"CODE OF SILENCE"

BY: CAC
(The
Stinker)

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

FORWARD

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

Well, here I go again...I don't even know how to describe this one. God,
this is fun. This story basically takes over where BOKOR left off. Maybe
I should write an X-file mini-series....Yeah, that's the ticket. Yes, I
know, it's a little odd, but then...so am I. Odd people make the world
interesting, at least that's what I keep telling myself. Have fun.

PRELUDE
*************************************************

Everybody's got a million questions
Everybody's wants to know the score
What you went through
It's something you
Should be over now

Everybody wants to know the secrets
That you never told a soul before
And it's not that strange
Because it wouldn't change
What happened anyhow

But you swore to yourself a long time ago
There are some things that people never needed to know
This is one that you keep
That you bury so deep
No one can tear it out

And you can't talk about it
Because you're following a code of silence
You're never gonna lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way

And you can't talk about it
And isn't that a kind of madness
To be living by a code of silence
When you've really got a lot to say

You don't want to lose a friendship
There's nothing that you have to hide
And a little dirt
Couldn't hurt no one anyway

And you still have a rage inside you
That you carry with a certain pride
In the only part of a broken heart
That you could ever save

But you've been through it once
You know how it ends
You don't see the point
Of going through it again
And this ain't the place
And this ain't the time
And neither's any other day

I know you well enough to tell you've got your reasons
That's not the kind of code you're inclined to break
Some things unknown are best left alone forever
And if a vow is what it takes
Haven't you paid for your mistakes

After the moment passes
And the impulse disappears
You can still hold back
Because you don't crack very easily

It's a time of a resolution
Because the danger is always near
It's with you now
But that ain't how it was supposed to be

And it's hard to believe after all these years
That it still gives you pain and it still brings tears
And you feel like a fool
Because in spite of your rules
You've got a memory

But you can't talk about it
Because your following a code of silence
You're never gonna lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way

But you can't talk about it
And isn't that a kind of madness
To be living by a code of silence
When you've really got a lot to say

Billy Joel-----

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***

The crickets and frogs chirped and grunted outside the bedroom window in a
choral crescendo and Dana realized that although she could sleep through
the city sounds at home, the country noises were still new enough to be
disturbing. She sat up in the antique bed and spied Mulder's silhouette
as he stood standing on the porch outside the window where he had stood
almost every night since they'd come to his aunt's farm. At first she
attributed this odd behavior to a bad case of insomnia(to which he was
prone) due to being in strange surroundings, that is until she awoke one
night to find him pale and trembling with tears silently rolling down his
face.
The nightmares had returned----

She had held him that night as she would a child, comforting and soothing
him until he found the courage to confide in her. The thought of him
awaking in that condition, alone with no one to care made her heart ache.

He had been embarrassed and reluctant to discuss the incident but in the
end she had discovered that he'd had these nightmares off and on for the
last 22 years---ever since Samantha had disappeared. Strangely enough,
upon waking, he could never remember exactly what the dreams were about,
only that he would awaken with a vague sense of terror and dread that he
couldn't identify or even understand.

She stood up, put on her robe and walked out onto the porch to stand
beside him. "Another one?' she asked.

He nodded his head in affirmation as she slipped an arm around his waist
and guided him back into the house. This had to stop----she couldn't
believe he had endured this in silence for so many years. There had to be
a way to rid him of this pain and if there was, she would find it.

Scully barged through the office door under full steam, letting it smack
Mulder, who was following on her heels. "Ouch!", he muttered under his
breath as he checked his nose to make sure it was still in one piece.
"You trying to disfigure me for life?," he asked lightly.

"No," she replied in an agitated tone. " You seem to be able to do a great
job of that on your own without any help from me. "

You had to ask, he thought dourly, as he braced himself for a continuation
of the lecture he'd had to endure in the car.

"I swear, Mulder, sometimes it really amazes me how someone with your
obvious intelligence could be so *dumb*. You were supposed to relax and
take it easy. That was the *only* reason Dr. Roberts let you out of the
hospital early."

He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off with a wave of
her hand and started back in before he'd had a chance to get a word out.

"Sure, I thought spending some time at your aunt Carol's farm would be a
great idea and it was. It was a beautiful, peaceful place and although
your aunt Carol has a few screws loose, she was a very pleasant woman. It
would have been a great opportunity for you to relax and recover and
believe it or not you *needed* that. But did you take it easy? Noooooo.
The first thing you did was let your equally flaky cousins talk you into
chasing some furry woodland creature all over creation on horseback,
sufficiently jarring your insides around enough to rip out your stitches.
That was a brilliant move, Sherlock. What on earth were you thinking????
She stopped to take a breath. He saw his chance and jumped in.

"Listen, Dana, I *said* I was sorry...You're right..I admit it was kind of
stupid...OK, it was *really* stupid and I don't know why I did
it......temporary insanity, brain tumor, I don't know."

She walked over, sat on the corner of his desk and studied him as though
he were some newly discovered life form. "With what I've seen of your
family, so far, I think I'd opt for temporary insanity."

He returned her stare with a roguish grin. "And what's wrong with my
family?"

"Come on, Mulder, even you'll have to admit that they're just a *little
different", especially your aunt."

"OK, I'll bite. What's so strange about aunt Carol?"

A disbelieving smirk appeared on her face. "You've got to be
kidding...you want a list? Mulder, the woman keeps a *goat* in the
kitchen and a fish tank full of whiskey in the living room and you don't
fine that just a little *strange*.

"Should I?," he asked with exaggerated patience. Like you always say,
"everything has a perfectly logical explanation."

"Well, this I gotta hear."

"Gaston, the goat, kept eating his way through the back door and it was
cheaper in the long run just to let him in. As for the tank...The damn
fish kept dying and rather than "condemn the poor beasties" to a certain
death, she converted the tank to the storage of the family "hooch". Hell,
ya never know when ya might be needin' refreshments for one of those
impromptu parties. Sounds logical to me.."

"It would," she said ruefully.

"OK, how about your crazy cousins?" We're talking about grown men who
sleep with a light in the window to keep the "banshee" from coming for
them in the night." Now tell me that's not *weird*."

"Hey, they don't do it all the time. Ach ma wee lass," Mulder sated in
imitation of his aunt's Scottish brogue, "You've not been understandin'
the superstitious nature of the Highland culture. Ah, come on, Dana,
they're Scots for crying out loud. Banshees, gnomes, and fairies are just
as real to them as Jesus Christ is to you and Nessie is alive and well,
swimmin' in the Loch, thank you very much. Are you trying to tell me that
you didn't have a good time?"

"No, I didn't say that...I had a wonderful time after you promised to
behave yourself and not go traipsing all over the countryside. If you
*ever* do anything that idiotic again, I'll put us both out of our misery
and kill you myself."

"I'll try and keep that in mind next time I plan to screw up *really
big,*" he said sardonically.

She leaned over the desk until they were nose to nose. "You know what
your problem is?", she asked with one eyebrow raised.

He leaned in even closer and whispered seductively, "No, what?"

"You don't relax because you don't know *how*."

"That's *not* true," he stated defensively, "I can relax..."

"OK, Mulder, prove it....I bet you can't sit at this desk for ten minutes
and do absolutely *Nothing*."

"So, what are you betting?" he asked suspiciously.

"If you win, dinner at my place 7:00. If I win, You take me out to dinner
because I know you can't cook and I don't want to die of Ptomaine....and
Mulder, I mean it...absolutely *Nothing*."

"Can I breathe?", he asked sarcastically.

"Of course you can breathe but that's about all."

"Alright, when does this exercise in humility begin?"

She looked at her watch and waited a few seconds. "Now."

He leaned back in his chair, confident that she was wrong and tried to
decide what he wanted her to cook for him. Three minutes went by and he
managed it without incident. Five minutes came and he could feel himself
becoming restless. This was silly, he reasoned, he had work to do and
here he was catering to her whims with a pointless bet. After eight
minutes, the phone rang and as he reached to pick it up, she waggled her
finger at him and shook her head..no. He pulled back his hand and began
drumming his fingers on the desktop as the phone continued to ring...two,
three, four times. The fifth ring came and unable to stand it any longer,
he snatched the phone off the hook. "Mulder," he said crossly as he
looked up at Scully and then replaced the receiver. "They hung up."

She snickered lightly, "What time should I expect you?"

"About 7:00," he mumbled dejectedly.

"OK, maybe you're right....maybe I don't relax and maybe I don't sleep
well either, so do you have any suggestions as to what I should do about
it, *Dr.* Scully?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Why did he suddenly have the feeling that he had been elaborately and
expertly maneuvered into a position in which a positive response to those
words could be the only outcome?" Mulder, he thought, the woman knows you
to well.

"So what did you have in mind?," he ventured apprehensively.

She proceeded with her idea cautiously. "Mulder, no one can be as intense
as you are all the time and not have it eventually show up physically.
You've got to learn to unwind on a daily basis or you're gonna burn out.
I attended a lecture several weeks ago given by Dr. Robert Slater that
dealt with the use of hypnosis to alleviate underlying stress and
anxieties that contribute to several common problems...like insomnia. I
know you're a believer in hypnosis, so I thought that you might talk to
him. He's helped a lot of people, government officials, Air force
pilots...people with high stress occupations. I don't know, I may have
overstepped my boundaries here, but I worry about you."

At first he was a little concerned about the fact that she thought he
might need "professional" help but upon reviewing his long history of
sleepless nights and in particular these more recent episodes, he had to
admit things were getting a little out of hand and perhaps it was possible
that she could be right. "Well, since you put it that way, I guess it
wouldn't hurt to talk to him," he said sheepishly. " When do I see the
man....I assume you already made the appointment?"

"This afternoon, if you're up to it," she replied with the guilty look of
being "found out."

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Not when you're health is concerned," she said in a more serious tone.

She sighed with relief. She'd played her cards right and he'd agreed to
see Dr. Slater. Perhaps now they could get to the bottom of whatever it
was that kept him so stressed out. Of course some of the intensity was
normal for him and she didn't want to change that, but the frequent bouts
with insomnia and the reoccurring nightmares were not normal and that's
what concerned her the most.

Mulder stared at the phone with a smug look of aggravation. "You know
Dana, that really pisses me off..."

"What?", she asked with sudden concern.

"When people hang up before you can answer the phone."

"Well, I'm sure if it was important, they'll call you back."

"But how will I know who "they" are?", he queried in his "spooky" tone.

She wadded up a piece of note paper and threw it at him.

Mulder noticed the typical "shrink" decor as they walked into Dr. Slater's
office and he wondered what the hell he was doing here. He told himself
it was because Dana had talked him into it but in reality he had to admit
to some curiosity and an underlying desire to end a problem that had
plagued him for years. He had tried this once before with only limited
success so he had his doubts as to whether this whole thing would be a
gigantic waste of time. For some reason, he felt nervous and somewhat ill
at ease...maybe he really didn't *want* to discover any of his "hidden"
anxieties and with that thought in mind, he started to turn around and
beat a hasty retreat to the closest exit, when Scully grabbed the back of
his jacket and yanked him backward.

"Where ya goin', Sherlock?"

"Nowhere, I guess," he sighed with resign.

As they sat down, a tall, spectacled man with graying hair strolled into
the room. "Good afternoon, Dr. Scully," he said cheerfully, as he shook
her hand. He then extended his hand to Mulder with a smile. "This must
be agent Mulder...I hope I can be of assistance."

"Me too," he replied doubtfully." Of course, I must be Mulder, he thought
ruefully, I'm the only other person here....this guy is real MENSA
material. Nothing like having a real mental giant poke around in your
head...and on top of that, he smiles too damn much. Mulder, get a grip,
you're just nervous...Dana trusts him and that should be enough for you.
Why is it then, that he makes you so uneasy?"

"Dr. Scully tells me you have a degree in Psychology from Oxford, so I
need not explain to you the benefits of hypnosis, however, my approach may
be slightly different than what you may have been accustom to in the past.
She also informed me that you have undergone Hypnotic Regression Therapy
before so it should be fairly simple to induce the necessary hypnotic
state with minimal effort. Now, it is my understanding that you have had
problems with insomnia and reoccurring nightmares for many years, which
have worsened within the past few weeks. It is my contention that even
though the original cause for this problem may have been based on a
traumatic childhood incident, the recent increase in the intensity and
frequency of these nightmares may have been triggered by a more recent
experience like the one from which you are recovering from now. So, I
would like to start with that and work my way back to try to alleviate any
underlying anxieties that may be contributing factors. " Agent Mulder, if
you would come sit in this chair, I suppose we could get started."
Mulder got up and hesitantly moved to the recliner and sat down. He found
himself illogically resenting the fact that Dana had obviously given this
guy his life history. Intellectually, he told himself that it was
probably necessary, even though emotionally...he didn't have to like it.
There was something innately disturbing about revealing you soul and
secrets to a total stranger even if it was his job to listen to them...but
Dana was here with him and he *did* trust her. He took a deep breath,
exhaled slowly and closed his eyes; he needed to know the truth...

Dr. Slater reached over and turned on the tape recorder. "Mulder, I want
you to relax each set of muscles as I tell you; first flex and release the
muscles in your feet--good, now the legs, (his voice droned in monotonous
tone), hands, arms, shoulders, neck....clear your mind....take a deep
breath, hold it and exhale. Let all the tension flow from your body with
that breath. You are totally relaxed...You are floating, floating above
your body--you are free....your conscious and subconscious are separate
entities now...I want to talk to both....Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I hear you," he whispered.

Scully watched the process with obvious fascination.

"This is Dr. Slater, you are totally relaxed now, when I count to three
at the end of this session you will awaken feeling totally rested and
calm. You will remember only what you wish to recall...only what is
comfortable. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I wish to speak to your conscious mind."

"I am here."

"Do you know why you can't sleep?"

"No.....Yes....I think....dreams...too many thoughts, too much to
do....dreams, I don't want to dream."

"Why don't you want to dream?"

"Dreams come true, dreams hurt....I don't want to hurt. Don't sleep,
don't dream--don't dream, don't hurt..."

"Can you tell me about the dreams?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I can't remember them."

"You know they hurt but you can't remember them?"

"Yes."

"Did your recent experience with the "Process" cause the dream?"

"No...but the feeling was similar."

"What do you mean?"

" I feel helpless and I can't move....I can't fight back."

"You can't move in your dreams?"

"No, I don't want to answer."

Slater turned to Scully with a puzzled, then frustrated expression. "He's
a very stubborn man, even in this state..."

"Yes, I know...boy, do I know."

"Dr. Scully, It is very unusual for an individual to put up this much
resistance to a discussion of *mere* dreams. I have a hunch." He bent
over Mulder and said forcefully, "I wish to speak to your subconscious
mind now...Everything is fine and you are very relaxed..am I speaking with
your subconscious?"

"Yes."

"Are these "dreams" *just* dreams?"

"Yes........No." He was indecisive.

"You know the truth, tell me. Are these "dreams" a true memory of
reality?"

Mulder became agitated as his breathing quickened and his facial muscles
contorted, revealing his reluctance to answer the question. "I don't
know," he squeezed out painfully.

"Yes, you do Agent Mulder..You know the truth----Are these "dreams" true
memories?"

"Yes," he groaned.

Scully gasped and took a step forward, stopping only when Dr. Slater
motioned for her to stay back.

"Good, you know that the "dreams" are *real* memories and you accept them
as true?"

"Yes." His voice shook with emotion.

"Now, listen to me. These memories are past experiences and can no
longer hurt you. Do you understand?" There was a lengthy pause....."Do
you understand?"

"Yes."

"I want you to go to the most recent memory and tell me where you are."

"No."

"Mulder, where are you?, " he said with authority.

"I'm on a runway at Ellens AFB...it's dark, except for the dancing
lights...the lights are coming toward me....My God!!! Holy shit....I see
it....it's ....it's real!! They've done it, Oh my God, they've done it."
"What do you see?"

Mulder's face took on an appearance of child-like wonder.."A UFO...a
wondrous ship. It's hove

"What do you see?"

Mulder's face took on an appearance of child-like wonder.."A UFO...a
wondrous ship. It's hovering over my head....and there's no
sound........." His facial expression changed abruptly into one of alarm
as the muscles in his body convulsed with the involuntary spasms of
remembered physical pain--a struggle which ended in a single
scream..."NO!" Suddenly his breathing diminished and his eyes rolled back
into his head.

Scully glanced over to Slater with a look that conveyed obvious concern
and alarm. Slater returned her gaze with a similar one of his own. He
told her that he had not expected anything like this when she had
contacted him and was unprepared for this turn of events. Thinking
quickly, he spoke into Mulder's ear. "This is Dr. Slater, you are in my
office and you are safe. I know you can hear me---You are watching a
movie...you are in the movie but you are an observer only. Tell me what
is happening to you in the movie," he demanded.

Mulder blinked his eyes and spoke hoarsely, "I am strapped to a gurney and
I can't move..they're injecting me with some kind of drug...Oh God, I hate
needles...NO!....Can't breathe,Oxygen...They 're rolling me right through
the hangar, nobody even notices, I can see the aircraft...It *is*
real...I'm right, the voices are far away."

"Are you unconscious?"

"No, How can I tell you what I see, if I'm unconscious?"

"Are you still in the hangar?"

"No, I'm on a metal table....there's a bright light, monitors, a man
with a mask and gloves, staring down at me.....operating room, oh
shit...no. Breathe, they say..the gas stings my lungs and the drops burn
my eyes like fire..Christ, it hurts..They're putting something through my
eye...it's in my head...get it out of my head...Fucking bastards," he
screamed in agony, as writhed in the Dr.'s chair and struggled to breathe.

Scully rushed toward Dr. Slater, "Bring him out of it, bring him out of it
NOW," she yelled.

I'm afraid I can't do that, Agent Scully," he said malevolently.

"What?", she asked with dawning suspicion, as she reached for her weapon.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he threatened, pulling back to reveal
his own weapon aimed at the back of Mulder's head. "Put the gun down on
the floor and kick it over to me." She reluctantly did as she was told
and asked, "Who are you and why are you doing this?"

"Let's just say that I know the talented surgeon who performed the
delicate micro-surgery that relieved Agent Mulder of a piece of his
memory, or so we thought. It seems that in our haste, we overlooked one
major factor of extreme importance. There was never any research done on
the effects of the surgery when performed on individuals possessing
photographic memory, since those individuals were an extremely rare
aberration of the general population...they were never tested. My
superiors were concerned that because of his "unique" abilities, Agent
Mulder would at some point in time remember what was supposedly erased.
It was my mission to determine if that was a valid possibility and as we
can both see, our initial attempt at erasure was not "completely"
successful. It appears that the minds of individuals with his particular
gift tend to function on a different frequency, so to speak.

Slater, you've proven your point, now bring him out of it...You can see
he's in obvious physical distress...Slater, for God's sake...you're a
*doctor*!"

"And I've been "corrupted" by false loyalties, governments, ideas, and
financial gain. I admit to one last vice of my own...curiosity. Several
questions keep nagging me, perhaps now I'll be able to clear them up.
"Why are so many important people interested in the welfare of a lowly FBI
agent? Why do they continue to spare his life even though his continued
existence seems detrimental to their objectives? Did you know agent
Scully, that there's a file on Fox Mulder that spans over two decades and
that there are sections of that file that are classified and closed even
to me with my *special* access? Everything in that file dates back to a
day in 1972 when a young boy's sister mysteriously disappeared without a
trace. He's been watched and "protected" almost from the day that file
was opened in 1972. When he trespassed onto Ellen AFB, he should have
been terminated, but instead received the luxury of a small memory loss
instead. Why? I have an inquiring mind and I want to know."

"At what price?" she asked, her anxiety clearly visible. She glanced at
Mulder, who appeared to be a pale, shade of gray. "You're a doctor...he's
your patient!" She guessed that Slater was going to attempt another
regression to that fateful night in 72' and she wasn't sure Mulder, even
in the best of conditions could handle it.

"No, Dr. Scully,.........He's my *assignment*. Now, go sit down and don't
move or he's going to be a "late" assignment.

Dana sat down on the closest chair that she could find, still reeling at
the absurdness of her situation and the probability that this man was
without conscience or sanity. She made a final plea. "Please don't do
this. Multiple regressions in a single session, causing the patient to
relive past traumas may be both emotionally and physically damaging.

"Why should I care about the condition of someone, who I plan to
terminate? I do feel some regret at having to exterminate you , however,
but I'm certain that it will pass."

"Agent Mulder, can you hear me?"

"Yes", he muttered in a barely audible whisper.

"You will retreat deeper into your subconscious....You are going back in
time, back 5 years, 10 years, 20 years, you are in 1972 ....the night your
sister disappeared. Where are you?"

"At home."

"I don't have time to ask questions all day, you will give me the
information that I want ..you will do exactly what I tell you. There will
be no coddling and you will tell me the truth without exception. You will
give me the whole story starting in the early evening and you will respond
to my voice when or if I ask for clarification. Do you understand.?"

"Yes."

"Begin."

The smell of fried chicken floated through the house and out onto the
porch where he sat absently strumming his guitar. He kept a watchful eye
on Samantha as she rode her bike back and forth for the zillionth
time....how much is a zillion anyway, he thought? It was getting dark
which meant the daily ritual was about to begin, he waited for his
mother's voice. One...two...three....

"Fox", his mother yelled from the kitchen, "Where's your sister? It's
getting dark...go find her and tell her it's time to come in." He never
could understand why she always said the same thing every day...Sam was
always in the same place, doing the same thing every evening and he was
always there to make sure she came home. He set the guitar down
carefully, got up and ran down the steps, naturally, she was all the way
down at the end of the street...as usual. He walked onto the pavement,
cupped his hands and yelled.

"Sam, mom said to come home."

"Just 5 more minutes," she pleaded.

"Mom says NOW," he repeated.

"OK, I'm coming," she yelled as she continued to ride in circles.

"If you don't come now, I'm gonna have to come after ya, and you don't
want that do ya?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and giggled.

He ran down the street after her, as he always did, and waited for her to
turn the bike around and ride past him on the way home. She dumped the
bike in the yard as he chased her into the house. He grabbed her around
the waist, threw her on the couch and tickled her until she begged for
mercy. She in turn, reached down beneath the waistband of his jeans,
grabbed a handful of his underwear and yanked, then ran into the kitchen,
singing "Fox is a dog, Fox is a dog and hid behind his mom. He sighed...
Sometimes she could be a real pest, then he smiled.

After dinner, he treated her to a concert of several songs, including her
favorite, "Puff the Magic Dragon." Then to get back at her for the
wedgie, he read her a suitably "spooky" poem about the little man who
wasn't there which would almost guarantee that she'd sneak into his room
later that night and sleep in the other bed. Contrary to his friends
opinions of little sisters in general, he was glad that he had his. He
adored her and deep down he knew that the feeling was mutual.

He heard her as she snuck into his room that night and he quietly chuckled
to himself.....He had drifted off into that state of limbo that lingers
somewhere on the edge of dreams and reality when he became vaguely aware
of a force pressing down the mattress at the foot of the bed. An image of
Samantha presented itself in his mind as the mattress pressed down again
by his knees. Not this time Sam, no way, he thought. He didn't think the
poem he'd read her was that "scary" and he wasn't about to let her crawl
into bed and kick him all night like she had several days ago when the
thunderstorm had made her see monsters in her closet. He began to roll
over and tell her to go to her room, when he felt a great weight settle
upon his body, preventing his movement. Panic and fear filled his mind at
the sudden realization that this could not possibly be Sam...she didn't
have that kind of strength. A bright light bombarded his window and
filled the room, temporarily blinding him as he felt himself being lifted
from his bed. Sam screamed and he lent his voice to hers to call for
help, but no one heard and no one came..He then realized the screams that
he had heard were in his head and never vocalized. "Sam," his mind cried.
He knew she heard him even though there was no sound, for she called his
name over and over again and he could not help her....he couldn't even
help himself. He felt their presence in the room and saw their obscure
shadows surrounding his sister's bed. In desperation, he reached out with
his mind for an explanation...anything that would lend some kind of reason
to this improbable madness. He reached out and discovered to his
surprise....a reply...a voice or what he perceived as a voice, for it was
without emotion or character---more of an immediate and concrete
impression upon his mind that told him not to be afraid...that they
wouldn't be harmed...that everything would be OK. The light flared once
more....

"NO!", he screamed, from the Dr.'s chair. "I'm not there...this is not
real.....I don't want to know this.....I don't want to remember
this....You said I didn't have to remember...I don't want to..Please....."

Scully leaned forward in her chair, both fascinated and abhorred and
pleaded with Slater to end the session. "Stop this! Why must you
continue this torment? He's done nothing to deserve what you're making
him endure." She scanned the room, looking for anything that could be
used as a potential weapon and spied a large crystal paperweight on the
desk that was three feet away. It might as well be three miles away, she
thought, for should she try to get it, the resulting bullet, would be
faster, unless she could find some way to distract him.

Slater ignored her outburst and continued on his chosen path with
relentless determination.

"Agent Mulder, you will remember what I tell you to remember. I s that
understood?"

"Yes."

"You will continue with your recollection until I tell you to stop. What
happened after the light? Are you still in the bedroom?

"No, I'm in a room."

He awoke in a semiconscious state and found himself lying on a cold, metal
table in the middle of a small, featureless room. The tall, elongated
beings that surrounded him were covered from head to toe with a white
cotton-like material...except for the slanted eyes....they stared down at
him without expression and he suddenly became aware of the fact that he
was....naked. Granted, he was only a kid, but even he knew what was right
and what wasn't....and this wasn't. He struggled to get up only to find
himself securely strapped to the table with metal bands, evidently the
white light wasn't needed here...where ever here was. They impressed upon
him that if he continued to struggle, he could cause injury to himself and
that was not what they had intended, and what they were about to do was
"necessary". He was about to ask what it was they were about to do when
they clamped his head to the table and began inserting what appeared to be
metal rods up his nose. He cried out in agony, the sound muffled by
whatever it was they had simultaneously shoved down his throat....and the
other pain, he didn't want to think about. He didn't know what a "genetic
material transfer" was and he didn't want to know...all that he did know
was that it hurt. After a short time, as they removed the instruments and
released his head from the table, he found the courage to ask about his
sister. The thought of her having to endure anything like this made him
shudder....but they said she wouldn't be harmed...they promised. At his
request, they moved aside and allowed him to turn his head but what he saw
was not what he expected. Sam lay motionless, on a table next to his,
eyes staring at him wide, and lifeless.....We're sorry, they informed him,
this was unexpected.....she did not have your strength.

No...He lashed out at them through his mind and perhaps his very soul with
such rage and despair that the intensity of the emotions made them retreat
several steps.

They had not anticipated that a sibling bond would be so strong. Using
the white light again, they immobilized him and marveled at the new
emotion that he had stirred within them...Guilt.

The drops stung his eyes with blinding pain as they inserted the thin
metal instrument through his left eye and deftly removed a piece of his
memory that they felt he would be better off without. It seems, they had
also learned....compassion.

He awoke the next morning with a vague ache between his legs and a
headache of major proportions. He'd had the weirdest dream...at least he
thought it was...he couldn't quite remember it. Too bad, Sam would have
liked it. Sam.....He suddenly had the feeling that something was wrong.
She wasn't in the bed or in her room. She wasn't even in the house. Sam
was gone....he felt it , he knew it. He remembered pieces of his *dream*
but no one would believe him when he told them. He felt responsible, and
everyone he spoke to, including his parents, seemed to back up that
feeling..it was his fault...he should have done something...he wasn't sure
what, but something.....He ran under the oak tree in the back yard,
curled up in a fetal position and cried where no one could hear.

Dana, stared at the "little boy" curled up in the recliner, her eyes wet
with tears and wanted to blast every person who could have ever
transferred that kind of blame and guilt onto a twelve year old boy. She
would have to deal with this new revelation later...if there was going to
be a later. She noted that Dr. Slater still had the gun in his hand and
still seemed intent on using it on both of them, however, during his
preoccupation with Mulder, she had managed to wrap her finger around the
phone cord from the jack in the wall behind her. The phone sat on the
desk behind Slater...if she could distract him, maybe it would be enough
for her to get to her gun lying on the table next to him. Well, it's a
better idea than throwing a paperweight at him, she thought ruefully.

Slater bent over Mulder. "What a touching story," he said with mock
sympathy. "Wonder if I could sell it to Reader's Digest?"

OK Scully, it's now or never...She yanked the cord and the phone came
crashing to the floor behind Slater and as he turned to face the noise,
she jumped up and tackled him from behind, knocking him down. Grabbing
the gun from the table, she fired....and so did he. Lucky for her, that
she was a better shot than he was, for his bullet only grazed her arm,
however, her's found it's mark and Slater lay dead on the floor.

Now, she had some unfinished business to take care of. "Mulder, this is
not my area of expertise but I'm all you've got and you know I'll do my
best."

"Mulder, Dr. Slater is unable to finish the session so I'm going to bring
you out. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Slater's first instructions to you remain true. You will remember
only what you wish to remember...only what you're comfortable with. You
will remember the incident at Ellens AFB because I know that not being
able to bothered you and you'll need to know about it because of what
happened to Dr. Slater. Of the second regression...you will remember only
what your conscious mind is capable of accepting. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Mulder, listen to me. What happened to your sister was not your fault
and you are not to blame.
You were a twelve year old boy and whether or not you remember, just as
much of a victim as she was. The only people who should feel guilt and
anxiety are those who would make a child bear the burden of responsibility
for an event that was totally out of anyone's control. Repeat after me,
I am not to blame..."

"I am not to blame."

"Good." Boy, the things I could do.....It's a good thing you can trust
me, she thought to herself, with a mischievous smile.

"OK, Mulder, you're coming forward in time 1982, 1992, 1994...you're back
to the present and you are relaxed and calm........and very hungry...you
lost the bet, so at least pick a *decent* restaurant. Hear me Mulder?
Three Stars, at least." Alright, she thought, no one is ever *completely*
trustworthy, so I've learned to take advantages of my opportunities..."

"Three Stars," he repeated.

"When I count to three, you'll wake up and feel completely rested.
One...Two...Three..."

He opened his eyes slowly and blinked. "Well Doc, how did I do?"

"You did just fine. How do you feel?"

He looked puzzled. "Hungry, I mean really "Henry the Eighth", glutton,
let's swallow it whole, hungry. It's funny....I don't remember feeling
this hungry the last time I did this." He looked down and saw the blood on
her arm and was immediately alarmed. "What happened?"

She proceeded to give him a brief summary of what had happened and how she
ended up killing his doctor and nursing a bullet wound in her arm. They
waited for the authorities, made their statements and filled out all the
appropriate reports...in triplicate. It was late. They walked out of the
building and down the deserted sidewalk to their car.

He looked at the bandage on her arm with concern. "Don't you think you
should go to the hospital or something?"

"Mulder, I am a doctor, remember? It's just a scratch."

"Scratch, my ass," he mumbled, he knew it came out wrong when he said it
but it was too late to take it back now. He waited for the inevitable
reply.

She slipped her arm around his waist and pursing her lips, whispered,
"where does it itch?"as she dropped her hand noticeably as they walked.

"Over to the left and up about a half inch," he whispered back, wryly.
"Can we discuss this later after dinner....I have this wild craving
for...fried chicken." As they reached the car, the realization that she'd
almost been killed hit him like a ton of bricks. He bent over her
upturned face, gently placed his hand behind her head and kissed her
lovingly on the lips. One corner of his mouth rose slightly into a
half-smile as he recognized one of her familiar moods.....No chicken
tonight, huh? " She slowly shook her head, no..

FINE

Slater bent over Mulder. "What a touching story," he said with mock
sympathy. "Wonder if I could sell it to Reader's Digest?"

Now, she had some unfinished business to take care of. "Mulder, this is
not my area of expertise but I'm all you've got and you know I'll do my
best."

"Mulder, Dr. Slater is unable to finish the session so I'm going to bring
you out. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I am not to blame."

"Good." Boy, the things I could do.....It's a good thing you can trust
me, she thought to herself, with a mischievous smile.

"Three Stars," he repeated.

"When I count to three, you'll wake up and feel completely rested.
One...Two...Three..."

He opened his eyes slowly and blinked. "Well Doc, how did I do?"

"You did just fine. How do you feel?"

He looked at the bandage on her arm with concern. "Don't you think you
should go to the hospital or something?"

"Mulder, I am a doctor, remember? It's just a scratch."

"Scratch, my ass," he mumbled, he knew it came out wrong when he said it
but it was too late to take it back now. He waited for the inevitable
reply.

She slipped her arm around his waist and pursing her lips, whispered,
"where does it itch?"as she dropped her hand noticeably as they walked.

FINE