to say it to him, perhaps tonight.

But right now Mulder was at loose ends in a small town on a late 
afternoon. He'd grown up in a small town, Chilmark was actually 
smaller than Wind River. Once, when they'd been on a case in 
Home, Pennsylvania, he'd told Scully that if he ever had to 
settle down and build a home, he'd want it to be a small place. 
She'd seemed dubious of the concept and he'd told her that she 
didn't know him as well as she thought she did. But he wondered 
now if what she was really doubtful of was the concept of him 
even settling down and building a home, rather than the place 
where he would do it. She probably did know him as well as she 
thought.

But this afternoon he was bored. Tristan's boss had called and 
had asked him to go to Casper to pick up a supply order that had 
gotten screwed up by the liquor distributor. He'd asked if Mulder 
wanted to ride with him but he'd declined as he hadn't touched 
his field notes and reports for a couple days. He needed to 
attend to work. But now he'd wished he'd gone.

He'd tried to work for a while in the hot and cramped motel room 
but after a bit he'd picked up his laptop and headed over to the 
tavern. So here he sat, slowly creating his report. June kept him 
well supplied with things to nibble on and to drink. And 
basically, he was just killing time and waiting until his lover 
came home.

His life had taken a strange turn indeed.

His cell phone chirped at him and Mulder hesitated. Only one 
person would be calling him and he was not at all sure he was up 
to talking to her. But he answered by the second ring anyway.

"Mulder, it's me," she said unnecessarily as she always did. "I 
need to talk to you." She paused and he waited in silence. "I 
mean in person. Can we meet somewhere?"

He was quiet a moment himself. She was calling for a public 
meeting. He almost laughed because custom, of course, dictated 
that a public meeting would keep things civil. Well-bred people 
such as he and Scully didn't get out of control in public. This 
was a delicate dance, not unlike a hostage negotiation. God, how 
had they ever reached this place? Was he even up to this? Her 
voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Mulder, please."

Her voice sounded strained and he just barely refrained from 
asking her if she was OK out of habit. She was fine--wasn't she 
always? He also wondered if she expected him to apologize to her 
or if she had something else entirely to tell him. But he'd never 
know unless he talked to her.

"I'm at the tavern right now if you want to come over."

Now the silence on the phone was hers. Mulder knew the last place 
on earth that Scully wanted to come to was the tavern. Tough. If 
she wanted to talk she could just drag her ass over here. He 
wasn't going to her because, yes, he was feeling just that petty. 
And if she wouldn't come to him then hey, he guessed that the 
last six years together counted for exactly shit.

"I'm at the motel. I'll be right over."

Mulder couldn't have been more surprised.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Scully entered the tavern; it was fairly deserted being late 
afternoon . In the far back corner booth sat Mulder. He looked up 
to meet her eyes as she approached and she slid down into the 
booth opposite him.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked. She nodded and he 
motioned the barmaid over and they ordered.

They were silent as they waited for their beers in deference to 
some strange convention that demanded that serious talk not begin 
until refreshments were served. June set the drinks down and 
clearly sensing the tension, said that she'd run a tab and 
disappeared. They each took a drink from their respective 
bottles.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drink a beer," he said by way 
of making strained, but polite conversation. Certainly they were 
not even close to making apologies for things said, but it was an 
attempt to break the polar ice between them.

Scully had been up all night. First she'd been in Casper doing 
the autopsy and then the rest of the night, she been pondering 
this thing with Mulder. Her emotions were all over the map. 
Mulder's actions had surprised her. Her own reactions had 
surprised her and she sought desperately to understand and make 
it make sense. It was only by this afternoon that she realized 
that she couldn't make any sense of it without his help, just 
like anything else. She looked at the man that she'd shared a 
strange half-life with for the last six-years and decided to skip 
the conventional preamble. She set her drink down.

"Mulder, last summer in your hallway. What was all that about?"

He almost coughed up his drink. God. Leave it to Scully to drive 
right into the heart of the matter. The one subject they had 
never spoken of again by silent mutual consent, but which had 
never left either of their minds for a moment. Mulder decided to 
be just as direct.

"It was about me realizing that you honest to God didn't know how 
important you are to me."

"And what would have happened if fate hadn't interrupted us?"

"I would have asked you to come back inside my apartment and let 
me show you." He paused a moment and then asked his own question. 
"Would you have come if I'd asked?"

"Yes." She answered him without hesitation and he seemed a bit 
surprised. Why would that surprise him? Didn't he know? How could 
he not know? Was he fucking blind?

Was she?

She took a long breath. "So what changed between then and now, 
Mulder?"

"Nothing has changed Scully."

A slight, mocking laugh escaped her. "I would beg to differ. Are 
you in love with him?"

Mulder's resolve to be honest wavered. He wasn't ready to say it 
out loud and he certainly wasn't going to say it to her before he 
said it to him. "He needs me."

"Isn't that a cop-out answer?"

Yeah, it was, Scully did indeed know him well.

He tried again. "I understood in a very unique way what he's 
going through. And I needed to take care of him as best I could. 
I want to protect him from what's happening to him."

"You make it sound very altruistic, Mulder. So where does the sex 
come in--I'm assuming you were there for that for that part too?"

Mulder leaned forward, not sure he could make her understand what 
he barely understood himself. "He wanted me, that's true. He made 
me feel wanted, Scully, and I needed that. I don't know if I can 
even make you understand how much I needed that. But I won't lie 
to you--I wanted him too. I've never felt so consciously 
attracted to a man before. You know, where you feel that 
inexorable sexual pull just looking at someone. I can't tell you 
how much it surprised me. And the truth is that it was there from 
the minute I laid eyes on him, and I don't mean in person, I mean 
from the moment I first read his case, looked at his picture, 
before I even knew that he's gay."

That was a lot to digest. "So what does that make you, Mulder?"

"I don't fucking know, Scully. I don't regret what's happened. 
But I can't explain it either."

"Are you sure you're not just smoothing over something deeper? I 
mean are we talking about behavior that's latent or aberration?"

Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "It's not that I won't answer 
you, Scully. It's that I honestly can't. You're talking to 
someone who has had his first sexual encounter with a member of 
his own sex just two days ago. I'm not in a position to give 
cogent argument on the vagaries of that behavior, one way or the 
other."

Scully nodded and seemed to accept this answer. She took another 
drink of her beer and seemed to contemplate the golden liquid a 
moment before looking back at him. "Mulder, if your hand hadn't 
been forced, would you have ever told me about all this?"

God, this honesty shit was exposing more of him to her than if he 
was naked. No wonder they avoided it.

"The first time...the moment he and I...finished, I went to the 
bathroom to hide out. My first real coherent thought was: Oh God, 
how am I ever going to tell Scully about this?"

That answer seemed to surprise the hell out of her. "Mulder where 
is this going? What path are you on now?"

He sighed, this was certainly something he'd wondered himself. "I 
suspect that where it is going is nowhere, Scully. Tristan and I 
barged into each other's lives for this moment in time. He has 
plans for his life and I'm not sure they include me. I just know 
that we need to finish this case before either of us can look at 
anything else."

But Scully pressed him. "So we finish this case and then what? 
You're going to go back to Washington D.C. and start dating 
guys?"

A sad laugh escaped him. "I didn't date women before, why would I 
start dating men?"

He saw her smile for the first time, but it was joyless. That was 
OK, this whole thing between them made him sad too. But now he 
needed to know something about her, what her plans were.

"Scully, I have no life in any conventional sense of the word. 
All I have is the work. That's a choice I made for myself. But 
from what you said the other day, I'm thinking you feel that I 
somehow imposed that decision on you too. Is that what you think? 
Do you feel that I've stopped you from having the other things 
you want? Have I stopped you from being happy?"

Oh Christ, she thought, that was too much of a question to 
answer.

Of course he hadn't. As confused as she was by all this, she 
couldn't blame him for her choices. But when they began to work 
together and their lives became inexorably intertwined, she had 
felt the need to offer up the same unspoken pledge to the work 
that he had. No, he hadn't asked it of her. But it had been her 
proof of her commitment to the work and to him. Only it seems it 
was a sacrifice he hadn't asked for, didn't expect and didn't 
want. And now she just felt supremely foolish and perhaps that 
was at the root of her anger.

God, how could she even begin to explain all that to him?

As fate would have it, she was saved by her cell phone. She was 
tempted to let it ring but as always, the obligation to the work 
came before her. She answered it.

Mulder watched as she listened, nodded and said 'uh-huh' several 
times. She disconnected and looked back to him. "Mulder, I have 
to go. That was the coroner's office. My lab tests are done and I 
want to review the casting we took of some of the footprints in 
the area and do the comparisons. I need to head back over there 
now."

She slid out of the booth and stood up. But he reached out and 
touched her hand.

"Scully, we're not through talking are we?"

She turned back and looked at him, shaking her head. "I'll call 
you in the morning, if that's OK."

Mulder nodded as he watched her go, his well-tended anger fading 
only to be replaced with dejection. He looked down and wasted a 
few moments staring at his hands and trying to figure out a way 
to make this all work out in his head. He wasn't sure he could do 
it. It was a moment before he became aware that June was standing 
next to him. She had another cold beer in hand, which she set on 
the table in front of him.

"Thought you could use this. Jesus, you look like you lost your 
best friend or somebody ran over your dog or something like 
that."

A weak, dark laugh escaped Mulder at the irony. "Something like 
that," he echoed.

"Was that your partner?"

Mulder nodded.

"I take it she's not taking the thing with Tristan well?"

Mulder looked up at her in dismay. "Jesus, is nothing a secret in 
this town?"

June sat down in the booth next to him. "Don't worry, sweetie. 
It's just cause I know Tristan. I can see how he looks at you."

Mulder sighed and took a drink of his beer. "She's taking it was 
well as can be expected."

"Agent Mulder," June paused a moment and looked around almost as 
though to make sure they were alone. "Let me explain something 
that you might not be getting." She reached over and took a sip 
of Scully's beer and then leaned into Mulder's space, talking 
quietly. "I respect what Tristan is. But his being that way don't 
mean that I don't have feelings for him. It don't mean that I'm 
not attracted to him. I mean, he may be gay, but I'm not."

She looked away, a little embarrassed at her confession. "He's 
the kindest, most loyal man I've ever met. He's funny -- He can 
always make me laugh when I'm down about something. He's seen me 
through some really tough times. God knows, he's damn good 
looking and sexy as all hell and yet he's got this big gangly 
puppy-dog quality about him. But Tristan is too damn smart for 
this little town; he needs to get the hell out of here and I know 
that. But when he goes....it'll break my heart." She looked sadly 
at Mulder, meeting his eyes again. "Feelings don't go away just 
because they're impossible to realize."

Mulder looked at the little barmaid for a long time as he took 
her hand where it lay on the table and squeezed it. Then he put 
his arm around her and hugged her like he would a six-year old 
who'd scraped her knee. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that 
way about him."

She gave a small laugh. "Oh, no one does sweetie, I make sure of 
that."

After a moment she straightened back up. She took another drink 
of beer and when she turned back to him now, her eyes again had 
that flirty sparkle they usually did. "But what I'm trying to 
tell you, Agent Mulder, is that right now, your partner's got a 
really vivid picture in her mind of you with your cock in another 
man's mouth. And trust me on this one, that's a little tough for 
a girl to take."

Mulder just stared at June as he felt a blush creep up over his 
face at her bluntness.

"So you gotta give her a little time. She'll get past it and then 
you two can work out whatever else you need to work out."

He smiled a little at her. "You may be too smart for this town 
too."

She nodded as she stood up and picked up the empty beer bottles. 
Suddenly she leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek.

"I will say one thing, Agent Mulder. Tristan's got damn good 
taste."

Mulder stared after her retreating figure. He sat there a while 
as he finished his beer. He went to the bathroom, packed up his 
laptop and headed out of the bar. The sun was setting and the 
stars were appearing again. He went for a walk and looked up at 
the sky as they began to sparkle in the dark sky. He walked for 
about an hour, thinking about Scully's questions, thinking about 
what June said, thinking about how Tristan needed to get out of 
this place. He was finding few answers just yet. He'd find them 
though. He knew he would. That's what he did best.

He glanced down at his watch in the darkness. Tristan would be 
home shortly. He headed back to the motel to change and head over 
to Tristan's, the anticipation already rising in him.

When he got to the motel, he unlocked the door and stepped 
inside, closing it as he set the laptop on the floor. He flipped 
the switch by the door, but the overhead light didn't come on. 
Shit.

Mulder cautiously started to cross the room in the dark to turn 
on the lamp by the bed. He only made it halfway when he felt the 
excruciating blow to the side of his head that sent him reeling 
backwards.

He tried to regain his balance as he reached for his gun with one 
hand and instinctively put the other up to his head. He felt 
blood tricking through his fingers as he tried to recover from 
the stun and see in the darkness.

A second strike with something heavy on his right hand sent the 
weapon flying from his fingers even as he felt the bones on the 
back of his hand give way. He cried out in pain, doubling forward 
just as another blow to the head slammed him back up against the 
wall and silenced him as he slid unconscious to the floor.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Mulder awoke to near darkness. He blinked slowly as consciousness 
returned. A tiny naked bulb hung from a cord over his head, 
giving off a pitifully small amount a light. Just outside the 
circle of light, he could hardly see a thing. No windows. In one 
corner, he could see the lower half of a rickety staircase, the 
top disappearing up into the darkness. Judging from the cinder 
block walls and the sour damp smell, he was in a basement.

He was lying on his side and he struggled to sit up he fully 
realized that his hands were bound behind him. The feeling on his 
wrists was smooth and cold, indicating that metal chain and not 
rope, held his hands securely. His right hand ached like a son of 
a bitch and he knew the bones were broken. It felt swollen, he 
could barely flex his fingers, and when he did so, it sent pain 
radiating up his arm.

His feet were hobbled together. Mulder blinked as he tried to 
clear his head and at the same time quell the rising panic that 
began as he struggled with his bonds. He tried to ignore the 
throbbing pain in his hand, shoulders, and head as he tried to 
form a plan of what to do, how to get out of this.

His mouth was dry and he felt thirsty which led him to believe 
that he may have already been here several hours. As he ran his 
tongue over his dry lips, it dawned on him that while he was 
bound securely, he wasn't gagged. That realization compounded the 
mounting fear because that meant who ever had taken him wasn't 
worried about anyone hearing him if he called for help.

Swinging his legs in front of him, he was able to sit up in spite 
of the wave of dizziness. The throbbing in his head didn't cease. 
He closed his eyes and leaned forward a bit, trying to still the 
spinning. After a moment, he opened his eyes, again staring at 
the floor, trying to focus in on what to do. It was then that he 
realized that the ice-cold cement floor was covered with dark 
irregular stains.

Oh God.

Wanting to look away from what he was seeing, he raised his eyes. 
It was there in the dim light that he realized that the same 
stains were splattered up the walls, extending many feet as 
though placed there with great force. The confusion that had 
mercifully clouded his mind left entirely to be replaced by dread 
and hopelessness.

He was in deep shit trouble. There wasn't a doubt in his mind 
about who had taken him and what was going to happen.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Mulder began to scream for help as he struggled with his bonds, 
ignoring the pain. But even as he did so, he knew it was useless 
for at least eight men's screams had gone unheard before his. He 
was about to be the ninth.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tristan wasn't quite sure of what to make of what was going on. 
It was late and Mulder hadn't shown up at his house. He hadn't 
called, he hadn't left a message on his machine, no note. No word 
at all.

At first, he'd just assumed he was working. But as time went on, 
he began to wonder what was happening. He'd called Mulder on his 
cell phone and got no answer. He tried calling the motel and 
ringing his room with still no answer. He called over to the 
tavern and talked to June. She told him that he'd left the bar 
about seven-thirty and that he'd been talking with his partner 
just before that.

He thought a moment about calling Agent Scully. But he decided 
against it. The last thing Mulder needed was for him to start 
tracking him down like he was some wayward boyfriend who couldn't 
be trusted.

Maybe he was at the Sheriff's station or maybe he had gone 
somewhere with his partner. He knew that the fight they'd had 
weighed on him so maybe he was with her, trying to straighten 
things out. A strange jealously bubbled under the surface at that 
thought, but he tried to dismiss that. Maybe he just needed some 
time to himself, a lot had happened in the last few days and he 
could understand that.

But still, you'd think he'd at least call. He was a little uneasy 
about that.

By two a.m. and endless pacing, Tristan's resolve to be mature 
about all this left him and he got in his jeep to head over to 
the motel. The light was off in Mulder's room and the rental car 
wasn't there. But his partner might have the car, he reasoned. He 
sat a few moments wondering if he was nuts. Jesus, he was sitting 
in a motel parking lot in the middle of the night spying on his 
lover. He'd officially passed into pathetic behavior.

Well, since he'd gone this far he might as well go all the way in 
his journey into humiliation. He crossed the parking lot and 
knocked on Mulder's door. No answer. He knocked again and harder 
this time. "Mulder?" No answer.

He looked down at Agent Scully's room. He walked over to it 
reluctantly. Fuck. Oh fuck. He was going to do this, he couldn't 
believe it. He raised his hand to knock.

Suddenly he was startled by headlights turning into the parking 
lot. He turned and in the moonlight, he saw Mulder's rental car 
turn into the drive and pull into a parking space. He relaxed. 
Oh, thank God. The door opened and out stepped Agent Scully.

With no Mulder. Shit. What was this?

She approached him cautiously. "What are you doing here, Mr. 
Hunt?"

"I was looking for Mulder."

She lifted her chin a little, clearly surprised. "He's not here?"

"No, he was supposed to meet me tonight and he never showed up. I 
began to get worried."

A dark look crossed her face. She crossed to his door and 
knocked. "Mulder?"

"I did that," he said with exasperation.

She looked at him then reached into her pocket and pulled out a 
device of some sort. It sort of looked like a Swiss army knife. 
She flipped it open, bent down and within a minute, she had the 
door unlocked. She pushed the door open.

"Mulder?" Scully tried to flip on the light but it wasn't working 
and everything in her went on alert. Something wasn't right. She 
drew her gun. "Stay here," she said to Tristan as she entered the 
darkened room.

The curtains were drawn but a little moonlight from the door 
illuminated the room just enough for her to cross to the 
nightstand. "Mulder?" She reached down and turned on the light, 
throwing the room into brightness.

Oh shit.

There'd been a struggle. A table and chair had been knocked over. 
Both Mulder's cell phone and his gun were scattered on the floor.

Scully looked around the room again and this time she saw 
something on the wall that caught her attention. She approached 
it. It was a bloody handprint. Scully's heart constricted and she 
turned to Tristan who had ventured into the room after her and 
was looking at what she was seeing with horror.

She noticed the window at the back of the room was open. As she 
approached it she saw that there was blood on the windowsill 
also.

Mulder. Oh God. She snapped open her cell phone and called the 
Sheriff's office. She went to the room next to Mulder's and 
banged on the door until a sleepy trucker answered it. He'd heard 
some noise earlier, about eight. But he'd thought it was the TV 
or something. One by one, Scully woke up every person in the tiny 
motel. What had they seen, what cars were in the lot, what noises 
had they heard, had they seen Mulder, had they seen anybody?

No one had seen squat.

More help arrived. Within hours Scully knew that the blood type 
and handprint were Mulder's. She knew that the back window had 
been jimmied and that the overhead light bulb had been carefully 
removed. From how the furniture was scattered it looked like 
someone had waited for Mulder then ambushed him in the dark. They 
weren't sure what kind of wound the blood came from but obviously 
Mulder had struggled for his gun.

It was a motel room and besides Mulder's there were dozens of 
other fingerprints in the room. Some fibers and hair were 
recovered, but they could belong to anyone. And they were useful 
only AFTER they had caught a suspect. It would be a miracle if 
they could pull a match of any kind from the databases. Besides 
Scully knew this had been planned, it was unlikely that Mulder's 
abductor would leave them a nice calling card like a fingerprint.

Night wore into morning and then afternoon. Scully had 
interviewed every witness there was, she'd overseen all the 
collection of evidence. And now she sat on the edge of Mulder's 
bed in his room looking at her notes, trying to investigate 
something that she shouldn't be. She was too close to this. She 
felt nauseated with the fear and dread. It was quiet here now, 
all of the support personnel had packed up and headed back to the 
Sheriff's station. It was just her and...

"Agent Scully?"

She lifted her eyes and looked at the distraught young man who 
stood before her in the doorway. Tristan had been there the whole 
time and Scully had been too busy to make any effort to get him 
to leave. He'd stayed well back out of her way, answering her 
repeated questions and watching all the goings on with terrified 
eyes.

As she looked up at him she realized that all her science and 
procedure and technique had failed her. They were failing Mulder. 
Right now, the only hope she had to cling to was Mulder's 
resolute belief in this man.

"Why Mulder? Why did he take Mulder?"

She shook her head slowly, looking up at him. "I don't know. 
Maybe because he's working on this case. I don't know. Maybe he 
was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't know. And 
I don't give a shit about that right now. As best I can figure, 
Mulder's been missing for about eighteen hours right now which if 
this guy runs true to form, he's running out of time....I need 
you to tell me where he is."

Tristan's face got dark with rage. "I don't know where the fuck 
he is. Jesus Christ, I had nothing to do with this. Why can't you 
believe that?"

Scully rose to her feet, noticing as she did so he was Mulder's 
height. She had to lift her face to look at him just as she did 
with Mulder.

"I do believe that, Mr. Hunt," she said calmly though she had 
never felt less calm in her life. But she had to stay in control. 
"But I also have to believe that you do know where he is. It's 
got to be there in your mind somewhere. Mulder believed that and 
his instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to people. So right 
now, I need to believe Mulder and I need your help to find him."

As she looked up at him, what little hope Scully had desperately 
been clinging to began to die slowly. Tristan Hunt was staring at 
her as though she'd lost her mind. And truth was she felt that 
way. But he was shaking his head at her, stunned into silence.

She closed her eyes then stepped past him to exit the door. Only 
she didn't know where she was going or what she was going to do. 
Tristan's voice stopped her.

"Don't leave. I can't do this alone. Someone has to listen. I 
need your help too."

Scully turned and looked back at him. She nodded slowly and 
crossed over to him, sitting on the couch.

Tristan settled back against the chair. He laid his head back and 
tried to clear his mind. He needed to focus, to concentrate. 
Except he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't focus. He just wanted 
to scream.

He closed his eyes. God, Mulder. Help me. The only thing he could 
think of to concentrate on was the memory of Mulder's eyes that 
day back at the quarry. The first time he had tried this. In his 
mind, he brought Mulder's face before him, remembering what it 
had been like to look so deeply into another's eyes. Mulder's 
eyes. He began to breathe in a deep steady rhythm, long and slow. 
Mulder's green hazel eyes drawing him near.

He was in control. Mulder had told him that since the beginning. 
He was in control. Tristan realized his mind had wandered and he 
brought his concentration back to the picture in his head. 
Relaxing his muscles, this time he progressed quickly into his 
trance state.

Scully watched him carefully. She'd been through this enough 
times to recognize the elements of trance.

"Where are you, Tristan?"

"I'm in the library."

"Where?"

"I'm looking for a book...Here it is"

Scully wanted to scream again with impatience. What the fuck was 
he talking about? But she curbed her instinct. "Which book?"

"The one Mulder..." Suddenly Tristan sat upright again. "Oh God, 
Oh Jesus. The basement, I'm back in the basement. No. NO!"

Scully was alarmed, Tristan was suddenly sweating and shouting. 
She didn't know what to do. She'd been through hypnosis herself, 
but it was something she'd dismissed from her mind. It was only 
later when she'd listened to the tape that she'd heard the very 
real fear and desperation in her voice. Just as Tristan was 
sounding now. "Tristan, where are you now?"

"I'm in the basement," he said impatiently.

"Whose basement, where? Have you been there before?"

"Oh Jesus, I see Mulder." Tristan moved his head suddenly, his 
closed eyes squeezing even more tightly shut. "Stop. STOP!"

Scully was by Tristan's side. She didn't want to disturb the 
trance, but it was all she could do to keep from shaking him.

"Stop what? What's happening?"

"Stop hurting him. Stop." Tristan was clearly appealing to 
someone.

"Who? Who's hurting him? What's happening to Mulder?"

"He just hit him again with something. It looks like a pipe or 
something." Tristan turned his head suddenly as though looking 
away. "Oh God, I heard the bone, I heard it. Jesus God, stop it."

Scully didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to guide 
Tristan, she didn't know how to help him see. If Mulder and Dr. 
Hawley couldn't do it, how the fuck could she?

"Tristan. Stop looking at Mulder a moment. You need to look 
around the room. You need to see if there is anything that can 
tell us where this is, where this is happening."

"I can hear the thuds against Mulder's body. He can't breathe 
very well. I can hear him trying to get air. The man is laughing 
again. God, I know that sound. I've heard it. Shit, he hit him 
again. He's on the floor, he's hitting him with a pipe."

Scully was sickened by the visions in her own mind. "Can you see 
where he is?"

"It's dark. Mulder's kneeling in a pool of light, like an 
interrogation. He's tied up somehow, he can't move enough to get 
out of the way. He keeps pulling away but he can't go far. He 
can't get out of the way but he keeps trying. It hurts, it hurts. 
He can't get away from the pain. The man is screaming at him."

Scully felt the emotion welling up inside her at Tristan's words. 
She'd never been more frightened for her partner and she could 
hardly stand to be witness to his agony. Except she had to. She 
had to.

"What is the man screaming, Tristan? What is he saying?"

"He's not saying any words. It's just a scream and it's scaring 
Mulder as much as the pain. He can't see because of the blood 
running down his face. He's trying to see, but he can't. He's 
asking the man why. He wants to know why."

Tristan turned his head back and forth as though looking for 
something, despair in his expression. "It's stopped. It's gone 
dark again. I can't see Mulder anymore. He's turned off the 
light. It's gone quiet."

Scully went cold. Please God, no, she prayed. Not like this. Not 
alone in the dark. Please. Mulder has things to do here yet.

Tristan tilted his head as though listening closely to something, 
then he went totally still.

"Tristan, what is it?"

His answer was a whisper. "Mulder's crying. He's calling for 
you."

Scully's hand came up to her mouth and tears slid from both 
Tristan's closed eyes and her own at their witness to Mulder's 
pain. Hurt and scared and alone in the dark, abandoned and at the 
mercy and in the control of something evil - every human being's 
nightmare. Scully felt the defeat crush her; she felt like she'd 
been run over by a car. She wanted to die.

She pleaded with Tristan; "Can you see anything else? Please. 
Please, I know it's dark. But try."

Tristan seemed unusually calm; he just seemed to be listening 
now. "I can't see. I can only hear. I can only hear Mulder. All I 
can hear is him ..." Tristan stopped abruptly as something else 
caught his attention. "I can hear the other walking around 
upstairs now. He's still laughing. It's echoing down through the 
floor. God, it sounds like when..."

Tristan suddenly sat upright as he broke out of his hypnotic 
state. "It's Robbie."

Scully gripped his arm. "What?"

The words tumbled out. "Robbie McKeever. His house has a basement 
with no windows. It's all cement brick. When I was twelve, he 
dared me to go down there once. He told me he'd follow me down, 
except instead he locked me in down there. He left me there in 
the dark for hours. I remember screaming for him for hours. He 
thought it was funny. He thought it was funny. I heard him up 
there walking around and laughing. The sound echoed down to me. 
Goddamn bastard, I trusted him and he thought it was funny. I 
never told anyone about it. It's where Mulder is; it's where the 
others were. I didn't see it, but I heard it. I know that sound. 
I know I'm right. I know it."

It never even occurred to Scully to question the validity of his 
recovered memory.

Scully snapped open her cell phone and put a call through to 
Sheriff Carmichael who was half-way across the county, working on 
a fatal traffic collision between a eighteen wheel truck and a 
mini-van of tourists on their way to Yellowstone national park. 
He put a call out for all available help to converge at the turn 
off to Robbie McKeever's house. Scully requested an ambulance be 
sent out from the closest medical facility in the nearby town of 
Riverton.

Tristan and Scully arrived at the turn-off to the McKeever house 
first. Tristan told them it was a farmhouse outside of town about 
three miles and then about a quarter mile down a dirt road, 
tucked back up against the hills. She called again and confirmed 
that the Sheriff and ambulance were on their way, but both were 
still fifteen or twenty minutes away. Scully knew the correct 
procedure was to wait for back up.

No fucking way was she waiting for back up.

She turned to Tristan. "I want you to wait here for the Sheriff. 
Tell him I've gone on ahead."

"No way. I'm going with you." Scully opened her mouth to argue, 
but he cut her off. "I know the house. I was there a hundred 
times as a kid. I've been in that damn basement, I know where the 
door is."

Scully nodded and turned down the little road. She drove until 
Tristan told her that the house was just around the bend. She 
pulled the car off the road and got out. "You stay behind me and 
do exactly as I say." He nodded.

Together, they crossed the heavily wooded field and within 
moments, the house came into view. Two stories and looking like 
just another run-down farmhouse. Nothing would indicate that so 
many gruesome deaths had occurred there. Robbie's car was parked 
in front. Through the open windows on the porch they could hear 
the sounds of a baseball game on the TV.

She and Tristan crouched low in the underbrush together, she 
turned to him. "Ok, tell me where the basement is."

"Off the kitchen. There's a pantry and at the back of the pantry 
is the door. You can reach it through the kitchen or off the 
hallway that leads from the front room to the kitchen.

"Is there a back door to the kitchen?"

Tristan nodded.

"Is it locked?"

"It usually was."

"OK. I may have to pick it. We need to find out where Robbie is 
in the house. I don't want him anywhere near Mulder when we take 
him. I don't want to give him the chance to use Mulder for 
leverage. I'm going to crawl up next to the house and see if I 
can see where he is."

"Let me call him."

"What?"

"You got your cell phone. Let me call him. I can keep him 
distracted while you see where he is."

Scully nodded with the plan. She pulled out the phone and handed 
it to him. Tristan tried to dial the number with trembling 
fingers. Scully touched his hand. "You need to be calm. You can 
do this."

He nodded and pressed Send.

They could hear the phone ringing in the house. It rang five, 
then ten, then fifteen times.

"He's not answering." Scully said. "Why isn't he answering?"

"Maybe he's back down in the basement. Maybe he can't hear it."

Scully knew Tristan was right. And if McKeever was back in the 
basement, they couldn't wait another second. "I'm heading around 
to the back of the house to the kitchen door. You stay here."

And giving him no time to argue, Scully took off through the low 
brush, making her way to the back of the house as Tristan watched 
helplessly. Suddenly, just as Scully was making her way across 
the side of the house, he saw Robbie's massive size appear in the 
front window. Tristan looked back over at Scully, she couldn't 
see him from the angle she was at. Robbie appeared to be headed 
for the hallway that led to the kitchen. He carried a shotgun in 
his hand. He and Scully would meet up head on when she came in 
the back of the house.

Tristan surged to his feet, not sure what the hell he was going 
to do as he crossed the yard and walked up the stairs to the 
porch to the open door. "Hey Robbie?" he called, trying to make 
his voice sound as casual as possible. "Robbie, it's Tristan. You 
around?"

The screen door on the porch was suddenly filled with Robbie's 
frame. Tristan took a deep breath. "Hey, man. How's it going?"

"What are you doing here?" Robbie looked confused and agitated. 
He wasn't carrying the gun anymore.

"My car died down the road, so I thought you'd let me use your 
phone to call Bret."

Robbie hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, Tris. Come on in." He 
opened the screen door to let Tristan enter the house. "You know 
where the phone is."

Robbie sounded just as friendly as he did every night in the bar 
and for just a split second Tristan wondered if he was wrong 
about the whole thing. But he knew he wasn't.

He made nervous chatter as he headed to the phone. "Hey, I hate 
to put you out, but you know Bret closes early sometimes, so 
maybe you can give me a ride back into town if I can't get a hold 
of him."

Robbie nodded, "It's OK. I wasn't doing anything. I was just 
cleaning my gun and watching the game." He gestured to the table 
where the shotgun lay and where indeed, there was cleaning 
material scattered about. Jesus, what was he getting it ready 
for?

As he punched in random numbers he watched Robbie calmly load 
shells into the gun. Robbie then leaned back against the wall 
next to the hallway that led to the kitchen, setting the shotgun 
against the wall next to him as he waited for Tristan to make his 
call.

Tristan glanced down that hallway wondering if Mulder was dead or 
alive. Please, God. One favor. Just one. I've never asked for 
anything.

Tristan continued his attempt to keep Robbie distracted and hide 
his own nervousness, he nodded towards the shotgun at Robbie's 
side. "Been out getting the rabbits out of your mom's garden? I 
remember you had some damn big ones."

Robbie smiled a little all of a sudden. "Yeah, remember that one 
that weighed about fifty pounds? It actually chased Bret across 
the garden." Robbie laughed, and a dark chill ran through 
Tristan. "Wow that was a long time ago."

"Yeah, I haven't been here for a while."

"No, you ain't been here for a long time..."

Tristan set down the receiver. "No answer, it looks like you may 
have to give me that lift after all." He looked up at Robbie and 
froze at what he saw.

His face had gone dark. "You ain't been here since that time I 
locked you in the basement." He picked up the shotgun. "You're 
here looking for that FBI guy, the one June has the hots for. I 
bet you have that other one with you." Robbie looked out the 
window.

"Robbie, what are you talking about, man? My car broke down."

"You show up here after ten years? I ain't stupid. I'm not going 
to let that bastard take June away from me. I'm not!"

Tristan's mind was racing at the speed of light. June? What the 
fuck did June have to do with this? Where the fuck was Agent 
Scully? It seemed like hours, but Tristan knew it had really been 
just a little over a minute since she had left him in front. All 
he could think to do was keep Robbie talking. "What are you 
talking about Robbie? Mulder doesn't want June, he hardly knows 
her."

Wrong thing to say. He saw Robbie's eyes cloud with rage. 
"Bullshit. She was hanging all over him! She was kissing and 
hugging him. She never kisses or hugs me like that. June doesn't 
understand that they all want to hurt her, they all want to take 
her from me. I'm the only one who cares about her."

Fuck. Oh fuck, what was he supposed to do. How the hell do you 
reason with someone who was nuts? Where the fuck was Agent 
Scully?

"Robbie, not every man wants to take June away from you or hurt 
her. I never hurt June, did I?"

Robbie gave him a disgusted look. "Don't treat me like I'm 
stupid. I know what you are. I knew you was OK around her. I knew 
since we was kids you were queer." He laughed again. "Fuck, I 
probably knew before you knew. I saw how you looked at the guys 
and how you was with girls. I knew you'd never come between me 
and June."

The words tumbled out of Tristan's mouth, trying somehow to reach 
his old friend's twisted mind. "But that's just it, Robbie, 
Mulder isn't interested in June. He's with me. Didn't you see 
that, Robbie? He's with me. He doesn't want June cause he's like 
me. And June doesn't want him cause he's like me."

Robbie looked confused a moment. "Like you?"

"Yeah, Robbie, like me. Just like me. You made a mistake. That's 
all, just a mistake." Tristan dared a step towards the other man. 
"So let me take Mulder and we'll go on home and forget about it, 
OK?"

Robbie actually lowered his shotgun a little. "Oh God, Tris, I'm 
sorry, man. I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

Tristan felt like he was losing his mind. Robbie was apologizing 
as though he'd simply backed into his jeep and dinged his bumper. 
Like it was nothing more than that. He actually even looked 
sorry.

Just then, over Robbie's shoulder, he saw Agent Scully enter the 
far end of the hallway from the kitchen. Thank you, God. She'd 
removed her shoes and was walking silently on the hardwood floor 
towards them with the stealth of a cat and her gun raised. The 
problem was that Robbie was around the corner from her as she 
approached up the hallway from behind him. She couldn't see him 
from that angle, she could only hear his voice.

Tristan forced a smile and tried to make his voice as calm and as 
light as possible, to draw Robbie's attention again. "It's OK, 
Robbie, really. So why don't you just put the shotgun down," he 
said to let Scully know about the weapon. "I can just take Mulder 
and go home. We'll forget about it. Mistakes happen. It's OK."

"Tris, you know I can't do that. If I let the two of you go, 
they'll come get me and then who will protect June? I can't leave 
June unprotected! No one loves her like I do. I don't want to do 
it, man, but I got no choice, you don't leave me any choice. I 
gotta protect June--Why don't you understand that?"

Scully had made it far enough down the hallway that she now had a 
clear view and could see his weapon was pointed at the floor. 
"Robbie McKeever, I'm a federal agent. Drop your weapon and put 
your hands in the air." Tristan watched the next horrifying 
moment as though in slow motion.

Robbie, instead of doing what he was told, turned towards the 
sound, shouldering his gun as he did so. He never even fully 
completed the turn, for Scully drilled him with a kill shot 
through the forehead, stopping his movement. He was hurled back 
against he wall as first his gun, and then his heavy body slammed 
to the wooden floor of the house.

Tristan met Scully's eyes a moment, then pushed past her and ran 
down the hallway and through the pantry. He unbarred the door to 
the basement and ran down the stairs, flicking on the light 
switch. Scully cautiously looked at Robbie's still form on the 
floor, assuring herself he was dead and not just wounded, then 
whirled and followed Tristan down the hallway, her heart 
constricting at what she might find.

From the head of the stairs, she saw Mulder lying on his right 
side in bloody, crumpled heap, still chained to the wall. Tristan 
was bent over him. He looked up as she pounded down the stairs. 
"He's breathing," he told her as he moved to gather Mulder into 
his arms.

"Don't touch him!" He froze and looked up at Scully as she 
approached. "We don't know what his injuries are yet, you can 
make it worse by moving him."

Scully knelt beside Mulder's body and felt her way down his spine 
and neck; nothing seemed overtly out of place from just the 
touch. She ran her hands over his rib cage. Shit. Things were 
definitely wrong there. "Mulder, can you hear me? Mulder?"

She was rewarded with a painful sounding groan as her voice 
reached him. Mulder whispered her name back to her as he moved a 
bit and tried to raise his head. Suddenly, he coughed and that 
movement was followed by a sharp cry of excruciating pain. She 
placed her hands gently over his ribs to steady him and looked up 
at Tristan's alarmed face. "He's got some broken ribs, for sure." 
Where the hell was that ambulance?

She looked at where the chains bit into Mulder's skin around his 
wrists, where he had obviously struggled to free himself. As she 
felt his arms she realized both his right arm and hand were 
broken and she knew the pain from the restraints must be 
agonizing. A rage shot through her and for a moment she wished 
she could kill Robbie again, much more slowly this time. But then 
she shook her head, no time for that now.

"We need to get these goddamn chains off him." She looked up at 
Tristan. "See if Robbie has a key to this padlock on him."

He nodded, was up the stairs in a flash and Scully heard a thud 
as Tristan shoved Robbie's body around roughly, she then heard a 
sound that could only be Tristan kicking the dead man. Good for 
him, she thought. She turned back to her partner. "You're safe 
now. It's over, Mulder, it's over. We'll make it stop hurting 
soon, I promise." Although Mulder didn't open his eyes, her voice 
reached him and he nodded once.

Tristan was back moments later with a key chain. The third key 
proved to be the one and the padlock slipped open and Scully 
gently moved Mulder's arms from behind his back. "OK, Tristan, 
help me get him on his back, support his head and shoulders. 
That's right."

Tristan helped her turn him and she continued with her exam. She 
smoothed back Mulder's hair, pushing the blood off his face, and 
at the same time prying open his eyes. She had no flashlight, but 
even in the dim light his pupils reacted.

Tristan saw it. "That's good, right?" he asked and Scully nodded.

She saw that Mulder's lips were dry. She gently pinched the skin 
on the back of his hand, and when she released it, it remained 
pinched looking. "He's a little dehydrated, he's probably hasn't 
had any water." She pressed on Mulder's abdomen, feeling for 
signs of rupture or internal bleeding. A pass over his legs 
brought another grunt of pain from Mulder, there was a break on 
his lower left leg somewhere.

She was just going to suggest that they get Mulder up the stairs 
and to the car when in the distance they heard the oncoming wail 
of a siren. She and Tristan met each other's eyes, the relief 
apparent on both of their faces and they each exhaled a breath.

Tristan started to take Mulder's left hand and then stopped, 
remembering her earlier admonishment. He looked up at Scully.

Scully nodded to him. "It's OK, let him know you're here. Keep 
talking to him. Tell him help is on the way and he's going to be 
OK. I'll go let them know where we are."

Tristan squeezed Mulder's hand and bent low to his ear. Scully 
couldn't make out the words but there was no mistaking the tone 
and Mulder responded to it by trying to move. She touched 
Tristan's shoulder. "Don't let him move." Tristan nodded and 
returned his attention to Mulder, his low soothing murmurs having 
the effect of stilling her partner's movements.

She stared at the two men a moment, feeling very much the 
intruder all of a sudden. Almost voyeuristic. She rose slowly to 
her feet. Then she turned and hurried back up the stairs to guide 
the Sheriff and ambulance to the scene.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tristan and Scully rode with Mulder in the ambulance. Tristan 
held Mulder's hand the entire way despite the odd looks given to 
him by the attendants. At the hospital, he watched as Scully took 
charge. She was clearly in her domain now and she acted with an 
authority and confidence he'd rarely felt in his life as she 
directed the hospital personnel and Mulder's care.

He felt so unnecessary. Fuck, all of these people were useful, 
they were all doing something to help, and all he could do was 
stand by like an idiot and watch. But in spite of the fact he was 
sick with worry, he had to admire Scully because he knew she was 
sick with worry too, even if she didn't show it now. He knew from 
the scars on Mulder's body that she'd probably done this more 
than a few times.

God, how did she do it? He was wreck, an absolute fucking wreck.

And he knew that he couldn't live with this feeling on any kind 
of regular basis.

Mulder was in a semi-conscious state, mumbling away incoherently, 
induced by the morphine sulfate given to him in particular for 
the pain of cracked ribs which sent agony with each labored 
breath. He'd been x-rayed and given an MRI. The blows to his head 
had not cracked his skull. His arm, hand and leg were set.

He'd been given a thousand cc's of Ringers Lactate and other 
fluids intravenously which quickly alleviated the dehydration. 
They were then able to start him on Keflex, an antibiotic to 
reduce the risk of infection from his multiple lacerations. The 
urine output showed some proteins and blood but his liver 
functions tested normal, no ruptures or tears. They continued to 
monitor his bruised kidney's functions. The next sample was clean 
and that was a good sign. There would be no permanent damage to 
his organ functions. They'd gotten to him in time.

Scully sought Tristan out in the waiting room. She'd been giving 
him periodic updates, but now she sat down and told him 
everything that was happening, all of the tests and all of the 
results. They'd been lucky. Another day in Robbie's hands and 
they would have lost him. The last bunch of tests were now all 
coming back with marked improvement. He was in great pain which 
they could alleviate, but otherwise, it looked like looked like 
everything would heal with time with no residual health problems. 
Agent Scully told him she was very pleased with how things were 
progressing.

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. He's sleeping, but of course you can see him. Go on 
in."

Tristan entered Mulder's room and looked at his sleeping lover. 
Jesus Christ, he looked like shit. Agent Scully was pleased with 
this? That must mean that she'd seen him look worse. The thought 
was frightening to him. He sat down in the chair by the bed 
quietly, afraid of waking him. Afraid because he didn't know what 
he'd say if he did wake up. What did you say to someone who 
almost died? He sat by the bed a very long time. God, what was he 
going to do about all this?

He heard the door swish open and he glanced up to see Agent 
Scully. He stood up slowly as she approached and stood next to 
him. She spoke softly. "He'll sleep the whole night, he's pretty 
heavily medicated. But we'll give him something milder tomorrow 
and he'll seem more like normal."

Tristan gestured an outstretched hand over the bed. "None of this 
is normal," he said with a slight edge to his voice.

She looked at him with some sympathy. She didn't blame Tristan 
for being dubious, it was hard to comprehend. "No, you're right, 
it isn't really. But in a strange way, it is for him. But he'll 
recover, Mr. Hunt," she assured him again. "Mulder's the most 
tenacious person I've ever known."

Tristan thought about that as he looked at the battered man. He'd 
have a few more scars for his collection. He smiled sadly, and 
his heart went heavy as he realized the truth in front of him. 
"Wyle E. Coyote," he whispered as his eyes filled with tears.

"Excuse me?"

Tristan shook his head and gripped the side rail of the bed.

She touched his shoulder. "You need to rest yourself."

Tristan nodded, too tired to argue with someone who was right. He 
leaned down and kissed Mulder's unbruised cheek as she watched. 
He opened the door and then turned back. "Agent Scully?" She 
looked over at him. "Thank you for taking such good care of him."

She accepted his thanks with a nod. "You're the one who saved his 
life, Mr. Hunt. Thank you."

Tristan smiled a little and slipped out of the room. Scully 
watched the door swing closed, then turned back to Mulder. After 
a moment she pressed her lips to her sleeping partner's forehead, 
turned and walked quickly from the room.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

When Mulder awoke the next day, he felt more alert. With his 
right arm and hand in a cast and his left leg too, he felt 
extremely lopsided. There seemed to be nothing on his body that 
wasn't bruised or didn't hurt. But he insisted on going to the 
bathroom on his own, refused to eat the hospital oatmeal and 
wouldn't take the stronger dose of painkiller offered to him, 
insisting on the milder prescription also noted in his chart. 
Scully smiled when all this was reported to her by the staff upon 
her arrival.

Mulder was feeling better.

She entered his room to find him sitting up in bed. He looked 
like shit, but he grinned weakly at her and it was a glorious 
sight. She sat next to him on the bed and filled him in on 
everything. An investigation of Robbie McKeever's house turned up 
evidence that linked him to all of the deaths. They found volumes 
of diaries written about the barmaid, June. It seemed he'd always 
been in love with her clear back from when they were kids back in 
grade school. He'd been totally obsessed, but content to worship 
from afar. It seemed he had his own well-kept secret.

But then about eight months ago, June became the victim of a date 
rape. It had been a trucker, a man who had come into the bar one 
evening and had seemed nice. The only person she told were 
Tristan and Robbie who'd found her crying in the storeroom one 
evening shortly after it had happened. She'd refused to report it 
to the police, fearing the gossip in the small town. Tristan had 
taken her for counseling over in Casper and she'd made a 
tremendous effort to put the ordeal behind her.

Robbie McKeever, however, was another matter.

June's attack had pushed his obsession into a murderous rampage. 
June's actual attacker was long gone but he now became June's 
protector and avenger. He would fixate on someone that he felt 
was a threat to June, someone that she had paid too much 
attention to or who paid too much attention to her. He stalked 
these victims. Abducted them and then merited out the punishment 
his twisted mind thought they deserved for the hurt they would 
cause June. He'd killed his first victim about four months ago 
and then developed a taste for it.

Mulder listened to this tale with solemn eyes. Scully knew a long 
time after his body had healed, he would still feel the terror 
he'd felt in his mind. There would be nightmares for months to 
come.

She smiled at him now as she finished the tale. "I'm sure it will 
gratify you to no end to know that you were right, Mulder. 
Tristan Hunt did have the answer in his head. But he only found 
it when he stopped looking and started listening. It was the 
listening that finally triggered it in his mind. He saved your 
life, Mulder."

"Can I say I told you so now?"

"Of course you can, Mulder, you certainly earned the right."

"Well, as long as you know it, I guess I don't need to say it."

Just then, the door pushed open and Tristan Hunt looked into the 
room. He made eye contact with Mulder who smiled as he nodded 
back to him. Scully watched the exchange and suddenly she felt 
very awkward again, much like the proverbial third wheel. A 
moment's uncomfortable silence passed.

"Mulder, I...I need to go finish up the reports, Sheriff 
Carmichael has been waiting for me." She rose to her feet and 
gathered up her jacket. "I'll be back in just a bit."

"OK. I'll save you some Jell-O."

Scully reached down and touched his hand and he squeezed her 
fingers weakly with his bruised left hand. Scully turned and 
headed to the door as Tristan stepped through to let her pass by. 
At the door she hesitated then turned back to him. "Mr. Hunt."

Tristan turned and looked at her. Scully stepped towards him and 
offered him her hand, meeting his eyes. "You made the difference 
here. Thank you."

Tristan looked surprised, but he took her hand and held it a 
moment as they looked at each other. "Thank you, Agent Scully, I 
appreciate hearing that from you."

Scully nodded once and with a final glance at Mulder, who'd 
silently watched the exchange, she left the room.

Tristan turned back to the man in the bed. "She's a class act."

Mulder nodded in agreement. Tristan sat down on the edge of the 
bed, close to Mulder. He nodded his head to the door that Scully 
had just exited through. "So, you and she gonna be OK?"

Mulder took a long deep breath and shook his head. "I honestly 
don't know. We said some pretty shitty things to each other that 
we're not talking about right now and I don't know when or how or 
even if we're going to resolve all that." He sighed. "Basically, 
I think the only thing that I know for sure is that I don't know 
shit."

Tristan looked at the various IV tubes and monitors as he ran his 
fingers over the cast encasing Mulder's right arm. "And you--are 
you gonna be OK here?"

"I swear, whatever Robbie McKeever didn't do, the hospital did. 
But yeah, I'm gonna be OK. Scully tells me there's nothing that 
won't heal. But right now, everything on my body fucking hurts."

"Can't they give you something for all the pain?"

"Oh yeah, the nurse just gave me a big old shot of Demerol in the 
butt a while ago."

Tristan grinned a little. "Ah, lucky bitch, I wish I'd been 
here."

Mulder smiled. "Yeah, I slept like the dead last night, no pun 
intended. And I'm a happy camper right this minute. Everything 
still hurts like shit, I just don't care."

Tristan nodded. Suddenly he leaned forward very near Mulder. "Hey 
- ask me how I slept last night."

"And how did you sleep last night?"

"Like a proverbial baby. My body and mind decided to rest at the 
same time for once, not one single dream. And other than the fact 
that I seriously missed your delicious body, I was like a stone 
on Quaaludes."

Mulder laughed and then grabbed his ribs with his good hand as he 
grimaced in pain.

"Oh God, Mulder, I'm sorry." Tristan laid his hands gently over 
Mulder's hand and ribs to steady him.

Mulder grasped on to Tristan's fingers as he shook his head. "No, 
it feels great. Pain means I'm alive." His expression changed and 
he became serious again. "The whole time he had me, I kept 
hanging on to the pain. I knew as long as it hurt, I was still 
alive. He left me alone for long periods of time in the total 
blackness. The only way I knew I was still alive was because of 
the pain."

Tristan closed his eyes as a wave of anguish fell over him and he 
hoped there was a special room in hell for Robbie McKeever. 
"Mulder, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was him. I had no idea. I 
worked with that fucking bastard almost everyday. We grew up 
together. I didn't know, I'm sorry." Tristan's voice cracked and 
the tears slipped from his eyes as he shook his head.

Mulder reached for him with his good arm, drawing his head down 
to his chest. "Stop that. You couldn't know. No one can. I've 
hunted people like Robbie for fifteen years and they live out in 
the bright light where you can't see them."

Tristan held on to him, ashamed that it was Mulder who was 
offering him comfort instead of the other way around. "God, 
Mulder I was so scared when we were looking for you. I've never 
felt like that. I was so scared..."

"It's OK. It's OK," Mulder assured him quietly. "It's over. 
Scully told me what you did. I guess I owe you my life."

Tristan sat back up, shaking his head. "No. We're even. I was on 
the edge, I would have gone over if you hadn't pulled me back." 
He leaned over him, his voice quieter now. "I won't ever forget 
that, Mulder. I won't ever forget you."

Jesus, that sounded like a goodbye, Mulder thought. Yes, he'd 
known it was coming, but it still rattled him. Tristan looked at 
him a long time, his eyes sad and worried. He reached out and 
touched Mulder's face, tracing his fingers slowly down the side. 
Even in his bruised and battered condition, Mulder felt the same 
physical pull he always did with this man. He wasn't in a state 
to do anything about it, but it was just another ache layered on 
top of all of the others.

Tristan lightly touched the fullness of Mulder's lip with his 
thumb. "Does that mouth hurt too much to kiss me?"

Mulder shook his head and Tristan leaned forward to take his 
mouth gently with his. Mulder didn't notice any pain from the 
touch, only the deep contentment as Tristan's hands came up to 
hold his face.

Tristan drew Mulder in hungrily, taking the touch and kiss he'd 
been so desperately afraid he'd never feel again, seeking his 
comfort in the reality of it. He released Mulder's mouth to brush 
his lips softly to his closed eyes, his nose and his cheeks; 
lightly kissing all the bruises on his face. But Mulder sought 
his mouth again, his tongue delving deeply and possessively.

"What happens now?" Mulder asked when he drew away.

"I guess what happens now is you go on back to your life in 
Washington and I get the hell out of this town and start my life 
in California."

Mulder opened his mouth to say something, but Tristan stopped 
him. "I can't do it, Mulder. I can't come to Washington and go 
through hoping to God each time that you come back from more 
misadventures like these. I can't do it--I can't watch you do 
this." He smiled sadly. "And what are you going to do? Quit the 
FBI, move to West Hollywood with me and we get an apartment 
together with ferns and cats?"

"That actually doesn't sound so bad," Mulder said quietly, both 
serious and not.

"Mulder, you'd go fucking nuts, then drive me nuts and we'd have 
ruined two lives. You and I existed in this weird singular moment 
of time. But that moment is gone now, it died when Robbie did. I 
don't have your education, but I do have common sense. And it's 
plain that you love this shit, Mulder. You crave it. The evidence 
of that is all over your body. Yeah, you get tired and 
discouraged and frustrated--who the fuck wouldn't? But in the 
end...you love this more."

Tristan kissed him again softly, delicately.

"And I need to find my way too, and all I do know for sure is 
that it's not here. And if all this has shown me anything, it's 
that I need to be where I don't have to hide or pretend or 
explain." Tristan smiled and gave a small laugh. "For lack of a 
better phrase, I need to be with my own kind. Do you understand 
that?"

Mulder nodded, he couldn't argue with such perfect logic. He 
smiled a little. He didn't need to worry anymore, Tristan Hunt 
was going to be all right.

"Good." Tristan laid his hand against the side of Mulder's face 
and neck, running his thumb along his jaw line, looking into his 
eyes. "Tell me you love me, Mulder. Because I know that you do in 
your own fucked up way and I wanna hear you say it before I go."

Mulder reached for Tristan's mouth again in a long, lingering 
kiss, one that lasted forever. He drew away just enough to 
whisper, "I love you, Tristan," before taking his mouth again.

Tristan finally gathered enough strength to draw away just enough 
to look into his eyes again. "Jesus God, Mulder," he whispered, 
hearing the breathless tone in his voice, knowing Mulder could 
hear it too. "You're too damn good at this to waste it like you 
have been. Promise me you won't go five years before you do this 
again."

Mulder smiled gently. "Thanks. It's nice to be appreciated." 
Tristan saw that there was no humor in his voice, he truly meant 
it as he brought Tristan's mouth back to his own one last time. 
Kissing him fiercely; kissing him goodbye.

When he let Tristan go, there were tears in the man's dark eyes 
again. "Shit, Mulder. You're making this difficult."

"You'll miss me in California," Mulder told him and Tristan 
nodded as he moved slowly to his feet, feeling cold and shaky 
already. Mulder's voice reached him again. "And I'll need to know 
that you got there all right."

"I will, I'll make sure you know," Tristan promised. His throat 
hurt, making speaking difficult. "I won't forget you. I won't 
forget that you believed in me." At the door Tristan turned back, 
meeting his lover's eyes one last time. "Mulder, I love you too." 
He turned and was gone.

And Mulder cried quietly alone in his bed. Jesus, everything on 
his body hurt, but nothing so much as his heart.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

When Scully came back hours later, she pushed open the door to 
see Mulder looking out the window. At the sound of the door, he 
turned his eyes to hers and when her saw it was her, he smiled 
wanly. As she looked at him she saw that he'd been crying earlier 
and in spite of all that had happened between them, her heart 
hurt for him.

Scully put a smile she didn't feel on her face, crossed the room 
and stood near the bed. She looked at the tray of untouched lunch 
food. "Hey, you were going to just save me the Jell-O, not 
everything." She touched the tray. "You need help eating?"

He shook his head. "Not hungry." Mercifully, Scully refrained 
from the you-need-to-eat lecture. She just nodded as she pushed 
the tray out of the way and sat on the bed.

"I brought you something you'll eat," she told him with a small 
smile and Mulder looked mildly curious. Scully reached into her 
pocket and took out a tiny package of Sunflower seeds which she 
waved in front of him. "After all, you need your high-fat, 
totally nutrition free, empty calories."

Mulder recognized a blatant attempt to reach out when he saw it. 
Sunflower seeds were as good a place as any to start, he 
supposed, it was certainly nothing weirder than anything else 
between them. He gave a small chuckle but then a flash of pain 
crossed his face as he gripped his ribs and winced.

"Those ribs hurt like shit, don't they?" she asked in sympathy as 
he opened his eyes and nodded. She reached down to the foot of 
the bed and looked at his chart. "Your next shot is in about an 
half-hour. I can make it happen sooner if you want."

To her absolute surprise, Mulder nodded as he drew a cautious 
breath. Within minutes, Scully had the nurse in the room and 
Mulder had his shot. Scully sat back down on the edge of his bed 
and gave him some cold water which he drank. She took a cool, 
damp cloth and patted the skin of his face down, gently soothing 
away the light sheen of pain induced sweat and the remaining tear 
streaks. It did nothing medically but it was always comforting. 
He closed his eyes and let her take care of him a bit and in a 
strange way his acquiescence was comforting for her too. Mulder 
didn't often let her fuss over him and right now, she needed to 
fuss over him. But she knew he must really be hurting to permit 
it though.

After a few minutes, he looked at her and she saw that the pain 
had begun to clear out of his eyes. He spoke softly.

"So when do I get my sunflower seeds?"

She opened the little packet, pouring a few in his left hand 
before realizing that he wasn't going to do very well with the 
tiny seeds. Even though his left hand was not in a cast it was 
still covered with bruises and cuts and it was quite swollen. 
Taking the seeds back, she raised one to her mouth and cracked 
the shell with her teeth as she'd seen Mulder do a hundred times. 
She knew that Mulder somehow managed to extract the seed with his 
tongue and then dispose of the shell, but she was just not as 
talented. She pulled the shell apart with her fingers and then 
held it out to Mulder who dutifully opened his mouth for her to 
place the tiny seed on his tongue. He nodded his thanks and 
chewed.

She looked down as she worked on opening the next seed. "Mulder, 
this is an awful lot of work--why the hell don't you just buy 
these already shelled?"

"Because that would be easy," he answered as she fed him another 
seed from her fingers. She shook her head slowly at the man who 
even needed his food to challenge him.

"So," she asked with deliberate casualness as she fed him the 
next one. "What happens now?"

The small talk was over. "The usual, Scully; I demand to get the 
hell out of here earlier than I should and then I go back to my 
life in Washington."

As he looked at her, he saw her exhale softly and he realized 
that she'd considered the possibility that he might not be going 
back.

"You told me a few days ago that you didn't have a life," she 
said gently, opening the dialog between them again.

"Well, what little of it I have is in Washington. The X-files are 
there. You're there."

She looked at him strangely and he couldn't quite read her for 
once. "You said that to me once before," she said finally.

"I did?"

"Yeah, after I'd followed you down to Puerto Rico. That was the 
first time I ever knew for sure that you considered me an ally, 
that I was a part of this thing that has taken over both of our 
lives, that I meant something to you."

Mulder nodded, remembering now.

She set her handful of sunflower seeds on the bed table. "And you 
told me again in your hallway last summer." She was silent a 
moment as she looked down, tracing a pattern on his blanket with 
her finger. The same pattern over and over again. "But I've never 
really returned the gesture, have I, Mulder?"

He didn't answer that, he didn't need to. She didn't mean for it 
to be answered.

She took a breath as she looked at the pattern in the blanket, 
then she smoothed it away and spoke quitely. "I reacted badly 
when you told me about you and Tristan. But not because of what 
you think. It's not about the sex. I didn't resent you giving him 
your body..." She broke off suddenly and for the first time, a 
tiny smile crossed her face and she looked up at him and then 
away quickly, a little self-conscious. "Well, that's a lie. Of 
course I resented that. Tristan Hunt knows something that I've 
been wondering about for years. I won't pretend that doesn't 
bother me. It bothered me. A lot."

She shook her head slightly and got back on track and finally 
really looked up at him. "But what really bothered me--what I 
really resented--was that you gave him the bits of you that I 
know. Not the Fox Mulder that you save for the rest of the world, 
but the man I know. The man I've come to think of as mine...I 
found out that I'm not very good at sharing."

She fell silent a moment and then continued. "Mulder, I've done 
the best work of my life with you. You have always treated me as 
an equal and with respect, in spite of the fact I can be such a 
coward--"

Mulder shook his head now, touching his hand to her arm. That was 
just plain wrong. "Scully, that's not true. How can you say that? 
You're the least cowardly person I've ever known. You've risked 
your life a hundred times over for me and for others. You're the 
one who went into that farmhouse after me. You stopped McKeever."

She looked at him sadly. "Oh Mulder, there's a big difference 
between being a physical coward and an emotional coward. Being 
physically brave is the easy part."

Her words came slowly now, indicating she was picking them 
carefully. "I hardly ever risk myself the way you do. My father 
taught me that maintaining control was the most efficient way to 
get something done. The first thing they teach you in medical 
school is not to get involved. At Quantico they teach you to look 
only at the evidence. Then I met you and you....you just defied 
everything I'd ever been taught. Everything I thought I knew. We 
just saw everything so differently--not just the cases--but 
especially how we deal with the people we're supposed to help and 
protect."

Scully looked away again because it was easier to talk if she 
didn't have to look at him. "Mulder, I berated you for getting 
involved with a witness. But the truth is, you've always gotten 
involved with the people on our cases. You expose your heart to 
these people. I watch you--I know how deeply you hurt for others. 
I saw how Lucy Householder's death broke your heart. I saw how 
Max Fenig and Roland Fuller got under your skin. You saw right 
through Marty Glenn's defenses and knew she was terrified when 
the rest of us just saw a belligerent blind girl. Bobby Rich 
seemed like just another juvenile delinquent except you saw a 
lonely kid who was hard to love. I was looking at the evidence 
and you were looking at the emotions."

"But I also see you pay a terrible price for seeing these things. 
I watch you get hurt, Mulder, and it scares me. And I wonder how 
you can do it--I can't imagine exposing myself to that. And yet, 
you never back off or turn away. You open yourself up over and 
over and over again to these people who need you."

She looked up at him now, her eyes bright. "And I'm one of those 
people who need you, Mulder. Your courage to be open is the thing 
that draws me close to you. It's the thing that touches my own 
heart the strongest. It's the thing that keeps me at your side in
this job. And I wouldn't change that about you, Mulder. Not for
anything would I change that, because I need you as you are to
make me a whole person too."

Mulder closed his eyes as emotion overcame him. When he could 
look at her again, he smiled gently. "Thank you, Scully. Thank 
you for telling me that." After a moment, he fell back on the 
banter that passed for communication between them. "I know that 
was all really hard for you to say, but you did good."

She smiled back a little wryly and nodded. "Thank you. Maybe it's 
rubbing off a bit."

She reached down and took his hand into both of hers. "Mulder, I 
would never deny you the chance to find any happiness you can. I 
wouldn't do that to you. I'm not going to pretend that I 
understand everything that went on with Tristan Hunt, and I'm so 
sorry that you're hurting over it right now. But I think he made 
you happy for a while, Mulder. And I want that for you." She 
paused a moment. "I want that for both of us."

Mulder held on to her hand as their eyes met as they looked at 
each other openly. "Me too, Scully," he answered as they finally 
released each other from the strange emotional bondage that had 
existed between them for so long.

She released his hand, laying it back across his stomach. "I want 
you to get some sleep. I'll come back later this afternoon." She 
got up from the bed and was slipping on her jacket when she heard 
his voice.

"Hey, Scully?" She turned back to him, meeting his eyes.

"Thanks for the sunflower seeds."

A slow smile crossed her face and then his. There was no 
explaining the two of them, she thought. "You're welcome, 
Mulder."

 

==========================
==========

Seven weeks later, Mulder limped in to his basement office in 
Washington D.C. He'd just gotten both the casts off a few days 
ago and while he couldn't move as quickly as he would like, to 
not have to use crutches and not be dependent upon Scully for 
driving him everywhere was a major step forward towards freedom. 
He got to drive his own car today and that was almost cause for 
dancing. He turned the lights on in the office. Scully wasn't in 
yet, she was probably celebrating her own return of freedom by 
sleeping in. Good for her.

He settled into the chair and was casually glancing through the 
mail left in his inbox when he saw it. A white envelope with a 
handwritten address; clearly not a business letter. As he reached 
for his letter opener, it dawned on him that he'd never seen his 
handwriting before. Tearing open the envelope he saw two pages, 
also both handwritten. You didn't see that much anymore, in the 
world of computers and email. It was very personal somehow.

He unfolded the letter.

 

*-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-*

Dear Mulder,

I promised you I would let you know that I got here OK. Well, 72 
hours after I left you in the hospital I saw the ocean for the 
first time in my life. The power and magnificence stunned me, it 
was even more than I expected. I walked across the sand at a 
place called Ventura and shoved my feet in the cold salt water 
and felt the breeze on my face and I finally felt free.

And nothing, except you, had ever felt so good or so right.

I sat back up on the beach and watched my first sunset over the 
water. And I cried because you weren't there. And then I cried 
because you were alive to watch a sunset wherever you were. God 
or somebody came through for me on that one.

I got down to Hollywood and checked in at a little motel in the 
downtown area. Being a hick from a small town, I hadn't realized 
right off the bat that it was a place that rented by the half-
hour to local hookers, male and female. So I got to listen to the 
sounds of fucking all night long, not a pleasant experience when 
it's not happening to you. Needless to say, I bugged out pretty 
soon after that.

I enrolled in UCLA for the fall term and paid up my first year's 
tuition. One of these days, Mulder, you'll go to some grossly 
over-produced movie with pointless special effects and see my 
name. Look for me.

I'm living in Venice now, on a little street called Rose that has 
funky apartments. I answered an ad on the Student Services board 
looking for roommates because I couldn't even afford to breathe 
the air here if I wanted to go to school. I'm now living with 
Julie, who's a hairdresser and tends to wear black lipstick and 
Steven, who wants to be an actor. Steven is obviously straight so 
when they talked to me about moving in, I felt that I should tell 
him I was gay. I was all nervous but they both laughed at me. 
Steven said that unless my being gay meant I couldn't cough up my 
share of the rent on time or buy him a beer occasionally, it 
shouldn't be an issue.

Welcome to California, Tristan Hunt......

I do have to say that after living alone for so long, it was a 
little strange to have people around in my living space all the 
time. But we're on different schedules and so far, the biggest 
conflict has been over whose turn it is to water the plants. We 
all go to breakfast on Sunday mornings and tell each other about 
our week and it seems like I'm part of something. And that feels 
good, it just feels normal.

I've found work at a small gay club by the beach. Yes, I'm a 
bartender again! I'm making pretty good money, but of course, it 
all goes to rent or to my tuition fund. Speaking of gay, the 
other day I went over to West Hollywood to the Gay Social 
Services center. I met some good people there and there are some 
groups for us newly-out types. ("Fresh out of the wrapper" as 
Julie calls it.) I've been to a couple of the meetings. I'm 
slowly becoming more comfortable in the skin I was born with 
instead of the one I chose to wear for so long.

No place on earth is free of hate, and LA isn't Shangri-La by a 
long shot. But I don't feel I have to hide here. I'm not afraid 
that someone might guess my secret. If I start to falter, I 
always remember that you stood by me. You gave yourself to me and 
that reminds me that I'm worth something.

I'm happy here mostly except....well, you know what the except 
is...I don't need to say it.

Take care of yourself, Wyle E. Coyote, because I still love you.

Tristan.

*-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-**-*-*

 

 

 

 

Mulder read the letter twice more. He was just reading again when 
Scully came in the door. She greeted him as she removed her coat. 
As she turned around she saw the serious look on his face and the 
note in his hands.

"Mulder, what is it?"

He slowly refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, 
before looking up at her. "It's a letter from Tristan Hunt."

Scully sat down in the chair opposite him. "And how is he?"

"He's doing OK. California agrees with him."

"And how about you, Mulder?" she asked gently. "How are you 
getting along?"

He thought about that a moment before answering as he bent down 
and put the letter in his briefcase for safekeeping. He looked 
back up at his partner.

"Everything is healing up nicely, Scully. No visible scars."

 

 



Wow - did you hang there to the end? I'd surely love to hear 
whether or not you felt it was worth it! My life is pretty 
simple, I write for feedback <g>

Cathleen Faye / Kimerikal@aol.com