***********************************
Minute forces pull and push on tiny, swirling particles. The
smallest masses hurl through space around and between the
larger ones. They all seek each other out. They strive for order.
***********************************


Scully shakes her head as she pulls up behind Mulder's car.
Only he could manage to have so many dilemmas strike at the
same time. And the contraband water bed...he could have pulled
that one off if it hadn't sprung a leak. The landlord had long
since learned not to venture into Mulder's apartment. Scully
sighs, turning off her car and looking carefully in the rearview
mirror. The traffic on this street is particularly crazy, for
some reason. She finally catches a break, and quickly gets out
of the car. She hurries around to the sidewalk before a
friendly-looking Volkswagen Beetle hurtling towards her has
much of a chance to flatten her.

"Oh no." She groans. A yellow piece of paper flaps rhythmically
under a windshield wiper on Mulder's car. "He's really going to
love this," she mutters to herself as she leans over to look
at the ticket. He had stopped there ten minutes too early,
before the parking zone changed. "Oh, Mulder." A helpless
expression crosses her face for a second. She tries not to pity
him very often...he finds it embarrassing...but this day is
just spiraling out of control. How on *earth* does he do this?
And today, with this on top of his other problems, she wouldn't
be surprised if he ignored his growing piles of paperwork and
spent the rest of the day reading his well-worn copy of The
Lonely Buddha and chuckling to himself in the most annoying
possible manner. *After* the meeting, that is.

Scully can't help but reflect on how this all came about as
she crosses the street...all of the unlikely turns in her life
that have lead to this one day. The decision to pass up a
private medical practice for the FBI, her subsequent decision
to ignore Bill's attempts to micromanage her life, her
assignment to find fault with Mulder's work, all the times that
she followed (or lead) Mulder into some less-than-advisable
situation despite her ownhidden fear, the countless instances
in which she saved his butt from his own focused enthusiasm...
even the times she stayed late at work, not because she had any
pressing work to do, but because she simply enjoyed spending
every possible moment with Mulder...

It's all culminated in her chasing after him today like a mother
hen, trying to herd him back to the safety (and numbing boredom)
of the annual report conference. It's at this moment she
realizes that reflecting while crossing the street isn't
necessarily a good idea. The screeching tires and honking horn
bring her back to the present.

***********************************
The electrons spin as their various orbits are influenced by the
larger bodies. The tiny particles are unaware of this, only
following the laws of nature as they know them. Negative charges
find positive charges and hold on to each other desperately. The
electrons twist and leap along their fateful paths, mindlessly
zipping along. The more massive protons and neutrons huddle
together tightly, their very presence exacting control over
their speeding satellites.
***********************************

Scully waves to the halted driver in apology. The close call
jars her attention back to the present. She hurries on across
the street, as the other cars at the intersection have stopped.
Her distracted movements were too unpredictable. She hopes she
can catch Mulder in time to save him from getting officially
disciplined for missing the meeting. She looks around for a
second as she steps onto the sidewalk. She notices an "Out of
order" sign on the ATM machine and frowns slightly, knowing this
will mean longer lines inside the bank.

Scully sees her own reflection growing in the glass of the
bank's front doors as she approaches. Hopefully, Mulder will
already be done depositing his check by now... She sighs,
mulling over how on earth the sometimes overwhelming
responsibility that is being Mulder's partner ended up in her
inbox, right between the embarrassing junk mail and late expense
reports. It's hard work, but she wouldn't give it up for the
world.

No one else she can think of needs, or deserves, total personal
support as much as Mulder. She swallows hard as the dark reasons
for his need flash through her mind almost instantly. She feels
a cold chill accompany her thoughts of the shadowy figures that
have manipulated both her and Mulder toward malevolent ends.

It started with *her*...She feels almost guilty about that fact,
but it was out of her control. As soon as she had seen his
openly honest intentions regarding the X-Files, her whole
outlook on the assignment changed. She had never followed
through with the instructions given her, never truly went out of
her way to debunk his work. It would have been easy enough for
her to do so, simply because the science she loves so well can
be twisted to present a facade of truth over misinformation.

Sure, she often contradicts Mulder's ideas with science, but she
knows it only gives him a reason to eagerly search for more
evidence to bolster his own theories. She can see his eyes light
up at those moments, and the life inside them feeds her soul. If
only his roadblocks had stopped with her assignment... Her mind
reflexively zips through a series of events that have
systematically ripped control, or the illusion of it, from both
of them forever.

It had begun innocuously enough. They started with trying to
drug his brains out and force his memories and annoying
questions into a distant, unreachable part of his mind. Of
course, that didn't work. He was too strong for that to stop
him. Later, the forces opposing Mulder had merely tried to
discredit his work by tainting his apartment's water softener
with LSD, making his actions illogical, unpredictable, and
seemingly insane. Scully remembers her relief at discovering
that his wild mood swings and bad temper had been the result of
someone else's tampering rather than his true feelings toward
her.

How short-lived that small piece of reassurance was. The first
attempt on Mulder's life had followed close behind, and the idea
of someone wanting to kill one of the few honest people left in
this world makes Scully's fists clench. The Syndicate wasn't
even satisfied with trying to murder him in a train car
once...they had to try it again later. The feeling of
helplessness she had experienced as she listened to him try to
defuse the train car's bomb over her cell phone had become too
familiar. It was a close scrape, and she never fully understood
how he got out of it. He hadn't done so unscathed, for sure.

It's not only the fact that they've tried to kill him on a semi-
regular basis that bothers her now, it's the way they've used
him like a disposable object.

Then, when he was close to breaking open their deception
regarding Gibson Praise, they began chopping him down piece by
piece until there was nothing left to take from him. Scully
feels a look of despair flash across her face, betraying her
reflections for only a moment. She can almost feel the damp,
smoke-tinged air pervade her lungs, her clothes, and her hair
just as it had in the basement.

The wet slapping echoes of dripping water, the only sounds in
the room, had surrounded them both as they each tried to cope
with the sudden destruction of Mulder's life work. It had seemed
as if the hand of God had fallen upon him hard, punishing him
for not knowing when to quit. Scully still struggles with that
moment, for it plunges her into a strange combination of
feelings that she does not know how to deal with. She had felt
so close to Mulder... It was almost as if they were the only two
people in existence, as she held his frighteningly motionless
body close to her.

It was "us against them", and he was the only one who could
truly understand how intertwined their lives had become. No one
else mattered. At the same time, she had felt amazingly and
desperately alone. There was no way for her to comfort him, or
even tell what thoughts were running through his mind. He was
unable to communicate through his pain, and the silence was a
stifling barrier between them. She knows him perhaps better than
anyone else, but she can not imagine how deeply the loss of his
dream into a wisp of smoke must have affected him.

The malicious people pulling the strings on Mulder's life even
rubbed some lemon juice into the wound by removing him from the
division. Later that night, he had dragged himself to the door
of her apartment. When she opened it, she saw a broken, dejected
man who was about to crash to the floor. She had wrapped her
arms around him, holding him up. The stubborn smell of smoke
still clung to him, refusing to let either of them escape the
gloom of the burned-out wasteland that was his office.

She still remembers every word said that night.

"Scully." His voice was scratchy and quiet. "I'm sorry. I just
didn't want to be alone." He looked at the floor. She guided him
over to her couch, and they both sat down.

"Oh, Mulder..." She had started to try to express her feelings,
but was interrupted.

"Please, just hear me out. I couldn't get to sleep without
knowing...that you're nearby." He had looked up at her, reaching
in deeply with his eyes. "Let me stay here tonight." He patted
the cushion of the couch so she wouldn't misunderstand his
intentions. She remembers picking up his hand. It was ice cold.

"Of course." She couldn't think of anything else to say. She had
pushed him down onto the cushions and removed his shoes for him.
After covering him with a thick blanket, she had retreated into
her own room. But she never got to sleep that night. Within
fifteen minutes, she had heard the quiet but unmistakable sounds
of partially-repressed sobs coming from her living room. She
could never stand to hear Mulder cry.

The horrible memories flickering through Scully's mind
mercifully cease within seconds. She prefers not to think of the
threats that have faced Mulder all at once. Taken as a whole,
they tend to overpower her emotional self-control. They do,
however, reassure her now. Today is just a small challenge for
Mulder compared to his usual problems.

***********************************
Other factors influence the nuclear ballet, imparting more
energy upon the sprinting particles, or alternately, sapping it
away. Most of the electrons have found a comfortable groove and
stay there, oblivious of all else. Other nuclei and their
orbiters become complete, active bodies, attracting and
repulsing each other in turn. They pass from one to another
nervously until they find just the right partner to bind with.

Each of the atoms takes on an identity, so they become quite
antisocial until another compatible atom sidles up and
introduces itself. Some of these atoms have met up and formed a
group... a molecular orgy where each one shares the others'
electrons. These include oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, and, of
course, carbon...the life of the party! The resulting amines
serve as building structures, bonding with more amines to form
longer chains. Four of these have gotten together and created a
protein.
***********************************

Scully looks through the plate-glass doors of the bank. The
light reflecting off of the smooth surface obscures the
interior. Strange...She doesn't see very many people. Maybe
Mulder didn't have to wait in a long line. She opens the first
door leading into the entryway. The air pressure vacuum inside
makes it hard to pull open, and the wind rushing by disorients
her for a moment.

She sighs. Here she is, coming to Mulder's rescue yet again.
She's been very busy keeping his bacon out of trouble, but she's
glad she hasn't had to travel that path totally alone. Within
another split-second, as she nears her mirror image on the
secondary door, she wonders how her role of surrogate mom came
about.

The whole situation had come upon her as a surprise at first.
Mulder didn't strike her as the kind of person who needed
protection when they'd met. Sure, he had taken plenty of chances
before he met her. The Gunmen had happily filled her in about
most of the details. They've helped Mulder for a price. He gets
access to their incredible collective intellect, and they get to
tell tall tales about him and borrow his video collection.
Scully really does care about them, despite their attempts to
weird her out. They don't hide their noble motivations very
well. But now they've passed the baton onto her, and the danger
facing Mulder seems to grow exponentially. Somehow, since she's
come into his life, he has become a magnet for trouble. Probably
not a coincidence, she thinks, suppressing a grin.

What on earth? There is one person standing inside, but there
doesn't appear to be anyone else inside...not even behind the
counters. Scully opens the interior door and hurries through.
She takes one good look at the room and stops in her tracks.


***********************************
The protein with its madly wriggling atoms serves a higher
purpose. Its polypeptides reach out with magnetic fingers and
snag a passing atom of Iron each, instantly blushing red with
success. The protein holds on to the Iron atoms for dear life,
because they enable it to fulfill its true purpose, capturing
and releasing rogue pairs of Oxygen. It stalks and prowls its
environment from within a red blood cell.

The vessel is cluttered with many identical proteins and other
groups of needy molecules, including carbon dioxide. The protein
gushes along in a watery solution, ricocheting off the other
compounds and bouncing around inside a flexible membrane. The
mass of fluid moves as one through an enclosed network of one-
way streets. The entire system quivers with the power of the
tirelessly pumping heart. The tumbling and hurtling protein
slows as its tunnel grows wider. The conglomeration of molecules
is a deep maroon tide, rushing forward rythmically in the vein.

The protein finds itself inside a large channel, the vena cava.
With a sudden vacuuming suction, the protein is pulled through a
valve into the right atrium. It lingers there for only a
dizzying instant before a resounding *thwump!* slings it through
the tricuspid valve into the right ventricle. The protein
careens wildly through the solution, driven by momentum, then is
expelled out of the heart with a deeper, stronger *thwump!* The
protein shoots down the pulmonary artery, now clinging
desperately to its precious iron complexes.

Suddenly, the huge artery branches off multiple times, and the
protein's progress is slowed considerably. The artery narrows
until each molecule can just pass through one at a time. The
protein waits patiently in line, brushing up against the thin,
fragile wall of the pulmonary capillary. The carbon dioxide
molecules have mysteriously disappeared...

A cataclysmic event occurs as the molecules of the membrane wall
part slightly to allow pairs of Oxygen to pass through. The
Oxygen atoms fall for the bigger, more attractive Iron compounds
on the protein. They immediately go their separate ways and run
off to redder pastures. Four Oxygens bond with all four Irons on
the protein, and it has fulfilled half of its purpose as a
hemoglobin molecule.

The solution turns bright crimson. A very satisfied protein now
moves on. It has just entered a rapidly expanding vessel, and
soon rushes into the pulmonary vein. Two violent but controlled
contractions later, and the left atrium and ventricle have
expelled it into the aorta. The loaded hemoglobin tumbles
downward as the thick artery extends along the thoracic cavity
and into the abdomen. The hemoglobin has a few side trips
planned on its way to unload the oxygen.

First, it swings by the celiac artery and gets up close and
personal with the stomach. Plenty of sugars jump onboard with
the rest of the travelling molecules. The protein finds itself
in tight company. The plasma solution is packed with many other
hemoglobin-filled erythrocytes, plenty of bacteria-munching
leukocytes, and a few stray clot-forming platelets.

The red blood cell is becoming crowded with urea, creatine, and
other noxious waste molecules picked up along the way. The
hemoglobin becomes uneasy. It swings around and heads back down
the aorta, bypassing the spleen and heading straight for the
kidney. The winding, looping tubules guide the protein to the
renal capillaries, where the unwelcome waste products are
finally dumped. The protein feels much more comfortable now and
continues on, flowing quickly to the large branch forming the
iliac arteries that extend into the legs.

Plasma carries the protein past more branches and splits until
it has reached some capillaries near the surface of the
quadriceps femoris. The low concentration of Oxygen in these
muscle tissues disturbs the hemoglobin. The tissues lure the
Oxygen atoms away from their Iron escorts. Its mission over, the
hemoglobin rides the capillary back out and eventually ends up
in the iliac vein, heading north. It's been a long day
(actually, about ten minutes), and the protein rides passively
back toward the heart with all of its cohorts.

The blood they comprise circulates easily through the network of
healthy vessels. The fluid does its job efficiently. Everything
is running smoothly, and it all results in a living being,
itself interacting with other beings in much the same way the
wandering atoms within it do. The organism moves, communicates
with, and manipulates members of its own and other kinds to
become a part of an always-jostling, writhing whole
conglomeration clinging precariously to a tilted, rolling rock.
The system is humming along nicely, taking care of itself quite
well.

And then something goes terribly wrong. The steady fluid
pressure inside the organism's network of blood vessels rises
slightly, the heart pumping frantically. The adrenal glands
release endocrine and adrenaline into the bloodstream, causing
the blood to become a much more efficient oxygen carrier. The
protein hasn't made it back to the lungs yet. The combination of
speeding heartbeat and frantically pumping lungs makes the
entire system shake and vibrate with anticipation.
***********************************

Scully can't believe what she's seeing...some lunatic with a
bomb strapped to his chest threatening to blow up the bank full
of innocent people. She can't let this happen. It's not the fact
that the guy is pointing a gun at her nose. She's been through
that before. She wants to go for her own weapon, but she
doesn't stand a chance now. It's too late. Something is off. Her
heart freezes when she notices Mulder rising to his feet behind
the gunman.

He reaches underneath his trenchcoat. He's going for his
sidearm, and Scully feels her stomach drop. This is all wrong.
She wants to yell for Mulder to stop, but he's made up his mind.
The guy senses the movement behind him and his eyes begin to
sweep to his left, looking for the source. Everything seems to
pass in slow motion to Scully. Her mind races, searching for a
solution to this impossible problem.

This situation seems strangely familiar, in a way. The same
ethereal warning pulled at her consciousness just last
Christmas. She remembers the chill that ran down her spine when
she suppressed her own panic long enough to actually listen to
what Mulder was telling her at the time. She had believed that
he'd finally snapped, reaching his tolerance limit of polite
scientific observations and her attempts to get him to see
things more logically.

Both relief and guilt had washed over her when she realized that
he had not turned into a murderous betrayer. In that moment,
when she was wallowing in a pool of conjured blood and her mind
was open and desperate, she had sensed the same vague, distant
guidance that she does now. She feels the helpless desperation
rearing its ugly head again. Mulder begins to draw his gun from
its holster and the man in front of her continues to turn and
raises his right hand... Scully impatiently begs for that
guidance now.

***********************************
There are more signs of a catastrophic event as the number of
platelets floating through the bloodstream suddenly spikes. The
hemoglobin is surrounded by them inside the vena cava. The
number of leukocytes also increases. By the time protein
approaches the heart, the pressure in the vessel has lowered
considerably. Blood sloshes through the over-expended heart like
ice water. The contraction rate increases in a futile attempt to
compensate for the lack of pressure. Chaos reigns as the protein
flows into the left pulmonary artery.

The blood's speed increases drastically. The tissue forming the
artery has been breached. The vital pathway has been ripped
apart; the portion reaching toward the lungs is defensively
contracted. The blood spills out into the lung cavity and in
between other layers of tissue. Some of it pools into the
depression created by the .38-caliber bullet now lodged against
a posterior rib, and yet more is aspirated far into the damaged
lung, coating and drowning the tiny air sacs. The hemoglobin
molecule, however, joins most of its neighbors in flowing out of
the entry wound.
***********************************

The blood covers Mulder's barely-moving chest, creating a
surface both sticky and slick. Scully presses her hand against
it firmly, but it is not enough to staunch the flood of life
streaming with alarming speed from his body.

***********************************
The organism in perfect health just moments ago is now dying.
The pair have become one in many ways. They are closer now than
ever just before they are about to be ripped apart with physical
fury.
***********************************

Scully is attuned to Mulder so closely, she can hide her primal
fear no longer. A part of her is with him, and she senses that
this wasn't supposed to happen. She feels his heart weaken under
her hand, and her own seems to flail frantically inside her.
Mulder's well-toned muscles have gone completely limp and his
eyes stare at nothing. Her own eyes burn and sting as she feels
a large part of herself slipping away. The rest of the mass of
life and death around her seems to fade into the background.

She mourns him even before he's gone, and looks up at the
heavens with a desperate rage seething within. Her soul cries
out to the unforgiving bundle of human life, and even beyond,
that Mulder's death cannot be! He has too much left to do that
no one else can or will. He owes her more shared time on this
earth. He cannot reach deep inside her and win her
confidence...prying open her soul and filling a vacuum she had
always denied...and then leave her like this! She burns for him
as her hands are covered with red. She waits for an answer. Any
answer. And when it comes, she isn't ready for it. There is no
way for her to comprehend...she only knows that Mulder will be
given another chance, and nothing else matters.

She is flooded again with the memories of her life as certain
death looms nearby in the form of dynamite. Everything she and
Mulder have been through seems pointed to a tragic conclusion.
She tries to talk the lunatic out of killing everyone, but her
mind is distracted by the nagging feeling that Mulder deserves
something better... She wonders if she's ever really told him
how much she appreciates him...how he's made her whole. They are
both running out of time, and it's too late. She is shocked by
the words that come out of her own mouth, but she never gets the
chance to truly analyze their implications...

"It doesn't have to end this way."

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

The X-Files and related entities belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox. I write only for the profit of feedback, not money.