DEVIL'S ADVOCATE II: SANCTUARY(1/4)

BY:
Cheryl Cohen
(Alias: The Stinker)

and

Annie Reed
(Alias: FancyKatz) ;)

Forward
************************************

Annie and I started this story several months ago. In fact we started
bouncing around ideas for a sequel right after we finished "Devil's
Advocate. Okay, we didn't expect it to take this long or be this long but
somehow the characters seemed to take on a life of their own and each
insisted that they have their moment in the sun. Hence, what follows is
ninety pages of love, sadness, joy, sex, misunderstandings, violence,
insanity, aggravation, frustration, humor, death...and life.

Life is a short display
Of God's proud handiwork
Given us only for a moment
In order
To envy immortality...J. Gary

Please be warned, this tale contains, graphic violence, adult language, and
adult situations. Although there is sex involved in several scenes, it is
not what I would consider graphic nor is it out of context with the story.
I like to leave a little bit to the imagination.

DISCLAIMERS ETC.
********************************

This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris
Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the
characters named are the property of those entities and are used without
permission, although no copyright infringements are intended.

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

Chapter One
The Escape

Lucy's hands were shaking... either with nervousness or excitement, she
couldn't tell which. It took her three tries before she was able to punch
in the access code in the correct sequence. Thank god she got it right on
the third try... otherwise the system would have locked her out and she
would have had to wait another half hour before she could try again, and a
half hour later would be too late.

She glanced over her shoulder as the light above the door changed from red
to green and the lock disengaged. No one was looking. But then again, she
really didn't expect anyone to be there. She was the only nurse on shift
in this end of the building this late at night. Just her and the guard,
and Henry always went to the can at the same time every night. He was
probably in the middle of the sports section right about now.

Lucy slipped through the open door and into the darkened hallway beyond.
The "guests" of the state were all supposed to be sleeping... some with the
help of little pills she had given them earlier in the evening. But this
night she knew three of her patients were awake... awake and waiting for
her.

She stopped in front of Jordan's cell, her hands fumbling with the key.
Strange... in a place as high tech as this one, the individual cells were
still locked with old fashioned keys. Keys which could be duplicated with
very little effort, as Lucy had found out. Guess they figured no one would
ever be able to get past the computerized security system at the ward
entrances. And no one probably could, at least not without a little
inside help. Lucy finally managed to get both locks open and had just
turned the latch when the door was snatched out of her hand.

"Hey babe," Jordan whispered to her, one strong arm snaking around her
waist. "I knew you'd make it." Jordan's blue eyes blazed down at her, a
smile on his handsome face. Lucy felt his gaze burning into her soul and
as he kissed her, she felt her heart skip a beat and her knees threatened
to buckle under her. Never in her life had someone affected her the way
Jordan Chambers did.

"You got the other keys?" he asked, pulling her along down the hallway
while his eyes, ever active, searched the darkened passage for any hidden
dangers.

"Yeah, right here," she said, handing him the keys. "Jordan, are you sure
about this?" Breaking Jordan out was one thing, but he'd insisted on
bringing Keith and Mitchell along too. Keith was a harmless boy as far as
Lucy was concerned, but she was afraid of Mitchell.

"I told you," Jordan whispered harshly, "all of us go... all three of us.
You got that?" he asked, jerking her hand, his eyes burning into her.

She nodded her understanding . They went down the hall quickly and
quietly, and within a few moments Keith Reese and Mitchell Tyler had joined
them. Lucy tried to suppress a shiver as she led the trio back to the
ward's access door and the guard station beyond. All excitement was gone
now, only the nervousness was left...nervousness, and a sense of
approaching doom.

The access code once again opened the door to the guard station. Beyond
the guard station was the door to the outside world. Henry had not yet
returned from his nightly appointment with the john and Lucy permitted
herself a small sigh of relief. She checked the monitors in the guard
station and was relieved to see that the closed circuit system that
monitored activity in Jordan's ward was still inoperative. She didn't
intend to ever come back here but she also didn't want video evidence of
her part in helping three criminally insane convicts escape.

"Hey, Lucy, you seen the comics?" Lucy's heart sank as she recognized
Henry's voice coming down the short hall from the restrooms. She saw
Mitchell flatten himself against the wall as
Jordan pulled her down with him on the floor of the guard station. Keith
crouched on the floor next to them. Unless Henry looked up at the security
mirror mounted in the hallway where the wall met the ceiling, he wouldn't
be able to see Mitchell hiding around the corner until it was too late.
Lucy's training almost made her cry out a warning to Henry but Jordan
clamped a hand over her mouth and no sound escaped.

Henry was too intent on finding his paper to look up into the mirror. As he
passed the corner, Mitchell turned and drove his knee into Henry's groin.
Air escaped Henry's lungs with a soft "oompf" and as he started to double
over, Mitchell drove the heel of his hand up into the bridge of Henry's
nose. Splinters of bone from the impact rammed into Henry's brain and he
was dead before he hit the floor. Mitchell grabbed the gun from Henry's
belt, his gaze lingering hungrily on the dead man's form, his eyes shining
with a n almost inhuman fury. But the still rational part of Mitchell's
mind knew that now was not the time, so he left the dead man alone and
rejoined the others. Together the foursome moved out through the front
door.

Lucy and Jordan sat in the front seat of her car, Mitchell and Keith in the
back. Lucy fought back the tears which threatened to overflow when she
thought about Henry. It was all so unnecessary... they could have
immobilized him. Mitchell didn't need to kill him.

As they neared the guard shack, Keith and Mitchell scrunched down out of
sight in the back seat, and Jordan moved to the floorboard in the front
seat. Lucy felt his hand stroke her legs. "Just like we planned babe," he
said. "Take it nice and easy." His hand moved upward, stroking her
intimately and Lucy suddenly found it hard to concentrate on her driving.
"We're almost home free." As the lights signaled their arrival at the
gate, he withdrew his hand and huddled in the dark shadows of the car.

"Lucy, what's up?" the tower guard asked from the shelter of his
bullet-proof shack. His voice sounded tinny over the speaker. Lucy knew
that video cameras mounted on the outside of the shack wouldn't be able to
penetrate the gloom in the car.

"Don't feel so hot, so I'm taking an early out," she said, speaking into
the microphone she knew was next to the speaker. "Madelaine told me to go
on home. She said she'd come over and check the ward for me later." This
was not lie... Lucy had told the head nurse she was going home sick. Might
as well keep the lies to a minimum, she'd figured. She just hope no one
had discovered Henry yet.

"Hope you're feeling better soon," the guard said as the front gate began
to open. Lucy drove through... her heart in her throat, waiting all the
while for the guard to order her to stop, to pull gun on her. But nothing
happened and Lucy drove through the gate and into the night beyond.

After about 15 minutes, Jordan told her to pull over so he could drive.
Lucy found a quiet side street... easy in this neighborhood... and pulled
off the road. The area was rural, with homes scattered sparsely about. It
seems no one wanted to live near the state loony bin.

Jordan and Lucy got out of the car. Mitchell got out after them. "Gotta
take a leak," Mitchell said, moving off into the night. Jordan nodded at
him.

Grabbing Lucy's hand, Jordan moved her out of range of the car headlights.
He pulled her roughly to him and kissed her deeply, his hands moving over
her body. Lucy felt her body melt
into him, her doubts and fears disappearing. How could something that felt
this good be bad?

"Do you love me, Lucy?" Jordan whispered to her.

"Yes... oh yes," she murmured as his lips moved across her neck and throat.

"Do you believe in me, Lucy?" he asked, his voice harsh with emotion.

"Yes," she replied breathlessly, her hands in his hair.

"Then you shall find salvation," Jordan promised.

Lucy never felt the blow that broke her neck, just as she had never heard
Mitchell come up behind her. Jordan laid her down softly in the meadow
where wildflowers had bloomed only a few short weeks ago, before the first
cold snap of the season had killed them, as surely as the cold in Jordan
Chamber's heart had killed Lucy. "Sorry, Lucy," Jordan whispered down at
her, his handsome face reflecting no remorse, "sometimes believing is not
enough."

Keith watched all this from the car. He had seen Mitchell creep up silently
behind Lucy, and he knew what was coming. But he didn't understand why...
Lucy had always been good to him, had never looked on him with disgust like
the other nurses, had never mistreated him like some of the ward
attendants, had never hurt him like the doctors who were intent on
"rehabilitating" him. He would ask Jordan...Jordan would know. Jordan
knew everything.

He jumped from the car and as he approached Jordan's figure, standing
god-like over Lucy's still and lifeless body, his own body took on the
submissive posture that it always did whenever he was in Jordan Chambers'
presence. Meekly, he looked to his 'savior' and asked a question.
"J...J...Jordan," he stuttered softly, "Sh....sh...she helped us.
Wh...wh...why did she have to d....die?"

Jordan steeled his cold, emotionless eyes at his faithful follower. "She
was a harlot, Keith... they all are, and you need to know that," he replied
in a judgmental tone. "Pleasures of the flesh are their only concern."
Jordan turned his back on Lucy's prone body, causally draping an arm around
Keith's shoulder and leading the boy away. "Through my carnal knowledge of
Lucy, I have taken her evil unto myself and purified her soul," Jordan
explained. "She has paid the price of her sins with her life, but her
spirit, now free from blame, may enter paradise."

Keith raised his boyish face heavenward and smiled a smile of
self-righteous confirmation. "L...l..l...like Jenny?" he asked.

"Yes, like Jenny," Jordan confirmed. "What you did took courage, Keith.
It takes courage to offer the path to heaven to another soul. Someday
everyone will come to understand that, just like I do."

He was exonerated. Keith felt the doubt instilled in him by his therapy
lift from his soul. It had been 'right' to sacrifice Jenny before she
could defile herself with him. His girlfriend had gone to her creator with
a pure heart and an innocent soul...of this he had made certain. He'd
prepared her for her journey to Eden by carefully removing all evidence of
her sexuality so she would never again be tempted to sin.

Jordan was the only one who'd ever understood him. His parents hadn't
understood. They called him the devil's spawn and had shunned him. The
authorities could not even comprehend his reasoning. But Jordan...Jordan
could. Jordan gave credence to Keith's doctrine of violence and a blessing
to his depraved insanity...and with good reason. For Keith had found his
god in Jordan and his only purpose in life was to follow whatever mandate
Jordan Chambers deemed appropriate. What Keith didn't understand, and
would not have believed even if someone tried to explain it to him, was
that Jordan Chambers needed Keith as much as Keith Reese needed Jordan.
It's hard to be a god when you have no one to worship you.

"Get your fucking ass back in the car you stupid little faggot," Mitchell
sneered with loathing, "and quit looking at Jordan like he's some kind of
goddamn Messiah."

Mitchell faced Jordan with hungry slitted eyes. "This girl was no
challenge," he complained, "and neither was the guard." Mitchell fingered
the gun that was tucked into his waistband as he shuffled across the now
barren meadow to the car. The gun was just for backup...Mitchell was quite
capable of killing people with his bare hands, and in ways that were much
more personally satisfying than the simple ways he had dispatched the guard
and Lucy.

After a few steps, Mitchell realized that Jordan hadn't moved. Fucking
amateurs. "Are you coming, Chambers, or are ya gonna wait for the cops to
show up?" Mitchell growled.

Jordan fell in step beside Mitchell and began to preach the gospel
according to Jordan Chambers.

Mitchell stopped suddenly. He turned on Jordan with an angry glare, and
trembled with pent up fury. "Save your pseudo-religious bullshit for that
feeble minded asshole in the car," he swore. "I know for a fact that there
*is* no god. I'm living proof of that," he spat, eyes shining with hatred.
His rock hard body tensed with the training he'd received as a good
Company man... back when he had been paid to kill, long before killing was
a necessity for his own survival. He looked into the night, feeling the
beating of the small hearts of the night animals in his blood as surely as
if he'd heard it with his ears. He saw an owl swoop after a field mouse,
heard the mouse's small, shrill death cry, and felt his own blood race.

"I feel the urge, Chambers, I need to kill again...soon," Mitchell warned.
"I can taste their blood, feel their fear...the high. I need my 'fix', my
'drug'...my *joy*. Get it for me, Jordan...or I'll *take* what I need," he
threatened.

"You *dare* to threaten me?" Jordan growled, eyeing Mitchell with an
equally evil glint. "You may be 'well trained', but you better remember
that I'm certifiably 'mad.' I believe the exact term used to profile me
was 'brilliantly psychotic' with tendencies toward megalomania. It was
further recommended to the authorities that rehabilitation would be an
unwarranted waste of the taxpayers money and they should lock me up and
throw away the key. Jordan grabbed Mitchell's shirt and pulled the larger
man in close. "So don't fuck with me," he whispered menacingly. "You
never know what'll make me snap." He released Mitchell and stalked off
toward the car. Mitchell stood still for a moment, clenching and
unclenching his hands at his sides. Soon he wouldn't need these two
assholes. Mitchell contented himself with mentally planning their demise.
The thought made him smile, a smile that didn't quite make it up to his
eyes.

As they neared the car, Keith nervously ran his hand through his unkempt
hair. "Jordan...Jordan...!" he yelled excitedly. "We gotta find a place
to stay. It says on the radio that there's gonna be a blizzard tonight."

"Wait here," Jordan ordered as he turned and walked purposefully back to
Lucy's body. Once there, he removed her starched white shirt, draped it
across one arm, and returned to the car.

Jordan tossed the shirt to Keith in the back seat of the car. "Put it on,"
he commanded.

Keith stared back in confusion. "Why?" he asked uncertainly. Wearing
girl's clothes...uh uh. Oh no, he couldn't do that. Keith's head started
jerking back and forth, a small sound building at the back of his throat.
What would people think...that he was some kind of freak, some kind of
sissy boy No, no, no, no, no.....

"Just do it," Jordan replied impatiently. Keith continued to shake his
head back and forth...'no.' Jordan's arm shot out and he grabbed Keith by
the chin, forcing Keith to look at him. "People will be a lot more willing
to 'help' a young innocent looking kid in a nice white shirt than a couple
of hard lookers like us in prison grays," he explained with a handsomely
convincing smile.

Keith looked up into Jordan's blue eyes...Jordan was saying that he needed
him, was relying on him to help the group. Nobody had ever relied on him
before. Keith calmed down and returned Jordan's smile as he stripped out
of his hospital-icsue shirt and put on Lucy's clean white one.

Jordan had been driving for about an hour and a half before he was forced
to coast the car to a stop along the shoulder of the rural country road.
He banged his hands violently on the steering wheel and cursed. "Stupid
bitch could've at least filled the damn gas tank," he mumbled heatedly.

Reaching over the gearshift, Jordan unceremoniously nudged Mitchell awake.
He'd dozed off about a half hour after they'd left Lucy's body. "Hey, wake
up Tyler, we have a problem," he complained loudly.

"What?" Mitchell asked with irritation clearly reflected in his voice.
Sleep was the only peace he could ever expect to know in this life, and he
got precious little of it. Just another minor "side effect" of his special
training. Now, with his mind fully alert, the burning desire to kill
coursed once more through his veins with renewed passion. He hated what he
was but he *was* only what the Company had made him. There was nothing to
do except satisfy his needs and fulfill his destiny.

Mitchell's look was not lost on Jordan. He caught he starving demented
glare that shimmered hauntingly in Mitchell's hard uncaring eyes, the
hunger that was reflected in his face. The 'look' even made Jordan shiver
involuntarily. Mitchell Tyler was dangerous. Jordan knew that Mitchell
didn't give a rat's ass about him or Keith, and would just as soon kill
both of them if he didn't think he needed them to survive. He bore
allegiance to no one and snuffed out life indiscriminately, driven by
demons not of his own design. Jordan knew that sooner or later he'd have
to help Mitchell's soul find its place in eternity, but right now he needed
Mitchell's special talents.

"We're out of gas," Jordan ventured tentatively, reluctant to press his
position as 'leader'.

"Then I suggest we find a place to hide out before the sun comes up, the
cops discover we're gone, and the weather changes." Mitchell opened the
door and slid gracefully from his seat into the pre-dawn darkness like a
panther preparing for the hunt. Jerking the rear door open, Mitchell took
out his irritability on Keith by kicking the soles of Keith's shoes as he
lay snoring in the back seat.

"Get your ass up, Boy Scout," Mitchell goaded with icy calm, "time to take
a hike."

Keith reluctantly scrambled from the car. He grimaced as he stumbled on
one of the pebbles that were scattered over the unevenly paved road. With
Mitchell leading the way, three dark silhouettes of evil quickly blended
into the shrouded shadows that ominously lined the lonely back road.

******
continued in part 1b
**********************************************************************

From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 18 04:42:51 1996
Sanctuary part one continued...

Melissa Scully drove slowly up the dimly lit driveway to her mother's
house, nearly rear ending her sister's car when she slammed on the brakes
and slid six feet on the ice and snow that covered her mother's driveway.
The clock on the dashboard glowed 4 AM and Melissa felt like she'd been
driving for years.

Strange, Melissa hadn't expected her sister to be spending the weekend.
The last thing she'd heard before leaving for Key West was that Dana and
her mom would be staying in Miami with Fox. In their phone conversation
just the other day, her mom had told her that they'd wanted to keep him in
the hospital for at least another week so Dana's presence here was
definitely puzzling.

God, she was exhausted. Her various flights had been canceled and
rescheduled three times due to weather and she'd begun to think she
wouldn't make it home at all but would be camping out in some airport
terminal. Now that Melissa was finally home, she wasn't sure she had
enough energy to even get out of the car. An unexpected yawn caught her
off guard and her hands unconsciously rubbed at the sleep that had hardened
in the corners of her eyes. Raggedly she climbed the porch steps and
entered the darkened house. Damn the luggage, Melissa thought tiredly, it
can wait in the car until morning.

The sun began to peak out timidly above the dark horizon, revealing the
cool clear blue of a cloudless sky. But there was a hint of red in that
sunrise, a precursor of the storm the weather service had forecasted for
later today. Jacob Priestly smiled with satisfaction as he baited his hook
and dropped the line into the hole he'd cut in the ice. He may listen to
the weather service, but he lived by the Farmer's Almanac, and it had
predicted a hard and early winter. Usually he couldn't indulge in ice
fishing until later in the season, but this year he'd been able to enjoy
his singular passion earlier than he normally would.

Jacob's family had lived in this part of the country for generations.
Besides being a strong believer in the Farmer's Almanac, he also put strong
stock in all the sayings his mother had taught him as a boy. Red sky in
the morning, sailor take warning...red sky at night, sailor's delight.
There'd be clouds in the sky before this day was over...he'd bet his life
on that.

Jacob had hiked to this very spot every year for the past 40 years of his
life and was exceedingly proud of the fact that at age 60, he could still
make the trip. The early morning air was clear and pristine and Jacob
inhaled its invigorating coolness deeply, reflecting on how wonderful his
life had been. He glowed with anticipation as his line grew taught and
bounced several times beneath the cold water... the fish were biting well
this morning. Even though she thought he was crazy for getting up before
dawn just so he could sit out on the ice, he'd have he'd have plenty of
fish for his other half to cook tonight. Jacob's mouth watered in
anticipation...his Sarah was a great cook.

As the trio rounded the bend of the frozen lake, Mitchell Tyler stopped
suddenly and sniffed the air. Jordan put up his hand, halting Keith's
forward strides, and motioned him to remain still. He'd learned to
recognize Tyler's transformations from witnessing his brief episodes at the
hospital/prison. Without the medication the staff gave Mitchell to keep
him under control, Jordan realized that even *they* had cause to fear him.

Tyler's eye's narrowed with animal-like concentration as his breathing
quickened. His muscles tensed with the anticipation of the hunt. He
sensed the presence of his prey, heard its breathing, smelled the salty
sweat of its fragile flesh. The savage blood that had run in the veins of
his ancestors for a millennia now boiled in his own and all color fled his
vision. The prey was helpless, unaware of the beast that stalked him.

Jacob looked up from unhooking his fifth catch of the morning and spied a
young man approaching him from a small clump of trees nearby. It hadn't
occurred to him that there would be anyone else on the lake at such an
early hour so the boy's presence had initially startled him.

Keith smiled disarmingly and Jacob relaxed and smiled in response. He
wasn't really a kid, Jacob thought on second glance. Maybe about 22 or 23.
And he must be freezing out here without a coat...He was wearing just a
white shirt and some dirty gray pants.

"Sir," Keith spoke softly, "my car b...b...broke down. C...c...could you
p... p...lease direct me to the nearest house in these parts where I might
be able to use the phone and call a tow truck?"

Jacob spoke in an easy neighborly tone, "That'd be the Scully place about a
quarter mile down the road on the left...you can't miss it."

"Thank you very much," Keith replied politely.

Jacob flinched in surprise when he felt the cold, hard, steely press
against his right temple. An angry, inhuman voice growled behind his head.
"Strip, old man, "it ordered.

In a few moments, the old fisherman stood in his underwear on the ice. He
was shivering with either cold, or fear, or more than likely, both.
Mitchell's eyes glowed an unearthly red in the diffused pre dawn light.
Instead of feeling relief that he was no longer looking at the business end
of the gun, Jacob was suddenly sure that he would not be alive to see the
coming storm and would never taste his wife's cooking again.

The serene morning silence was abruptly shattered as Mitchell threw back
his head and screamed a frustrated howl of anguished primitive fury. He
propelled himself at his terrified victim with the force of a hunger-crazed
wolf.

Jordan and Keith were compelled to watch with a kind of dreadful
fascination, like motorists passing a fatal car crash. As they looked on,
Mitchell, without the benefit of instrument or weapon, ripped the still
beating heart from the old man's chest, tore at his jugular, then gripped
his frail neck between clenched, bloodied teeth and shook the limp form
with murderous frenzy before dropping what was left to the ground. Holding
the dripping heart, Mitchell raised his arms to the sky and screamed again.
"This is for you, you sons of bitches," he yelled. "Someday this will be
you! I swear by all that's unholy...some day this will be you."

Mitchell dropped the heart next to the old man's body. Panting heavily, he
licked his hands, shivering with the sensuous pleasure the taste of the old
man's blood brought him. A woman would have been better...then he'd have
been able to satisfy all his needs...but this would hold him for now. As
his system began to calm down, his vision returned to normal... at least
what passed as normal for Mitchell. He dipped his hands into the frigid
water beneath the hole in the ice, and then cleansed the remaining results
of his madness from his body. Finally he donned the old man's worn pants
and red flannel shirt that Jordan held out to him.

Keith exhaled the breath he'd been holding. And people called *me* sick,
he thought. At least they wouldn't have to deal with Mitchell's unnatural
compulsion for at least another day or so. Rummaging through the old man's
tackle box, he picked out a long, narrow 10 inch filet knife and sheath and
stuck the blade end into the top of his boot. Well, you never know when a
good knife would come in handy. He'd seen the way Mitchell had looked at he
old man, had seen all of his physical responses to killing. Keith had
tried to avert his eyes while Mitchell changed clothes, but he'd still
seen. Keith had no intention of being a victim, of *any* kind, of Mitchell
Tyler. He hadn't been able to defend himself in the hospital, but he'd
find a way to defend himself here...oh yes, he would.

"Wh...wh...what do we do now, J...J...Jordan," he asked his mentor with a
demented kind of innocence.

A diabolical grin slowly spread across Jordan Chamber's almost serene face
as he looked toward the deserted road. "We're gonna make a house call, my
son...."

Brightly colored, flowered curtains caught the morning sun, splattering the
off-white walls of the room with diffused shades of reds, yellows, blues,
and greens. A kaleidoscope of colors filled the cheery little bedroom and
gently caressed the peacefully sleeping figure snuggled deep within the
patchwork quilt on the old fashioned feather bed.

Dana stood in the doorway for several minutes just watching him. It always
amazed her how childlike and innocent he looked in his sleep, so much so
that she often had to resist the urge to place a teddy bear in his arms.
She chuckled quietly to herself at the image that particular thought
conjured up in her mind.

A hand gently squeezed her shoulder in understanding and Dana turned her
head to look into her mother's smiling eyes They shone with deep affection
as Margaret also took in the sight of the handsome young man who had come
to mean so much to her daughter...and to her.

"The doctor said that he's going to be just fine," Mrs. Scully reassured
her daughter once again. "If he 'wasn't', I'm certain that they wouldn't
have let Fox leave the hospital, let alone fly home with us."

Dana glanced back at the fine-featured face and silky dark hair that was
buried into the fluffy pillow on the bed. She also noticed with interest
that one bare shoulder peeked out seductively from beneath the covers.

Snapping her attention back to her mother, Dana voiced her concerns.
"That's the *point,* mom...according to Dr. Grayson, he should still be in
the hospital. They only let him out a week early because I'm a doctor, we
promised to watch him, and they couldn't make him behave."

"Well give the doctor credit," Margaret whispered, "he obviously recognized
the fact that we have more 'pull' with Fox, than he or the hospital staff.
You of all people, should know that a patient is likely to recover more
quickly when he is surrounded by 'family' and friends."

A wide grin spread across Dana's face when her mom's voice paused with
emphasis over the word 'family.'

"Okay mom," she replied quietly resigned while backing out into the hall
and closing the bedroom door. "I'll try my best to stop hovering over
him. It's just that.... that...well," she shot her mother a look of pure
exasperation, "Fox Mulder is a walking 'trouble magnet.' Sometimes his
desire for truth overrides his common sense and his insatiable curiosity
and willingness to believe in just about anything, interferes with his
natural instinct for self preservation.

Margaret Scully laughed out loud. "What you're trying to tell me in your
own unique round about way is that Fox tends to jump in head first without
testing the water and gets hurt much too often because of his
impulsiveness.

Scully's eyes crinkled ruefully. "How is it you can take anything I say
and reduce it to one sentence?"

Margaret smiled thoughtfully. "I guess it comes from years of living with
William Scully Sr.. You're a lot like your father, you know," she told her
daughter as they moved off down the hall. "Oh, and if I were you,"
Margaret added, "I think I'd continue to hover....discretely, of course."

"Mom..." Dana complained.

"Oh, don't 'mom' me, Dana Katherine," Margaret chided. "Outwardly, Fox may
complain, but deep down inside....he craves the attention. In my humble
opinion, Fox Mulder is long overdue for some good old fashion TLC and don't
let him convince you otherwise. Somewhere along the way, someone has
convinced that dear boy that he's not 'worthy' of happiness. I'm not
pointing any fingers because it wouldn't change anything, mind you," she
added hastily. " But let's just say I believe it's 'our' mission to turn
him around," she informed Dana with a conspiring grin as they headed back
down the stairs to the kitchen.

Cooking breakfast for her husband and children had always been one of
Margaret's favorite chores of the day. However, since the children had
grown up and moved away, and her husband's death the year before, it was a
'chore' that she no longer got to perform very often. She was enjoying
herself immensely. The house was full and everything just felt right.

Dana was home again......with Fox. If Dana could only have seen the look
on her face when Margaret had suggested they both come home with her. It
had been matched only by the look on poor Fox's face. Margaret chuckled to
herself at the memory. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, on Dana's
relationship with Fox. "Mom, how did you know?" Dana had asked. "Oh, I
just had a feeling," Margaret had replied with one of her most inscrutable
smiles. What? Did her daughter think she was blind? It was fairly obvious
to her and probably to anyone else who'd take the time to really look.
They stared at one another and touched more often than any two people she'd
seen in a long time.

Lord, she thought with amusement as she mixed the pancake batter, if Dana's
father knew they were sharing the same room, let alone the same bed, he'd
have rolled over in his grave. He was always one to stand on propriety--at
least where 'his little girl' was concerned. Margaret, on the other hand,
'knowing' her daughter...and finally...Fox, realized that any type of
'propriety' had been violated long ago and to keep up 'appearances' would
be a foolish, hypocritical waste of time...and space. And right now space
was at a premium in the Scully household.

Bill Jr. had arrived Friday afternoon with the kids while his wife was out
of town and Melissa had shown up early this morning. Well, most of her
family was here anyway, and that made her heart light as she scrambled eggs
and flipped pancakes.

Standing at the stove next to her mother, Dana grinned impishly as she
turned the sausage. She knew she'd be getting yet another lecture from
Melissa about the 'horrors' of eating meat. I don't know what she's got to
complain about anyway, Dana thought. Melissa had been allowed the luxury
of sleeping in given her late arrival time, and Mom had made sure there was
fresh-squeezed orange juice to go with breakfast, just the way Melissa like
it.

Dana turned around in time to see her older sister appear in the doorway,
her nose wrinkling with disgust. "Must you insist on cooking animal flesh
this early in the morning?" she complained loudly.

Well speak of the devil, Dana thought wickedly. She purposely exaggerated
the act of inhaling the sizzling sausage's aroma. "Oh....and to think, I
made these just for you, Dana teased. "I guess Mulder and I will have to
eat them all by ourselves," she added solely for her sister's benefit.
Dana knew Mulder's insides were still too screwed up to handle anything as
heavy as sausage yet, but it was a sneaky way of letting her sister known
that he was here.

"Mulder?" Melissa asked in surprise. "You mean Fox is here? She turned
and looked at her Mother with disbelief. Margaret, for her part, intended
to stay out of this conversation. Sometimes her daughters could be so
competitive. "Mother, why didn't you say something?" Melissa complained.
"Look at me. I look like a bag lady," she fretted.

"Relax sis," Dana snickered while taking in the sight of Melissa's well
worn, terry cloth robe, fuzzy slippers, and bedraggled hair. "If Mulder
was one to take much stock in appearances, we'd all be in trouble right
now."

"Who's in trouble?" Bill Jr. echoed in his loud booming voice. He
strolled into the kitchen fully dressed in his IZOD tennis shirt and
Dockers pants, followed by two squealing, yet equally well dressed
children. Bill leaned his large, muscular frame up against the kitchen
counter while the kids immediately zipped through the doorway and into the
living room to watch cartoons.

"You are," Margaret scolded, "If you don't keep the noise down. Fox is
still sleeping."

Bill pouted and snitched a piece of egg with his fingers as Dana carried
the pan full of scrambled eggs by him on her way to the table. So his
sister had finally brought a guy home with her. Okay, so he was her
partner. The other guy he'd met about three, maybe four years ago, had
been her instructor. Bill hadn't really liked him too much--the guy had no
sense of humor and was a little 'old' as far as he was concerned. But Dana
had liked the old stick in the mud, so he had tried to be cordial. Bill
had a feeling this guy was different. If his mom liked him, and he had no
doubts that she did, he must be an ok guy.

The idea that his mom must approve of this fellow surprised the hell out of
Bill. She had never liked any of Dana's men 'friends,' yet she spoke of
this one like he was family. He hated to admit it, but that fact kinda
made him a little jealous and before he quite realized what he was doing,
he let his jealousy slip out in the form of a slightly biting retort.
"Hey, the guy was asleep yesterday afternoon when I got here. What's he
got? A side job testing mattresses???" Bill could see that his remark
really irritated Dana. The reasonable adult in him that advised that he
should stop while he was ahead gave way to the persistent inner child and
with typical brotherly skill, he went in for the kill. "But I bet he
wasn't 'sleeping' *all* night---was he 'Dani-doo'? No endurance huh?"

That last jibe was just too much. Dana spun around suddenly, reached up
and dumped the scrambled eggs over her brother's head.

"I'm going to go see if Mulder's awake yet, mom," she spat out tersely. He
needs to eat." Turning sharply on her heel, Scully marched out of the
kitchen, ignoring her brother's stupefied look, and angrily climbed the
stairs.

"Moron," Melissa muttered as she side-stepped her egg covered brother to
get to the table. "How many times has mom told you not to wear your food,"
she said, poking him in his side.

"Mom.....!" he whined.

Margaret shook her head slowly. No matter how grown up her kids were, some
things never changed. "Bill, clean up this mess and scramble some more
eggs," she said with a patient tone known to mothers everywhere. "Perhaps
one day you'll check out your information 'before' you insert your foot in
your mouth. For once, Fox is doing what he's supposed to be
doing...sleeping, and taking it easy. On your sister's last case, he was
caught in an explosion and was critically injured. In fact, the poor man
nearly died. He was just released from the hospital yesterday morning so
kindly take it easy on them both," she admonished.

Margaret wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and hung it neatly back in
place over the oven handle. "You two finish setting things up here," she
instructed. "I'm going upstairs. Dana may need some help getting him down
here if he's awake."

Bill appeared suitably remorseful and gently grasped his mother's elbow as
she walked by him. "I only meant to tease her," he said guiltily. "I'll
go up and see if she needs some help." He shook the last remnants of egg
out of his hair over the kitchen sink, then turned slowly and shuffled out
of the kitchen.

"Maybe brother Bill isn't such a 'weenie' after all," snickered Melissa in
between bites of pancake.

Margaret closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and plopped down heavily onto
the kitchen chair. She'd obviously forgotten that having her children home
was just as much of a chore as it was a joy. "If it doesn't bother your
sensibilities too much, could you get some more eggs out, Melissa?" she
asked with a deep sigh as she contemplated scrambling up another batch. At
this rate they were going to run out of food before the morning was over.

********
End part one

From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 19 06:29:50 1996

SANCTUARY
BY:
Cheryl Cohen
(Alias-The Stinker)
and
Annie Reed
(Alias-FancyKatz)

Chapter Two
Okay, What did I do now?

Dana crossed the bedroom floor softly and carefully sat on the edge of the
bed. Mulder was still sound asleep. She couldn't believe that he'd slept
so long or so peacefully. He needed the rest and she almost decided to
leave him alone. No, she had to wake him. He had to eat sometime.

"Mulder..." she whispered, mischief playing about her eyes.

He swatted absently at the tickle that her soft breath invoked in his ear,
moaned softly, and pulled the covers up under his chin. <God, he looks so
damn cute.> Dana eased herself down, brushed her lips lightly over his
eyelids, and once more whispered into his ear, "Fox, wake up now."

Mulder's lids fluttered in protest, opened slowly, then his eyes focused on
her. A radiant smile lit his face like the luminescent beams of the
morning sun shining through the bedroom window. "I was having this
'wonderful' dream," he told her softly in delighted awe. "I've always been
afraid of dreaming because I'd always thought of dreams and nightmares as
being--well, the same, at least they were for me. But this was a real
dream, Dana," he murmured excitedly. "It's been so long," he continued,
"I...I just never thought that I'd ever just dream again."

"Well, Sherlock, what was this dream about?" she inquired. Dana smiled
broadly, getting caught up in his euphoria.

The tips of Mulder's ears tinged slightly pink and he lowered his eyes
shyly. "It was about you," he hedged with seeming embarrassment. "It was
... uh, kind of 'erotic' in nature," he replied, grinning in spite of
himself. Unable to hold back any longer, he finally blurted out, "I
dreamed we were making love, then the whole room was filled with little
girls, lots of them, and all the sudden they all turned into you!" This
statement was followed by a low rumble of laughter that originated
somewhere deep within his chest and spilled out over his lips like a
cascading waterfall. "Now, I must admit to some confusion here, " he
chuckled softly, "but you have to agree it's a definite step up from a
nightmare."

Mulder's laughter was contagious and she found herself sharing in his
mirth. He had a beautiful laugh and she was elated to find out just how
much she enjoyed the sound.

"Okay, Scully, you're into dream analysis." he snickered, reverting back
to the way he addressed her when she was working. "So, "What do you make
of this one?" he asked, raising one questioning eyebrow.

"Ummmm. So ze good heir Mulder vould like an interpretation of ez dream?"
she asked, arching her own eyebrow to accompany her imitation of Dr.
Freud. Mulder laughed at her. "Offhand, I would say that just possibly,
Fox Mulder might have a secret desire for his own personal harem."
She chortled in response to his shocked expression and tousled his already
unruly hair. Thankfully, the hair that had been burned in the explosion
was growing out thicker than it had even been before. Smiling, she bent
over and gently kissed his lips.

"That's sick, Dana," he complained in a mock serious tone. "One of *you*
is more than enough to keep me occupied. A whole room full of you would
put me back in the hospital." A bemused expression settled on his face.
Reaching up behind her neck, he pulled her closer and brushed his lips
along the curve of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin as he
murmured softly, "Ah...but what a way to go."
Dana pulled back slightly and watched the unbridled sparkle of joy kindle
in his deep hazel eyes. There it was again, that difference in him, that
fundamental shift in his personality that allowed him to experience and
feel all the good things that life had to offer.

Something inside Fox Mulder had changed over these last few months since
she'd awakened from her coma. Dana had felt it even more when he'd first
opened his own eyes at the hospital just a few weeks ago. It was vague and
she couldn't exactly put her finger on it. The difference was....subtle in
the beginning, then progressively more open. He reminded her of a child
along the ocean's shore... tentative at first, running away from the waves,
then cautiously sticking his toe into the water before wading in, and
finally diving beneath the surface and splashing with delight at his new
discovery. She knew that he had faced his own mortality before but never
had there been anyone else in his life to consider besides himself. Now he
had her. Perhaps the fact that he'd nearly lost everything had shocked him
into facing his own emotions...his own feelings about her, his life and how
he had been living it, or 'surviving' it. In any case, most of his
gloominess and guilt had lifted and it was a happier more relaxed Fox
Mulder that faced her now. Whatever it was, she'd decided that she liked
it. She liked it very much.

"Dana?" he asked with concern. She realized that she'd been staring at him
for several seconds.

Startled back to the here and now, Dana remembered the reason for waking
him up in the first place. "The only place you're going right now," she
said with conviction, "is down stairs to eat breakfast." She slipped her
arm behind his back to help him sit up.

"Ahem...." grunted Bill from the doorway.

Surprised by her brother's voice, Dana jumped. The sheet dropped down
around Mulder's waist, revealing one large, freshly pink scar along his
lower ribcage and several others of various sizes scattered haphazardly
across his chest and shoulders. His arms and hands had healed quickly but
were still a slightly lighter skintone than the rest of him.

Bill caught himself staring and immediately averted his eyes. Mom was
right, he thought, this man looked like he'd been through seven kinds of
hell. But in the short time he'd observed them, he'd also seen how this
guy had been looking at his sister. The man obviously loved her, plain and
simple. Bill made a decision and quickly went over to the bed to help. He
steadied Mulder with one hand while Dana got Mulder's clothes.

Mulder looked up at Bill, and with his help, Fox swiveled slowly until his
legs were over the edge of the bed and his feet touched the floor. "I
swear I'm not usually this much trouble," Mulder said with a grin as he
stiffly pulled on his jeans. "Thanks." Dana helped him slip on his shirt
and carefully buttoned it for him, trying to avoid touching the scarred
half-healed areas that were still a little painful to the touch.

Standing unsteadily, Mulder walked slowly toward the door and down the hall
to the stairs. He stood at the landing for several seconds, looking down
the stairway like it was a gauntlet. Well, hell, he thought....in his
condition, it was a gauntlet. But he'd make it somehow.

Just as he was about to take that tentative first step, he felt a strong
arm slide around his waist and firmly grasp his belt. "If you can...put
your arm around my shoulder, I won't let you fall," Bill's booming,
friendly voice promised. "Our family takes care of its own. Just thought
you should know what you're getting into." Bill laughed heartily at
Mulder's reaction to being called family by Dana's protective older brother
and Bill suddenly had to resist an overwhelming urge to smack Mulder on the
back. Something about this guy was just, well, likable. "You're gonna
need all the help you can get with this bunch, Fox. Especially, the
women," he muttered, "they're particularly ornery." He looked at Dana and
winked.

"Mulder, not Fox," Dana corrected her brother. "I think mom's the only one
who can get away with calling him Fox."

"I stand corrected," Bill replied. "Once again."

Dana stared in disbelief while big brother Bill supported Mulder as they
made their way down the stairs. Bill had always been overprotective of his
sisters, more so now that their father was no longer around to do the job.
And from their conversation in the kitchen earlier, she'd expected him to
give Mulder the third degree like he did to every other man she had ever
brought home for them to meet. She hadn't counted on them getting along,
at least not right away. This was a first...and she wasn't exactly sure
how to take it. <Just except what is and be
thankful.> The phrase echoed in her mind and once again she yielded to its
wisdom as she followed her brother and Mulder slowly down the stairs to
the living room.

Dana paused briefly at the landing with her hand on the banister to steady
herself, hanging her head down momentarily as she tried in vain to fight
off the heavy feeling of fatigue that had been her constant companion these
days. This is positively ridiculous, she thought angrily. She'd had
plenty of sleep so there was absolutely no reason for her to be this tired,
and she'd be damned if she would turn into some kind of fragile flower at
this point in her life.

Oh...give yourself a break, Dana Scully, she argued with herself. You've
been through a lot in these past few months. Hell, you've been through
more shit than most people have to face in a lifetime and your body's
obviously still trying to heal itself. So your system's a little screwed
up, so what? It's a wonder that anything works at all at this point, she
laughed silently to herself.

Dana was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of Mulder's voice calling
her name.

"Dana? Dana, are you alright?" he asKed, anxiously noticing her momentary
lapse at the landing. Bill's eyes followed Mulder's concerned gaze and
both men eyed her expectantly.

"I'm fine," she reassured them. But it was easy to see that they didn't
buy it. She raised one eyebrow in contention. "I just moved too quickly
and got a little dizzy, so sue me," she replied crankily, bounding
energetically down the remaining stairs.

Bill accepted her answer without question, but Mulder wasn't entirely
satisfied with her explanation. He didn't get a chance to press the
matter, however, because Dana's mom chose that moment to appear at the foot
of the stairs, effectively ending any chance Mulder had to pursue the
subject. Dana breathed a sigh of relief as Margaret diverted Mulder's
attention away from Dana by redirecting it to herself.

"Would you three get in here, please," Mrs. Scully growled good-naturedly
as she herded them all into the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready and
everything is getting cold." Margaret smiled at the chorus of "yes,
ma'am's" that responded to her instructions. Sometimes the simplest things
made you appreciate just how good life could be.

Mitchell Tyler finished doling out the old fisherman's supplies to
everyone. Keith breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Mitchell
hadn't noticed the missing knife. He zipped up the parka the old man had
been wearing. The hood was fur lined and Keith pulled it up around his
head. He had been shivering, whether from the cold or from nerves he
couldn't tell. But the parka was soft and warm, and he tried to lose
himself inside it.

"Here, take it," Mitchell growled at him, handing him a cup of coffee from
the fisherman's thermos. Keith accepted the steaming mug, trying not to
look at the dried blood under Mitchell's fingernails. He normally didn't
drink coffee -- he didn't like the taste -- but he wasn't about to tell
Mitchell that.

"How long do you think it'll take us to get to the Scully house?" Jordan
asked Mitchell.

Mitchell narrowed his eyes against the sunshine gleaming off the snow.
"Walking in this stuff," he said considering the ice and drifted snow.
"Probably about half hour, tops. Unless Junior over there slows us up."

"He'll keep up just fine," Jordan insisted. "Besides, he's our point man.
Who could resist an innocent face like that?" Jordan grinned over at his
follower before turning his attention back to more immediate matters. Like
the persistent growling in his stomach. "You find anything to eat in
there?" Jordan asked, motioning to the remains of the tackle box.

"Just a couple of biscuits. You planning on making them multiply to feed
us, Chambers?" Mitchell jeered. "I hear bread goes real well with fish."

Jordan's face darkened with anger. He knew Mitchell was making fun of him.
"Just remember who it was who managed to get you out of that hellhole,
Tyler," he spat in the larger man's face. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be
spending the rest of your miserable life rotting away inside an 8 by 8 room
pumped full of drugs . So show a little respect, if you don't mind."
Jordan made a point of turning his back on Mitchell and reaching into the
tackle box to retrieve the biscuits. He divided them among the three of
them. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now. Jordan was
confident that they would eat much better soon. He knew it, and he was
never wrong.

Margaret directed Mulder to a place at the table that contained a plate
piled high with what appeared to be double portions of everything. He
looked down at it with surprise then back up at her. " Mrs. Scully, I've
never been much of a breakfast person," he commented in a humble, yet
apologetic tone.

Uh oh, Dana mused, covering her smile with her hand. Bad move, Mulder.

Margaret gave Mulder the once over with her penetrating stare. "Not a
breakfast person, huh?" she echoed. "Yes, well maybe that's it then...."
she said cryptically.

Mulder raised one eyebrow questioningly in slight confusion as to what in
hell she was referring to. But no one at the table would meet his eyes,
and Mulder got the distinct impression that he'd said something wrong.

Maybe Mulder was in the dark, but Margaret Scully had no problems seeing
exactly what was necessary. It was obvious to her as the nose on her face
that this man had been alone much too long. No one had ever cared enough
to insist that Fox Mulder do anything for his own good, with the possible
exception of her daughter. Well that was going to change right here and
now, she decided with determination... whether he liked it or not.

Margaret steeled her eyes at the young man standing shakily before her.
She knew that she could get away with what she was about to do for the same
reason her daughter got away with it---Fox cared. She had her doubts that
just anyone could make him do anything that he really didn't want to do.
In fact, previous experience had taught her that he could be bullheaded,
stubborn, and downright mulish if not handled correctly. The mere fact
that she knew that he cared deeply for them gave her the edge and Margaret
Scully used that type of knowledge with practiced expertise for years on
the Captain. She also had no doubts that Mulder would realize exactly what
she was doing. The Captain had always known, but he let her get away with
it just the same. And after all, Mulder was a very intelligent man and a
psychologist to boot. But she knew that he would comply anyway just
because of who and what she was to him.

"Young man," she finally replied evenly, Dr. Grayson informed me before we
left the hospital that you hadn't been eating. Is this a continuation of
that behavior?"

Mulder opened his mouth in surprise at the demanding tone in her voice.
What exactly had he done to upset her? Past experience with his own mother
certainly yielded no clues. After Sam's disappearance she almost stopped
cooking altogether and could not have cared less if anyone actually ate or
not.

His head still felt like it was stuffed with fluffy white clouds and his
brain simply refused to put two and two together. The only thing he could
think of was that he was 34 years old, for chrissakes, and he was being
dressed down by Mrs. Scully like he was a ten year old boy. His reply,
though stubborn, was polite. "No ma'am it is not. It's just that I
refused to eat hospital food that looked like someone else had eaten it
first."

This last remark caught Bill in the middle of drinking his juice, which he
ended up spraying all over his plate, Melissa choked loudly on a piece of
pancake, and Dana coughed noisily into her hand.

Margaret ignored her childrens' reactions and pressed on undeterred. " Oh,
so I take it that my breakfast doesn't meet with your approval either?" she
countered with a hurt expression.

Oh shit, Mulder thought desperately. The last thing he *ever* wanted to do
was hurt Mrs. Scully's feelings. While he could live with the fact that
the entire Bureau thought that he was a kook and a weirdo, what Mrs. Scully
thought of him was important to Mulder. He didn't stop to analyze why it
was so important. It just was.

Dana stifled a laugh as she read the near panic look on his face. She'd
seen this look before. In fact, she'd been the cause of it on most
occasions. She waited for what she knew would follow. Yep, there it
was...the uncomfortable shuffling of those big feet and then the bowed
head. Now for the unsure, mumbled reply. God, he was adorable when he was
in this 'oh shit, what do I do now' mode.

"Uh, no. Breakfast looks great," Mulder stammered with uncertainty. "It's
just that I'm not very hungry."

"Well, then, sit down and eat what you can," Margaret insisted.

Jesus, why was it that this one tiny woman could make him feel like he was
a kid again?

Mulder looked to Dana for support but found only a wry smile...the same
smile that seemed to adorn everyones' face at the table. Was this some
kind of conspiracy that no one bothered to tell him about? They'd ganged
up on him and he didn't have a chance. He was outnumbered and
outmaneuvered so Fox conceded defeat gracefully.

"Yes ma'am," he finally replied with due respect and meekly took his seat
at the table.

Dana almost felt guilty over not backing Mulder up but in this instance,
she was in total agreement with her mother. Both women had anguished over
Fox's obvious weight loss during his hospital stay. In their opinion his
long, lean, frame had become way too thin and much too pale, so as Mulder
had guessed, they had secretly conspired to remedy the situation post
haste.

Watching Mulder pick dutifully at his food, suddenly began to really tick
Scully off. If he'd spend as much time worrying over his own welfare as he
did worrying over hers, he wouldn't get himself into such predicaments in
the first place. Dammit, sometimes she felt like giving him a good swift
kick in the butt. While pondering that thought, she began to help herself
to her mom's home cooking in a big way. Everything smelled so good and she
was really hungry. Before she'd realized it, she'd piled her plate high
with just about everything that her mom had made.

Mulder brought his fork to his mouth and froze in midair, staring in wonder
at his normally conservative breakfast-eating partner as she woofed down
everything that wasn't nailed down, and in record time. He covertly
glanced around the table and was relieved to find that he wasn't the only
one who noticed the aberration in Dana Scully's eating habits.

********
continued in part 2b

From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 19 06:30:26 1996
Sanctuary part two continued...

Dana was too absorbed in her own thoughts to realize that everyone else had
stopped eating and was staring at her. How in the hell do you keep a man
like Mulder out of trouble, she wondered with trepidation. This was
getting way out of hand. It seemed that every time she turned around she
ended up in some hospital waiting room or emergency ward, waiting to find
out if *he* was gonna be okay. Well, she could always cuff him to the bed
again. A wistful smile appeared on her face at the memory but that
pleasant thought was suddenly interrupted by a feeling that she was being
watched.

Looking around the table she saw that the feeling was well founded. Her
entire family, including Mulder was staring at her with what she
interpreted as acute bewilderment.

Breaking the frozen moment, Mulder took his napkin from his lap, blotted
the milk from Dana's upper lip and placed it gently on the table. Then
with a familiar lopsided grin, he cautiously pushed his plate over to her
with one finger as though she might suddenly mistake the appendage for a
sausage and gnaw it off to the knuckle. Mulder's eyes sparkled with a
dubious glint..."Here Scully," he teased lightly, "take mine---I can't eat
any more anyway," he finished with a soft chuckle.

The room erupted with titters, giggles, and snickers. Dana's face deepened
to an intense reddish hue when she realized that she had single-handedly
eaten nearly everything that her mom had placed on the table.

"I guess I was hungry," she offered as her only explanation.

"No kidding," Bill piped up with a laugh as he pushed back his chair and
got up to leave.

Two, young, lightly freckled faces cackled relentlessly from the opposite
side of the table. As if their father's action was a preprogrammed signal,
Matthew and Meredith Scully scrambled from their chairs, grabbed their
coats and elbowed each other as they tried to simultaneously squeeze
through the kitchen door to the porch outside. It had turned out to be a
very cold but clear and beautiful day and after an hour of watching
cartoons before breakfast, the Scully children were ready to cut loose.
They were met at the back door by Kelly, a jet black cocker spaniel their
grandma had rescued from the pound, and the kids' giggles were joined by
playful barks and growls.

Melissa, also following her brother's example, rose from the table,
casually walked by Dana's chair and nonchalantly dropped her uneaten toast
on the plate that Mulder had so carefully pushed in front of her sister.
Glancing mischievously over one shoulder, she snickered softly, "I'd
normally give that to the dog, but you know what they say...waste not, want
not." Melissa ducked quickly out of the room before Dana could reply.

Dana lowered her eyes toward the table and felt her face grow hot with
embarrassment. She endured the lump that had formed in her throat but was
unable to deny the tears that gathered unbidden in her eyes. <Dana
Scully...what's wrong with you? Can't you even take a good teasing
anymore? Why in the hell do you suddenly feel so....'blue'? There's no
reason...no reason at all...You have a family that cares and a gorgeous man
who loves you...why this feeling of doom and gloom???>

Mulder watched in stunned disbelief as tears rolled silently down Dana's
cheek. He had expected a witty slam, perhaps a biting comeback, or even a
punch in the arm...*anything* but what he was seeing.

Dana saw the shocked look on Mulder's face and it was just too much for
her. She slid her chair back violently, bolted from the table and nearly
ran from the room.

Mulder caught Dana's chair as it threatened to tip over and hit the floor.
Three alarm fire bells started going off in his head. This was *not*
typical Dana Scully behavior...hell, this was not even what he'd come to
know as *atypical* Dana Scully behavior and he couldn't help feeling that
he was responsible for it in some way. He tried desperately to think of
what he might of said or done to elicit that kind of response but nothing
stood out as a possibility.

He turned to Margaret, total and absolute worried confusion etched in his
features. She shrugged her shoulders in response...she was at as much of a
loss as he was. Mulder fumbled unsuccessfully for a moment before he was
able to get out of the chair to follow her daughter out of the room.

Margaret Scully was alone in her kitchen once more. A slight smiled formed
on her lips as she began clearing the table. An old Scottish lullaby came
to mind and she hummed it to herself. Poor Fox...she could see in his eyes
that he was really worried about her daughter. Whatever the problem was,
she was certain they would work it out. With these two it would not be
smooth sailing ahead, as the Captain had been fond of saying, but stormy
seas followed by calm water. And after the storm there were always the
most glorious sunsets. Margaret smiled at the memory of her own glorious
sunsets with Dana's father. Theirs had not always been a smooth
relationship either, but the ride had been worth it.

She was glad that Dana had picked someone that her dear old mom actually
liked. Well, adored is more like it, she admitted to herself. And he was
tall. Perhaps this time....she pondered as she filled the dishwasher and
turned the knob.

Mulder nearly collided with Bill as he chased after Dana. Bill had been
headed for the front door when he'd been cut off in the hall by Mulder.

"Hey Mulder, where's the fire?" Bill asked as he donned his coat on the run.

"I was going ask you the same question," Fox replied, conspicuously
searching the room with his eyes. Damn... it was empty. Where the hell
did she go? "Did you see Dana run through here?" he asked solemnly.

"To answer your first question, I'm going to the store. The weather
service says that we're gonna be in for a one hell of a blizzard by late
this evening, so I'm going to town to pick up some supplies just in case we
get snowed in. Besides, mom said thanks to me we're out of eggs." Mulder
raised his eyebrows at that, but Bill waived him off. "Don't ask. It's a
long story. To answer your second question, Dani doo blew through here
like a tornado a couple seconds ago. "She grabbed her coat, and stomped
outside." Bill favored Mulder with a typically 'Scully' smirk. "What
happened? You two have your first argument?" he snickered in a teasing
tone.

"Hardly the first," Mulder admitted with a somewhat pained expression, "and
more than likely, not the last," he grumbled under his breath. Making his
way onto the front porch, Fox spotted Dana trudging through the snow to a
singular tree standing steadfast and solitary against the elements. Even
through her thick winter coat he could make out the stiff set of her
shoulders and he knew she was angry about something. He slipped on the
coat he'd snatched from the hall closet on the way out and began to fight
through the snow in an attempt to follow her.

Something was wrong. Damned if he knew what, but there was something wrong
here and he was probably the cause of it all. He'd probably done or said
something without even knowing it, but whatever it was, he had to make it
right. This couldn't wait. He would never let it wait again.

That tiny woman trudging angrily through the snow was the most important
thing in his life and he had vowed when he woke up in the hospital that he
wouldn't ever let a day go by again in which he didn't let her know it.
That didn't mean they couldn't disagree or even get royally pissed at one
another for various, usually mundane reasons, it just meant that he would
never, ever leave her hurt or angry. Sort of the Fox Mulder variation on
the old "never go to sleep angry" rule.

So Mulder stumbled on through the snow, awkwardly trying to reach a
destination that seemed a lot farther away than when he'd first set out.
God, it was cold. The sun glaring off the snow stung his eyes and the
thin, icy air burned in his lungs, making just breathing difficult. He was
beginning to think that he'd overestimated his capabilities here and had
overdone it just a tad. Yep, he'd definitely screwed up. His heart
pounded in his chest as a thin film of perspiration appeared on his
forehead. He felt sick, suddenly dizzy, and frustrated as hell at his own
body for betraying him.

Bill Scully stood by the open car door and watched in amazement as Mulder
relentlessly pursued an obviously distraught Dana. Bill cupped his hands
and yelled, "Hey Fox...What are you? Nuts? Mom said you're supposed to
be resting...I don't know....I don't think mom will classify a trek through
the snow as 'taking it easy'. I'm warning you....you better get your butt
back here before she sees you." Bill sighed heavily and mumbled under his
breath, "well at least this time somebody else's ass is gonna be in the
sling instead of mine."

Dana turned around at the sound of her brother's voice just in time to see
Mulder collapse into the stark white snow. What in the hell does he think
he's doing, she thought with a tinge of irritation and a lot of concern. I
t suddenly occurred to her that he may have misinterpreted the anger she
directed inwardly toward herself as anger directed outwardly toward him.
By this time he'd no doubt convinced himself that he was the cause of this
stupid hormonal flux and was racking his brain trying to figure out exactly
what he'd done to make her unhappy. It always amazed her how easily he
accepted blame for just about everything under the sun. She had a good
idea that his family had a lot to do with that attitude. But since he
seldom even mentioned his parents or what his life had been like with them,
she might never know for sure.

Grunting with effort, Dana sloshed back toward the prone figure in the
snow. Bill started walking toward her from the opposite direction but Dana
managed to get to Mulder first. Kneeling, by his side she gently turned
him over. He smiled with uncertainty as he looked up at her, and spit out
a mouthful of snow. "Hi?" he managed to blurt out, followed by a
distinctively apprehensive grin.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing out here??!!?" Scully fumed.

"Uh...." <Think Mulder, quick...your ass is on the line here.> He began to
move his arms and legs up and down in the snow as Dana looked on
dumbfounded. "Snow Angels," he replied seriously, trying to keep his face
from betraying the hilarious absurdity of the action. "I've always wanted
to make snow angels," he repeated quickly running over the words before
they betrayed the laugh that was stuck in the back of his throat. This was
totally too much...if she could just see the look on her face, he thought
as he lost total control and burst out laughing.

Dana, realizing she'd been had got up and playfully kicked him with the toe
of her boot. "Come on...get up...You know you shouldn't be out here," she
lectured him.

Mulder's face darkened slightly as he contemplated as to whether or not he
actually *could* get up. "Dana, I....I really don't know if I can...Guess
I got a little tired and the tree looked a whole lot closer....and...."

"And you really did collapse in the snow," she added slightly pissed that
he'd try and deceive her even though she knew it was because he didn't want
her to worry.

"Not exactly. I just moved too quickly and got a little dizzy, so sue me."
He threw the words she'd uttered on the stairs earlier back at her as his
embarrassed smile changed to a look of concern.

Damn that memory of his, Dana thought ruefully. She hated it when he did
that to her. It was a little disconcerting to know that everything she
did, every way she looked, every word she uttered would be flawlessly filed
away in that brain of his for future use. It just wasn't fair play.

"Dana," Mulder paused, shifting in the snow. He tried to get up but only
managed to raise himself a few inches from the ground before falling back
into the snow, exhausted from the attempt. Mulder groaned angrily and
slapped his arms into fluffy, wet whiteness by his sides in frustration.
He absolutely *hated* feeling helpless. Dana waited patiently while Mulder
dealt with his brief bout of frustration, then she helped him sit up.

"Dana," he began again softly, "what's wrong? Have I done something to
upset you? I mean, I was just teasing you at the table. I'm sorry if I
hurt your feelings." He paused briefly and assumed a guilty posture. "I
guess it was a stupid thing to do in front of your family." He stared at
the ground then fixed his gaze on her with those soft, pleading,
penetrating hazel eyes. She could never hide from them. Sometimes she
felt that he could see into her mind, her heart and her very soul with
those eyes. They were magical. He could see everything there was to see
about her and still love her, regardless of what he found. What she felt
from him was unconditional, no strings attached. It just *was.*

Dana reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly. "You haven't done
anything except piss me off by rushing out here when you should be in the
house, on the couch or in bed where it's warm.

Mulder's eyes were still on her face, still searching for a reason behind
her behavior. How in the hell could she explain something to him that she
didn't even understand herself? What could she tell him...that she'd had a
hormonally emotional blowout, the mother of all PMS bouts rolled into one?
She wasn't even certain that was a plausible explanation. While she
didn't feel like herself, she didn't exactly feel sick either, just
different. <Truth is, Dana Katherine Scully, you can't be objective.
You're not sure what's wrong, and you should see a doctor.> She would
never, however, admit that to 'mister I gotta worry about everything.'
Geez, he'd have her in the hospital so fast it'd make her head spin. No
doubt he would insist that they test her for everything from rickets to cat
scratch fever, especially after nearly losing her before. No, she would
not admit to anything, not just yet.

He wouldn't let it go, though, and as Bill arrived to help him up, he
murmured to her in a strained whisper, "we'll talk about this when we get
inside."

Not if I can help it, she thought stubbornly, as they slowly made their way
back to the driveway.

As they neared the car, Mulder gently shook himself free of the supporting
hands that had helped him through the snow. The driveway had been shoveled
free of snow, and his ego would only allow him to accept just so much help
before it rebelled. "Thanks, I'm okay. I can make it now," he said as he
tried to convince them with a smile of apology.

"You let me be the judge of that, Fox Mulder," Dana snapped reprovingly
while leading him up the front steps. She watched his unsteady gait, ready
to grab him if he should fall. When they'd reached the top step, he
swayed slightly. She automatically reached out to steady him and pointed
forcefully to the porch swing. "Sit," she ordered in a tone that negated
any argument from him. He complied reluctantly, opening his mouth to
protest but he took note of her posture and expression and quickly closed
it, judging that she was entering a particularly bitchy mood. "Stay," she
added as an afterthought when he shifted his weight on the swing.

Oh, enough is enough, Mulder thought belligerently. "You want me to 'roll
over' and 'beg' too??" he quipped with just a hint of sarcasm. <Uh oh...Now
why in the hell did you say that, stupid? You're really gonna get her to
open up and tell you what's wrong with that line, aren't you?...stupid,
stupid, stupid...>

Bill snorted with amusement. This was great. These two would provide him
with hours of entertainment for years to come. Finally he'd met a guy his
baby sister couldn't verbally pulverize or bully. He snickered again until
he found himself on the wrong end of a Dana Scully 'dagger' stare and
figured he'd better make himself scarce.

"Gotta go to town, now," Bill blurted out quickly as he opened the car
door. "Hey Fox, can I get you anything ?" he called out over his shoulder
as he got into the car and shut the door.

"Huh?" Fox muttered distractedly. "Oh yeah, a bag of sunflower seeds would
be nice." He stole a side glance in Dana's direction and then looked back
at Bill and swallowed hard. "You sure you don't need some company?" he
asked hopefully.

"No way, Mulder. Stay and face the music, pal," Bill chuckled as he
rolled up the car window and pulled away from the house. He turned on the
windshield wipers to brush away the snowflakes that had just begun to fall
from the sky. Although still widely scattered , the flakes were large and
fluffy, filled with the promise of the approaching storm. Bill had a
sudden feeling that he should hurry.

Watching his only means of escape slowly backing down the driveway, Mulder
had no choice but to deal with the problem that had brought him out here in
the first place. He turned his gaze toward Dana and cleared his throat.
"Okay. So if *I* didn't do anything to upset you, what's wrong?" he asked
tentatively. Her silence was not reassuring, so he tried again. "Talk to
me, Dana. I'm still you're best friend. Trust me just like I trust you.
Let me help," he pleaded.

Dana looked up suddenly, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth.
"You know," she teased, turning toward him, "I might ask you to roll over,
but you'd never have to 'beg,'" She raised one speculating eyebrow while
she slipped her hand searchingly up the inside of his thigh, hoping that
he'd be distracted enough not to notice that she'd completely disregarded
his last question by slyly replying to his previous retort.

"Don't change the subject..." What he intended to be a stern reply
transformed into an involuntary gasp as her slender fingers stroked him
intimately. This was not fair play...foreplay maybe, but definitely not
fair play. It had been too long since they'd been together in that way,
and his body was quick to respond to her touch.

Strike that thought, Mulder, he told himself. You're in no condition for
anything as strenuous as what you're contemplating. But his body wasn't
listening to his brain, and oh, lord, it felt so good. He was beginning
not to care if she was being fair or not, which is what she intended, no
doubt. He forgot what he wanted to ask her about as he slid one hand
inside her coat and under her blouse to gently message her soft, full, very
full(?) breasts. She looked up at him with those bright, loving eyes and
he lost all pretense of reason. Finally, with all control melting away
like a burning candle, he covered her mouth with his own in a gentle, yet
fervent, passionate kiss. His tongue softly stroked her lips, then drove
deeply within her mouth and held her captive. Only one thought echoed
through his mind, and he finally broke away from the kiss so that he could
give voice to his thoughts.

"Dana....god, Dana....I love you," he whispered breathlessly into her hair.
"I know I don't say it enough...but never doubt it, Dana...never."

"I know you do," she soothed, " Do I have to tell *you* how I feel? I
would rather see it in your eyes and feel it in your touch than have it
whispered a million times in my ear. She planted a kiss on his neck
beneath his ear, then nipped gently on his earlobe. "Words are a dime a
dozen...Show me, Fox," she purred, "and I'll show you," she moaned softly
in a low throaty growl as the physical response of his desire for her
pressed hard and urgent against her slender, delicate hand.

A violent slamming of the front screen door made them both jump. They
quickly attempted to retract hands and straighten clothes that had caught
at unnatural angles .

"Can't you guys go upstairs and grope in private?" Melissa smirked. "There
are children playing outside ya know," she teased ruthlessly, lowering her
gaze to include Mulder's obvious state of arousal. Boy, it sure was fun
getting even with her little sister for all those times Dana had
interrupted Melissa and her dates on the living room couch, not to mention
this same front porch swing.

Dana didn't have to look to know that Mulder's face was now probably a
variant color of beet red and more than likely a mirror of her own face.
"Come on Mulder, let's go inside, she commented with a sisterly glare at
Melissa. "It's kind of cold out here."

"That's funny," Mulder panted, holding open one side of his coat for
effect. "I thought it was rather 'hot.'" He sighed as he very slowly got
up with Dana and headed for the door.

********
end part two

From xangst@frii.com Sun Oct 20 07:20:30 1996
SANCTUARY
BY:
CHERYL COHEN
(ALIAS-THE STINKER)
AND
ANNIE REED
(ALIAS-FANCYKATZ)

CHAPTER THREE part a
A wolf in sheep's clothing

Dana followed Mulder into the house, with Melissa close behind. None of
them were aware of the three pairs of eyes that had watched them from a
small wooded patch nearby. Hidden in a small clump of snow-covered
evergreens, they had seen a young man try to follow a small red-haired
woman to the old knarled tree at the far end of the property. They had
watched him falter and fall into the snow. Three calculating minds
observed that he had to be assisted back to the house. Three predators
smiled as another man left in a car soon after and they realized there was
one less obstacle between them and their goal. They saw the two small
children playing in the backyard with their yapping dog, and watched as a
second woman appeared on the front porch to interrupt some very heavy
necking between the frail young man and the small red-head.

Good, Jordan thought, this was perfect. The only guy they'd seen was
obviously injured or ill. That left two women, two kids, a dog, and whoever
else might be in the house and they'd soon have that piece of missing
information as well. Getting that information was Keith's assignment, and
Jordan had the utmost faith in Keith's ability to complete his task. Keith
could play the innocent boy next door perfectly. After all, he'd been
doing it all his life, and if it hadn't been for that one little slut who'd
tripped him up, no one would ever have been the wiser.

Mitchell moved up beside Jordan, impatiently shifting his weight from one
foot to the other. Jordan recognized the telltale signs of Mitchell's
growing bloodlust with some surprise, but he managed to mask his surprise
from the other men. He hadn't expected Mitchell to feel this special need
again quite so soon after killing the old fisherman, which meant that the
drugs the state doctors had given Mitchell to control him were wearing off
sooner than Jordan expected. He had hoped Mitchell would be able to hold
it together longer than this, but maybe he'd have to alter his plans just a
little. No problem, of course. Except that he'd given Mitchell the only
gun they had. Even with the righteousness of God on his side, Jordan had
no illusions about being able to take Mitchell out without a gun.

"Chambers," Mitchell growled at him, This isn't gonna take much longer, is
it? It's getting fucking cold out here and I ain't gonna freeze my ass off
while those people in there are all warm and cozy," he snarled.

"Take it easy, Tyler," Jordan hissed. "You of all people should know that
we can't go barging into the place without knowing what we're up against."
Jordan turned his gaze back toward the house, watching Keith make his way
through the snow to the door. On a last minute inspiration, Jordan had
tugged down Keith's hood and plopped the old fishing hat on his head.
Watching him now, Jordan thought Keith looked like one of the local yokels.

"Better watch it, boy," Jordan went on, feeling suddenly sure of himself as
he felt righteousness and strength flow through his veins. "Get your head
outta your ass and think for a change. Besides, you fuck this up for us
and I'll kill ya," Jordan added with a chilling smile.

Mitchell seethed with contempt at being called a 'boy' by this smiling
maggot-filled turd. It was only with a monumental effort that he managed
to control his ever-present violent impulses because he realized that, at
least this time, Chambers was right. Years of ingrained training in
surveillance and reconnaissance, these precautions had once been second
nature to him...how could he have forgotten his training? He was becoming
a slave to his enhanced primitive, primordial desires. He realized that he
was relying more and more on his violent animal instincts rather than on
his intellect or reason. Soon there would be very little left of the man
that had once been Mitchell Tyler, the finest black ops man the company had
ever had. Mitchell knew that meant there was precious little time left for
him to finish his one last mission.

>From his hiding place, Keith had spied on the man and woman on the porch
swing. His form had been completely hidden from view by the thick branches
of one of the groups of fir trees that were scattered throughout the
property, so Keith hadn't worried about being caught watching. Peeking
through the snow-covered branches, Keith stared with rapt fascination as
the young woman practice her vile art of seduction. The man was obviously
distracted and unprepared for the woman's sexually aggressive behavior. He
appeared to succumb too easily to her sensual overtures of erotica, and
caught off guard, he had returned her passion with equal fervor. Jordan
was right, Keith thought with conviction. No matter what their outward
appearance, they *are* all harlots. He watched the woman stroke her victim
underneath his clothes, and discovered with dismay that even he was not
unaffected by what he was watching.
Shamefaced at his own vulnerability, Keith had torn his gaze away from the
scene.

His body now under his own control again, Keith moved stealthfully through
the trees toward the backyard. Jordan had pulled down the hood of his
parka and jammed the old man's fishing hat on his head. Keith hoped he
fit in because he felt foolish, but Jordan had said he looked perfect. He
cautiously maneuvered his way to the edge of the tree line which bordered
what would have been a back lawn during warmer weather. Now it was a
barren 40 foot stretch of snow broken only by small footprints and the
tracks of the children's dog. Keith knew as soon as he hit the open stretch
he would stick out like a sore thumb, and he took a deep shuddering breath
as he prepared himself for his performance.

Zipping up the parka that he'd scavenged from the old fisherman's
belongings, he remembered the rush he felt when he'd deceived the old man.
But that had been only one old man and all he'd had to do that time was
distract him. Keith's confidence began to waver when he thought about all
the people who could be in that house, all the things that could happen to
him once he was inside. His pulse began pounding in his ears as his
imagination took over, his breath coming in shallow pants, and for one
brief instant Keith considered just running away. Running away from the
house, from the demented monster that was Mitchell Tyler, even from Jordan
Chambers. Running so far and so fast that no one could find him, no one
could hurt him, and no one would ever tempt him again.

Then an amazing thing happened to Keith Reese. He discovered that fear ,
this intense, even his own fear, excited him beyond anything he had ever
experienced before. He clutched the trunk of the tree in front of him as
his body spasmed in release. Instead of feeling the shame he usually felt
when his body betrayed him this badly, he felt exhilaration. This must be
what Jordan feels when he takes the sins of harlots into himself, Keith
thought, and maybe what Mitchell feels when he kills. Finally, he
understood.

Keith straightened his shoulders with renewed determination as he left his
cover in the shadows behind him. The wetness on his skin, the only outward
sign of his recent revelation, was freezing in the cold air, but Keith
ignored it. He knew that the long parka covered whatever might have soaked
through his clothes, so no one in the house would see. Instead, he
concentrated on the task at hand. Do this right, Keith repeated to himself
over and over again as he walked across the snow.. Be convincing and don't
screw up. Jordan believes in you, you can do this. He's depending on you
to come through, which means he trusts you, Keith reminded himself proudly.

Keith sauntered as easily as he could through the snow-covered yard to the
back of the house. He managed to climb the porch steps and reach the
kitchen door before the two noisy children and the frisbee-chasing mutt
could notice him.

Dana gently shoved Mulder through the open front door into the foyer as
Melissa backpedaled in front of them. Once in the foyer, Dana immediately
began removing Mulder's wet coat. "Melissa," Dana intoned with authority
while peering over her right shoulder, "go upstairs and bring down another
set of Mulder's clothes and a blanket. He's cold, especially his hands,"
she said, giving Mulder an impish grin.

Raising an eyebrow at this last remark, he leaned heavily against the wall
as Dana knelt down to untie his equally wet shoes.

"This is embarrassing," he groaned. "I can't dress myself. I can't walk
down the stairs, much less 'up' the stairs. I can't even untie my own
goddamn shoes," he sighed with frustration. I'm being treated like a
freaking kid for crying out loud."

Dana rolled her eyes up at him. "No, you haven't been treated like a
child. I have never treated you like a child," she replied defiantly,
while trying in vain to maintain a solemn face‰

"Oh no?" he asked and opened his mouth to complain a little more, but he
never got the chance as Dana interrupted him with a stern glance.

"No," she stated flatly. "However, after this last unbelievably idiotic
escapade," she grinned wryly, " I just can't help myself. I have to say it.
Mulder...you're grounded." She snickered at him as she claimed possession
of his only pair of shoes.

"Oh great," he mumbled with a look of long suffering patience.

"Oh, and Mulder?" Dana waited until she was sure she had his undivided
attention. "Melissa was right," she said with conviction.

"About what?" he inquired with puzzlement as he scratched his bare foot on
fabric of his still wet jeans.

"About 'groping in public.' You know, you really should try and control
yourself," she teased

"What?" Mulder squeaked incredulously. "Me? You started it," he said
indignantly.

"I never did," she lied blatantly as she stood up beside him.

Mulder looked down at her looking back up at him. As their glances locked
in a silent tug of war, Mulder's inner voice filled his head. <Okay
Mulder, you're not gonna win this...you never do and you know it. Let's do
yet another review. All that college psychology should be good for
something... oh yeah...you can figure out why serial killers cut off their
victim's heads and stuff em' in their ice boxes--no problem-- but figuring
out what's going on in the mind of one small female is totally beyond your
capabilities.> Mulder made a mental note to xerox copies of his degree
from Oxford and wallpaper his bathroom with them.

"You know..." Mulder began evenly, "this all started when I tried to find
out why you were so unhappy earlier. I didn't forget. I may get
*distracted* but I always remember where I left off. Actually, I'm kind of
hurt to think that you really didn't want my body and that whole groping
session as Melissa called it was just a delaying tactic." He exaggerated a
hurt pout, gazing at Dana with puppy dog eyes and an overdone protrusion
of his bottom lip.

"Boy, if that was an example of a delaying tactic' looks like I'm going to
have to take lessons in battle strategy from my baby sister," Melissa
quipped sardonically as she descended from the stairs with a handful of
clothes.

"You might try some lessons in tact while you're at it," Mulder added with
a forced smile.

"This is family-- who needs tact? Tact I can get at work," Melissa
countered with a wink as she handed him his clothes. "Oh, by the way," she
grinned devilishly, holding up his pair of black silk boxers and stretching
the waistband with both hands, "nice, but I sort of pegged you as a
'briefs' kind of guy," she teased with ruthless affection.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her, reached over and snatched his underwear
from her hands. "First impressions can be deceiving," he warned,
desperately trying to keep a straight face. "I found briefs to be a little
too confining," he added as one corner of his mouth curled up into a covert
smile. He stole a glance at Dana, who sported a shit eating grin and
nodded in agreement. Moving slowly, he turned and crossed the living
room, limping slightly.

"Where are you going?" Dana asked as she followed behind him.

Mulder stopped in front of the downstairs bathroom door tucked away beneath
the stairs. "I've got to use the bathroom and change clothes, and I'd like
a little privacy. That is, unless you want me to change in the living
room. Your 'tactless' sister might not mind, but your mom may not
appreciate the show," he mumbled tiredly.

"You'd be surprised what mom would appreciate," Dana said with laughing eyes.

"Dana, nothing surprises me anymore," he said as he opened the door and
stepped inside.

"Do you need some help?" Dana asked. She knew that the walk outside and
even the short trek across the living room had exhausted him. In spite of
his comments to the contrary, Dana knew he was still weak, in some pain,
and fighting with bouts of dizziness. All she needed was for him to fall
down and hit his head on something.

"I don't think so. This is one thing that I've been able to do since I was
two," he stated proudly. Another thought crossed his mind, and he made a
half-hearted attempt to leer at her. "Unless, of course, you'd like to
hold it for me," He suggested.

She smiled thoughtfully. <Men...no matter how sick they are, they can
still think about sex.> "Maybe later, Sherlock," she replied. "Let me know
when you're ready to get dressed, okay? Be a good boy and don't kill
yourself in there by trying to put your pants on when you know you don't
have the strength or flexibility to do it. I don't want to have to send
you to your room."

"I'm trembling with fear," he whispered with mock terror as he shut her out.

"As well you should," she yelled threateningly through the closed door.

Mulder slumped up against the bathroom door, closed his eyes, and blew out
a puff of air from between pursed lips. Alone at last. For a 34 year old
bachelor who'd never had a family life to speak of, all this family all at
once was a little overwhelming. They were gonna drive him nuts with their
concern. Now the shoe's on the other foot, huh, Mulder, he thought,
ironically. You wondered why Dana got so annoyed when you hung on her every
move during her recovery. Well, now ya know, nit wit. You were driving
her stark raving mad with your overprotective Boy Scout mode. She's
getting back at you for all the times you treated her like a porcelain doll
and you deserve everything you're gonna get.

Well, at least taking care of business was easy. The male of the species
may be endowed with this symmetrically unaesthetic appendage, but hell, he
thought with some amusement, there were occasions when it sure came in
handy...like when you hurt everywhere and you're as stiff as a three day
old piece of road kill. At least he didn't have to sit every time.
Another very unprofessional thought crossed his mind and he grinned
broadly-- in some instances the ridiculous looking body part was a
downright enjoyable necessity. He gave himself a mental shake. Get your
mind out of the gutter, Mulder. Thinking those kind of thoughts about Dana
will only cause you pain if you attempt to play them out right now. "Yeah,
but it'd be worth it," he mumble out loud with a devilish snicker.

Turning to look into the mirror, Mulder winced at his reflection. "Christ,
what the hell does she see in you anyway. Ya look like shit, Mulder," he
mumbled to himself. At least his hair was growing back. Thank goodness
baldness didn't run in his family--just high foreheads, if his dad was any
indication. He hadn't liked his reflection at all in the hospital, and had
momentarily suffered from an illogical fear that for some reason his hair
wasn't ever going to grow back. But that mysterious green goo that Dr. Jay
had covered him with seemed to accelerate hair growth, as well, and his
hair was now a respectable length.

He turned away from his reflection and started to pull his wet jeans off.
Looks like you're gonna have to sit this time anyway, pal, he decided as
his balance gave way when he tried to stand on one leg to get the other leg
out of his jeans. Slowly he lowered himself to a sitting position on the
toilet and slowly wriggled out of the wet denim. Why did his legs have to
be so damn long anyway? He concluded that bending over at this point was
not conducive to his continued good health as a wave of dizziness made his
head swim.

"Shit," he uttered softly as he pulled the last of the wet fabric off his
legs, trying to ignore his churning stomach. The dizziness he felt bending
over was having a definitely unpleasant effect on the remains of his
breakfast. "I am going to do this by myself," he murmured with quiet
determination. "I am a fully capable adult male. I have stared mutants in
the eye, fought invisible demons, and won over one stubborn, willful
redheaded spitfire." He pulled the dry jeans on with concentrated effort.
He then removed the wet shirt and replaced it with an oversized t-shirt.
"Piece of cake," he muttered with satisfaction and a slight gasp of
exhaustion.

Dana knocked on the door. "Are you all right in there," she asked
worriedly. He'd been in the bathroom an awfully long time.

Melissa came up behind Dana at the sound of concern in her sister's voice.
"Are you sure you're ok??" Melissa repeated.

Mulder sighed. An image from a movie filled his mind--a little girl
sitting in front of a snow-filled television screen -- and the words
'they're *baaack* echoed through his head. So much for solitude. "I'm
fine, just fine," he replied in a strained voice. "Now if somebody could
just levitate me from here to the couch, everything would be just peachy."
This was just another little tidbit of proof that he indeed, was not Irish.
What luck?? Here he was--two beautiful women pounding at his bathroom
door-- and all he could do was sit there and gasp for air.

Dana knew it. He'd tired himself out trying to do too much, too soon. "I
*told* you that you needed help," she said. "But would you listen? Oh,
no...not you, Mulder."

Two impatient Scully sisters stood on either side of the door, hands on
hips in mirrored determined poses. "Stubborn, pigheaded..." Dana muttered
in exasperation.

"Ornery, don't forget ornery," Melissa added helpfully while tapping one
foot on the aged wooden floor. The sisters exchanged one look that said it
all -- men.

"Go away," Mulder chided in a slightly annoyed tone, although at that
moment he didn't know who he was more annoyed at--the women outside the
door or himself for his inability to tackle even simple things like
changing clothes without getting unbearably tired. " Besides, I've already
handled everything in here myself," he grumbled smugly.

"I bet you have," Dana teased, giving the door another rap with the knuckle
of one finger.

"Alright, alright," Mulder groaned, "I'll be out in a minute, Okay??" Fox
slumped back against the cool porcelain tank. Geez, all he needed was just
a few minutes to rest and get it together. He laid his head back and
twisted his neck around to try and relieve the knotted muscles that had
formed there, then he grabbed the side of the sink and pulled himself up to
an unsteady standing position. Maybe Dana was right, he conceded. He
really didn't feel so well. His breaths came in short gasps and room was
just a little out of kilter. The only place Fox Mulder wanted to go right
at this moment was straight to a bed, a couch, or anywhere else that he
could just lie down.

End Chapter Three part A