Sins of our Children(1/2)
by Humbuggie 1998

San@net4all.be

Edited by Laurie D. Haynes, thanks Laurie !

Situation : Right after "The Beginning," basically ignoring the rest of season 6. Mulder and Scully are assigned to general duty, and have to report to Kersh. However, Skinner is still a part of the show as well.

Reference to a previous story : A couple of weeks ago I wrote "The Game," a Mulder-profiling story in which I introduced a character called Terence Davis, Mulder's previous boss at the VCS. There are only a few references to Davis, so you don't have to know much about the guy.

Type : Mulder-profiling/X-File/Humor/Angst/M&S Friendship and a lot of UST. Story from Mulder's POV.

Spoilers : The Movie and several other episodes from Season 5, with references to Anasazi, and a number of other mythology-episodes.

Story : While on regular duty, Mulder and Scully are assigned a case, requested by Terence Davis involving a drug dealer turned kidnapper. Mulder literally finds himself the man's next victim, and ends up in the hospital, only to find that the worst threat comes from within.

Sins of Our Children

Part I : On the subject of guilt

- 1 -
Jason Dominic Warren was one hell of a character. He wasn't a serial killer nor did he inflict torture or terrible pains upon others. In fact, he used to be a gentle and promising kid. A varsity basketball player, straight "A" student, and definitely a big man on campus, well-liked by his peers.

But things can go bad, even for kids like Jason who seem to have the world in their hands. It all started with a joint, and then culminated with crack cocaine drawn deep into his yearning lungs. It all started when a man called Alexander Jackson, or "The Hunk" as the kids from school called him, started visiting their after-school hangout, his pockets literally stuffed with goodies. He was a low-life dealer, but for the students, he was a bag of golden coins, pushing the right buttons to keep his public interested.

Jason started with pot, but he wanted more. He tried LSD and liked it, and even shot up heroin a few times. But crack was king. It was cheap and easy to get. And the high was glorious. But the problem was it began to take more and more to get the same high, which was never quite what is was that first time. And then he ran out of money. And then he started stealing to get his kick. His dad kicked him out and sent him to the streets to take care of himself. And then Jason made his first kill.

He was 21 years old when he killed the man with the black case as he left the hotel on foot. The man was dressed in a blue suit with a black overcoat. Shiny shoes and perfect haircut. A man with style and class, attending a lawyers convention in DC A man with money.

Jason Dominic Warren wasn't alone when he killed the man. There were three of them, but he called the shots. He had always done so ever since his old man kicked him out of the house in Georgetown, and forced him to live in shelters until he could survive and steal enough money to get a place to live.

Jason was a bright kid. He used the brain and leadership qualities he had developed in high school even better now to survive on the streets. He started a gang with other street kids, the youngest only 15 when she joined them. The oldest was Jason.

And three of them killed Tom Chaney, the lawyer. Because he wore the shiny shoes and black overcoat, and because he was stupid enough to leave the hotel on foot instead of taking a cab to the convention center, two blocks down.

They pulled him in an alley and beat the shit out of him, taking the case from his hands, hitting him so hard there was hardly anything left of his face. But the man was still alive when they grabbed his wallet and cell phone from his pockets. And he was lucid enough to see the barrel of the gun shoved in his face before it was blown away by Jason Dominic Warren.

They took off like the thieves in the night that they were, and their first kill was supported by their hunger for money and thirst for blood. They gathered in the old abandoned warehouse just outside M Street, literally pushed against the backside of the restaurants and small diners. They lived off leftovers from the restaurants and pinched wallets, watches, cell phones and pocket money from just about everyone strolling around the neighborhood. They were left alone by their peers, and the shop and restaurant owners. There were a lot of them by the end of the first year; twenty-five all together. They lived and had a place to stay. A building no one dared to tear down.

And they killed again, making sure no one knew it was them. Not a shred of evidence was left at the crime scenes, and nothing that could point the finger at Jason Warren.

By the end of the third year Warren was king of the 'hood. Not one of the other gangs dared confront him.
He was white, as were the others in the gang, but the blacks left them alone. He was respected, if respect meant anything, in the area. Washington was a large city, large enough for all of them and all the other people on the streets.

Jason Warren set up a drug trade, similar to the one The Hunk had started a few years ago. His education and skills now helped him to avoid the cops in the area. And above all it helped him to gather the money he had wanted for so long now. With this money he could set up a decent deal and then move out of the ghetto, and back into a decent place. He would not abandon his people, but it was time for a quick change.

The gang, however, was falling apart. Some of them got killed or busted for small-time thefts. Others left the city to try and make a decent living for themselves. And again, others could not handle the pressure of life on the streets and killed themselves. At the end, there were just a few of them left, but Warren couldn't care less. He had decided to get off the streets, and the deal he was setting up now would help him do it. If all went well he would walk away with enough to start something new. He would sell about 20 kilos of crack cocaine to several small-time dealers, sending it out on the streets, and his commission would be a rough $200,000, 50 percent of the take. And the deal would happen just outside of Georgetown, in his old man's neighborhood.

But then Jason Dominic Warren met up with Valerie Lange, and decided he had to have her. Valerie was an 18-year-old freshman at Boston University when she literally bumped into Warren. Her parents lived in Georgetown, only two blocks away from his old man. She was a pretty, petite brunette, and vacationing with her folks when they met. He was a drug dealer and a killer when they met. But they looked at each other one long time, and he knew he had to have her.

She was dressed in a wool skirt and sweater, and a burgundy overcoat covering most of her body and face. Her hands were in dark red wool mittens. She was walking home, carrying a bag. She didn't see where she was walking. He wasn't looking either. They bumped into each other. She dropped the bag. He knelt down and retrieved it for her, handing it back to her. She took one long look at him, and said, "Thanks." Then she walked past him and moved on. He turned and watched her as she walked up the steps to her parents' house and closed the door behind her.

It wasn't too difficult to find out who she was, and it would be even easier to get to her. He couldn't get his mind off her for some reason. He'd fucked plenty of girls back in high school, before things went wrong, and he still wasn't a bad looking guy, able to get just about everything and everybody. Of course, once they found out who and what he was, they turned their backs to him, ignoring him as if he was a pest.

But this girl would be different. He just knew it. She was him. She could have been him before his descent into drugs. She would become him after he was finished with her. It would be his little revenge on society, to create one just like him, and bend her to his needs.

That night, before Valerie Lange even knew what happened, she was lifted off her feet and shoved into the waiting van. A needle was jabbed into her upper left arm, the plunger spreading a sedative in her system. She passed out before the van was at the corner of the street.

Jason Dominic Warren watched her as she tried to wake up from the oppressive darkness, trying to focus on reality and the uncomfortable position she was lying in. She lay on a cot, with a blanket or two over her body.
Her coat had been removed, but her clothes were still on her, as were her shoes. Her brown hair was spread over the pillows she was lying on, and her face had a deadly pallor when she opened her eyes, coughing.

When she regained her wits, Valerie immediately recognized the young man sitting on the chair, watching her. "What do you want?" she asked, but he lifted his hand as if to stop her from asking any more questions.

"There is nothing in life one wants more than a partner to share his problems with," he said out loud,
almost hypnotic. "I've found no one like you before, until now. I want you to share my problems with me, Valerie, so they will be different and easier to bear."

"You're crazy," she said, not knowing how to respond to his words. "I want to go home!"

He rose from the chair, and approached her, touching her face with one long, lingering touch. "But this is your home."

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a pipe with an off-white rock in it sitting atop a piece of
copper scouring pad. He lit it and offered it to her, first taking a hit off it himself.

"And this," he then said, "can be your destiny."

"No," she said, "I don't do drugs. I'm not an addict."

"Everyone's an addict. They just don't know it yet."

Again he offered the pipe to her, and she declined. He only smiled and retreated from the room, leaving it and a lighter on the table next to her bed. She was desperate and alone, and as she got up from the cot, she walked over to the windows and stared outside. She was six floors up and there would be no one to hear her screams.

She could hear noises outside the room, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before she would be forced to take drugs. She sat down on the cot again, covered her face with her hands and wept.

-2-
November 12, 1998
10:15 p.m.

Okay, I know I can be really stupid sometimes. There have been moments in my life where I found myself doing things I shouldn't have done. Usually it involved chasing some mutant freak through the city, and finding myself being his potential next victim. Or sometimes it was just my basic paranoid self, seeing things that weren't there, and turning just about everyone that came in my way against me.

However, today I did not even do anything stupid. And yet I found myself lying on the cold concrete, tasting my own blood in my mouth. The last thing I remember before everything turned black momentarily, was my own voice shouting, "Warren! Freeze, FBI!" And then my head seemed to explode, and there was nothing I could do but drop my gun and let my helpless body slide to the concrete. My head bumped when I fell, adding to the tremendous headache I was already feeling thanks tp the metal pipe which tore up the skin on my temple, scarring the exact same spot where I had been shot not so long ago.

Then a hand appeared from the darkness, picking up what I had dropped on the concrete. My gun. The barrel of it was shoved in my face, and I found myself in the shoes of the lawyer whose murder I had read about, facing my own death. And I was ready to accept it in the line of duty. But then there were footsteps, and a shout, and a shot and a cry. Something dropped right next to me and then it was all gone.

Blackness began to descend on me. Then I heard Scully running up to me, and fuzzily saw her kneeling down besides me, touching my face with her compassionate doctor's hand. Her right hand was still holding the gun, and I saw her quickly scanning the area, ready to kill the bastard that this to me. Then she picked up her phone, and I moaned. She looked down on me, basically ignoring the fact that I was her partner at that time. I was a patient to her now, one that needed immediate care and attention.

I didn't really care at that moment. I was just grateful for her medical expertise. Without her I would have probably kicked the bucket a long time ago. After all, she was the one that kept me going all the time, when things were getting too weird to handle.

Her fingers touched the buttons on her cell phone, and I heard three clicks. She was calling 911, letting them know where we were. And then she would probably call the others in the area, still going after Warren, just as we had been doing.

And all the time I was lying on the ground, trying desperately to stay awake. When she saw me closing my eyes, she quickly shook my shoulder, and said, "No, Mulder. Open your eyes. You can't sleep. You've got a concussion."

She didn't say it roughly or angrily, but with the expertise of an experienced doctor that had seen people slip into comas and die because they couldn't keep their eyes open after being hit by a steel pipe. Oh boy, Scully, you're gonna love this one. The bump on my head is probably the size of an egg already.

I opened my eyes immediately, obeying her every wish, and concentrated on her. The world was spinning. I could hear her voice as she spoke into her phone, grateful that she always had hers with her. Unlike me (who forgot it on occasion) she was the more professional and rational one of the two of us. While I ran with my head in the clouds, especially during profiling cases, she was the one keeping me sane.

But right now I dreaded it all. The case we were on, and the events of the past few days, leading us to this moment in life, where I found myself lying on this concrete -- amidst garbage cans and filth from the restaurants on M Street.

I knew the ambulance and gurney and poking EMT's were close now, and they would start their torture real soon. I sighed. I really did not want to wait for them to come. But my eyes were unable to focus on anything, and I was seeing doubles of everything around me. There was no way I could get on my feet by myself, let alone walk out of here. But I had to try.

I tried to get up and she pushed me back down. Not rudely, but softly and her voice was gentle when she spoke to me. Hey, what can I say ? She always talks soft and concerned when I get my ass kicked. I think that somehow she must get a kick out of, joking about how she's always the one getting sick or abducted, and I'm always the one with the head injuries. What a joke, only a couple of months ago we were in the Antarctic freezing our asses off. Now we're here in the alley, surrounded by garbage.

She was efficient as ever. She picked up my gun, took off her coat and tucked it under my head, caressing my hair when she did. I knew at that time I'd been much worse off before. Otherwise she wouldn't go about it in this rather calm manner. She would be frantic, running and shouting and trying to get people in here.

In Mulder-terms, as she would put it, this was a minor injury, healed with a couple of days of medical leave. But I didn't care much about it. I knew that by tomorrow morning I'd be moping and moaning and trying to get out of that hospital bed, to get back to work and catch my assailant. I was more angry with the fact our boy now got the chance to get out of here, and we would be starting with nothing once again.

But even more angry was I at Kersh for getting us into this goddamn situation. "A simple case," he had said. Assist AD Davis at the VCS in profiling James Dominic Warren, a drug dealer who had become an abductor.
Find him and the girl he had taken, and receive a new assignment. In and out in two days, no big deal. Save the girl and make sure the drugs didn't go on the streets.

Why the hell were they even involved? Was this Kersh's way of getting them to succumb to the daily routine within the bureau? By profiling a drug dealer that had taken a girl hostage or prisoner for who knew what reason?

"When Warren was just a simple drug dealer, he belonged to the cops' jurisdiction, Agent Mulder," Kersh had said. "But as soon as he kidnapped a young woman, it became ours."

His voice had allowed no arguments. And so Scully and I returned to the VCS for a couple of days, greeted by Terence Davis, my former mentor and pain in the ass. Davis wasn't too bad, I suppose. He had come through for us in the past and he would probably do so in the future, and right now, I'm telling you, I wouldn't even mind being reassigned to the VCS, and back to profiling serial killers.

Anything would be better than to work for Kersh. No, that's not true. I'd given up a life in the VCS because I couldn't handle it. Because of the things I'd seen there. Serial killers gone mad, literally tearing apart their victims in order to get their kick. People killing children and loved ones. People like Luther Lee Boggs, who slaughtered his family after their last supper. I could not go back to that life. But this had been just a simple case.
So when and where did it all go to hell?

-3-
November 9, 1998
2:45 p.m.

The abandoned warehouse behind M Street was a dump, looking literally at the alleys with garbage bins and junk. It was dilapidated and had been empty for years. But little Richie, the small-time felon the boys in blue had picked up yesterday, had told us this was where Warren lived.

"I'm surprised you pigs didn't figure it out a long time ago," the boy laughed as he looked at us in contempt. "I mean, everyone knew Warren's shelter was there. The gangs knew, the street boys knew, so why the hell didn't you ?"

There came no answer, and I glanced aside, knowing that Terence Davis wanted me to act. I leaned forward on the table, and looked at Richie with the same contempt he had given us.

"Is the girl there too, Richie?"

"Of course she is," Richie laughed. "He likes her, you know. But you'll be too late to save her. She's all doped up. Her daddy is not going to recognize her anymore by the time you get to her."

"He has her on drugs?" Scully asked, and I knew that mentally, she was already trying to get a clear picture on how the girl's condition would be when we found her.

"Yeah. She's a goner for sure. He's getting tired of her whining already. If you want her out of there alive, you'd better do it fast."

We turned to leave the boy, but when we were at the door he called out, "Hey, Fed. You promised me a deal if I helped you out. I want that deal!"

Davis turned toward him. "After we get Warren, Richie. If you're still alive by then."

Richie's grin disappeared quickly as the impact of Davis' words rang through his mind like alarm bells. By the time Warren was caught, he would know that Richie was the one betraying him. The boy's life would not be worth shit. But who could feel sorry for him? He was one of the three street kids who murdered the lawyer when they saw his shiny shoes and black overcoat.

Outside I turned to Davis and asked, "Why are we here, Terry? There's nothing for us to do here. You've already got your suspect and you know where he is. So what do you need us for?"

Davis' face expressed the worry and concern he had been hiding ever since he got the case assigned to his offices, less than a day ago. It had been more than 48 hours since Valerie Lange had disappeared from her parents' house. The trails leading to Jason Dominic Warren had been obvious. The van used for the abduction had been identified almost immediately by informants on the street. But nobody had been able to tell them where Warren was hiding, until now -- until they busted Richie.

"Look, Mulder," Davis said with a frown. "I know this might sound like a waste of time to you, but there's something you need to know about Jason Warren. The boy's been out on the streets for over three years now, adjusting to his environment like a chameleon. He's a dangerous individual. The chances that we go in that warehouse and find the girl alive are slim. I could use your help to profile this man, to anticipate his next moves before we go in there and save her."

"With all due respect, sir," Scully said, "but shouldn't we be on our way to that warehouse right now? The word on the streets gets out quickly. If he knows you've arrested Richard Wendell, he might kill her instantly."

"He won't," I said. "Not if he wants to keep her as a hostage."

They both looked at me, and I found myself saying, "It might not be such a bad idea to take a look at that file, Terry. If there's something in there of interest to you, I'll find it. But he might just be an ordinary thief gone off the deep end. If so, then Scully's right. You should grab every chance you got to get that girl out of there."

"How much time do you need?" Davis asked.

We all glanced at our watches. It was 3 p.m. when we spoke for the first time. By nightfall they would have to go in that warehouse and retrieve the girl. The darkness was the best defense.

"Give me three hours," I said, basically ignoring Scully's concerned frown. She had seen me profiling before and knew that I dug into cases with my fingernails, scraping out what was in there. But hey, this was a different case. And perhaps, by working on it, we would both be able to save something from the career that had been going downhill ever since I got in over my head.

- 4 -
November 12
10:17 p.m.

My eyes drooped and closed, and I wasn't even aware of it until Scully shook my shoulder again, forcing me to open my eyes and I mumbled something incoherent and annoyed.

"Don't sleep," she said, still scanning the area.

I had heard her voice on the phone again, calling Davis in, no doubt. He and his troops would be here soon to scan the damage inflicted. I think we were both afraid that Warren might come back and finish the job, especially since the night that ... *No, Mulder,* I said to myself. *Don't go back there. Stay right here with your thoughts, where you're safe. Don't think about it now.*

That wasn't so hard to do. The pounding headache was now on the verge of an explosion, literally ready to push me into oblivion. I wondered where the cops were. Were they chasing him through the streets of Washington, D.C., trying to find him before he vanished into the woodwork? Or did they simply not care, figuring the Feds might be solving their problems for them ?

"I can't stay awake," I said, listening to the hoarse sound of my own voice.

It was true. I knew from past experiences that after a concussion or a head injury, all one wanted to do was get some sleep and deal with the pain in their subconscious. I was no exception to the rule of course. After all, despite my insomnia, I was only human. And even more so, I was one of those people who could hide in a shell of sleep until the worst pain was over. At this moment, that was what I wanted to do.

"You have to," Scully said firm, her voice shaking me awake as she kept on touching my shoulder and upper left arm. I was shivering. She tried to keep me as comfortable as possible, but she wasn't able to fetch me a blanket. It was stupid perhaps, but just by her being there, I felt a bit warmer. And I couldn't help but think about the second I had passed out on the ice in the Arctic, not knowing whether or not I would be ever waking up again.
Back then, I somehow also felt her presence when she embraced me and kept me warm while I had retreated into that same shell of sleep.

"I can't."

My voice sounded little and fearful, as if I was a kid. I had to admit that by now I was starting to get scared. My head felt like exploding, in the back of my throat I already tasted the nausea. All I wanted to do was lie flat on my back and sleep. But in the back I already heard the sirens coming to get me. Perhaps, when they got me in the ambulance, Scully would me sleep. Even though I knew only a couple of minutes had passed, it seemed like an eternity. I now realized that Scully had been talking to me constantly, even though I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. And that I really did start to hate myself for getting into situations like this, even if it wasn't even my fault. I could just imagine how Kersh would chew my ass even more than Skinner had done when we were still working with him. Right now I wouldn't mind a friendly face around though, Skinner's for example. At least, only when the man was able to strain his mouth into a smile.

"Concentrate on my voice, Mulder."

I woke from my daydreams when I saw Scully's face very close to mine. I could even see the concern in her blue eyes. The colors of the evening added to this magic moment, and hey, I couldn't help but remember our embrace in my hallway.

*Oh Scully, I thought. Why the hell did you have to come into my life and make me think of nothing else but you?* I wanted to finish that kiss we started in my hallway. To touch her where it would please her and make love to her. Or did I?

Okay, so I wasn't lucid. Sue me! How could I not think of her, when her hand was still resting on my
cheekbone, and I could still feel the warmth of her body as she sat close to me, trying to keep me warm somehow.
Hell, I could have died right here and now and not have cared if my grave had already been dug for me. I was a happy man. A sick man, but nonetheless a happy man. If it weren't for the taste of blood in my mouth. And the thoughts of that girl in the warehouse.

"Hey, Scully," I moaned, and I couldn't remember afterwards where I got the strength to talk to her. "I'm seeing two of you. You should have told your twin to dress differently."

She looked at me worriedly, but managed to smile somehow at the same time, saying, "Mulder, you can't even handle one of me."

I wanted to open my mouth and give her a quirky response. But then what I had feared finally happened. I just slipped away into darkness, not able to listen to her voice any longer.

- 5 -
November 9
4:15 p.m.

I read through the file with ease, making notes along the way. As I read it, I gathered enough information to support the idea that Jason Warren was a brilliant mind, a young man that could have graduated in psychology or any other major, cum laude. If it weren't for his ability to screw up things. He was able to grasp something he wanted and go for it until he had it. If he found something to care and love for, he would hold on to it with clutches, keeping it from anybody else to be loved or cared for. That was the part that made him a dangerous man.
He would go to any lengths to keep what he thought was his, and go over the edge if it was taken from him. He was a dangerous man.

I shoved the file aside and picked up the one on the girl. The face of the pretty brunette smiled at me from the glossy photo. I scanned through her file, knowing I would find nothing there that would help me. Her father had confirmed to the police and FBI that she had no contact whatsoever with Jason Warren. He had heard about the boy, however. Knew he was a brilliant student gone bad. His folks lived only a few blocks away. Word got around.

Mark Lange was not able to provide them with any valuable information, except for the fact that Valerie had told them about bumping into a young man fitting Warren's description. She had said that the man had looked oddly at her, as if he knew her. That was all. And then she was dragged from her house in Georgetown to an unknown site somewhere in the city, making it a federal case.

Mark Lange was a college professor, teaching English literature and psychology. He was a well-respected man in Washington society and a loyal Democrat. His wife Corinne was terribly distraught by the situation and had to be sedated for the time being. She was admitted to the hospital where she worked, Georgetown Medical Center. Lange spent his time traveling back and forth from the hospital to his own house, hoping the kidnapper might get in touch with him about a ransom. But the hours had passed slowly, and there was no word from Jason Warren.

I was convinced that Warren had not abducted the girl because of the father's money. If he wanted that, he would have taken a daughter from a richer family, one that would give him what he needed. No, he wanted her because he thought he loved her or cared for her. That was all that mattered to him.

I finished my notes and walked up to the meeting room where I knew they would be waiting for me. Scully was already there, using her medical expertise to explain to them what would happen if the girl was to OD or be forced to take cocaine on a regular basis. She was finishing up when I entered the room, glancing thankfully at my approach.

Several faces turned towards me as I walked up to the front, and talked briefly with Terry Davis. He then stepped aside, and let me make a quick profile on our suspect, explaining to them what my thoughts on the matter were.

As I explained Warren's quirky mind, I said, "My thoughts on this man are that he will not let us get to the girl alive. He'll kill her before we go in there, or even suspects us to be in the area. He feels a deep affection for her, and would rather murder her himself than let anyone else have her."

"But he didn't even know her," Agent Fielding said, a man whom I would get to know better later on.

He was a man in his early thirties, a young recruit within the bureau, but on his way to become a top profiler. I immediately felt a kinship with the man, something that did not happen to me often. My paranoia and instincts usually stopped me from getting too friendly and too close to anyone besides Scully. With this man however, I sensed that he was for real. A good man that would become a valuable asset to the bureau. Later on, I would hear that Tom Fielding had been going through my old cases and reading the profiles I had made on several serial killers. And I heard that he had the same respect for me as I would grow to have for him later on.

"I mean, if he didn't know her, how can he love her"' he continued.

"I understand what you're saying, Tom," I said, using his first name as if I had known him for years.

Scully looked at me, surprised, wondering whether I had met this man before. I had, only once, when I hooked up with Davis for a lunch when Scully had the day off.

"But the point is that Warren has the ability of going full speed for something he believes in. Look at his case. He had several girlfriends during his high school years, but he's had a steady on-and-off-relationship with a young woman named Felicity Boss. When they broke up for the last time, she was found dead, floating face down in the Potomac River, only a week after their relationship ended. My thoughts on that case are that the girl was murdered by our boy, and the police have ruled out her death as accidental. There is further evidence that Jason Warren shared that affection with others that ended up dead soon after. The same will happen to Valerie Lange if we don't get to her now."

"So we are dealing with a serial killer here," Davis said carefully, calculating his words.

"Yes, I believe so, sir," I confirmed. "But unless we get a confession out of this guy, you may not be able to prove it."

"Then we'll have to make sure to get this guy alive," Tom Fielding said with conviction. "Our first priority is the girl." Davis walked over to me. "How do you want to go about it?"

"If Richard Wendell is telling the truth, the warehouse our suspect lives in is nearly empty at night. We have to take the chance and go in there, to retrieve the girl as soon as possible. Waiting for him to emerge is risky and dangerous. If he knows we're coming, he'll be waiting for us. So there are a few possibilities in fact. Either he waits for us, or he's gone -- with or without the girl. Either way, we have to take the chance."

"Okay, Terence said. "I'll get in the boys in blue. I want everyone in this room prepared and ready to go by 8."

As the room emptied, Davis patted me on the shoulder and said, "Good work, Mulder. Are you and Agent Scully going to join us tonight?"

I looked at Scully, ready to leave it up to her. She nodded cautiously, and I knew she was just as eager as I to get the girl out of that building. When we walked towards the door, Tom Fielding was waiting for us and thanked me for joining them on the case. I smiled and thanked him for the interest he had shown in my old case files. He was surprised that I knew about it, but just as flattered that I took the time to notice. He joined us as we went out for a quick dinner not far from the Hoover building, and he talked about his first year in the VCS. His boyish enthusiasm was strange and perhaps a reminder of how I once was. As I watched him talk animatedly with Scully,
I wondered how long it would take for that enthusiasm to disappear.

As we left the diner and returned to the building, he said goodbye for a while and returned to his desk in the VCS.

Scully and I walked through the hallway, discussing the case, when she suddenly said, "You amaze me, Mulder. I haven't seen you put so much trust in anyone since a long time. What happened?"

I grinned and said nothing. I could not explain it, even if I wanted to. I just had a liking for the young agent, knowing by what Davis had told me about him that he would become a valuable asset for the bureau. And yes, perhaps I knew by that time already -- or sensed it anyhow -- that one day my life would lie in Fielding's hands, and he would become my savior when I needed to be saved.

- 6 -
November 12
10:19 p.m.

"Mulder! Mulder"

Soft hands shook my shoulders hard, and I waved at them instinctively, trying to shove them away from me. Then I heard a relieved female voice saying, "He's awake again. Good."

A male voice responded, "He looks terrible, Dana. Shouldn't we be doing something until they arrive?" I forced my eyes to open and looked straight into Tom Fielding's eyes. "Hey, I would like to see you lying here and see how good you look."

Tom smiled, relieved. "Hey, Mulder. Good of you to join us. You gave Dana quite a scare by passing out on her. Couldn't wait for the ambulance, hey?"

I opened my mouth to speak, then realizing that I was still in the alley on my back, still waiting for the ambulance. The darkness had only lasted a few minutes at the most. I felt even worse than before. Nausea crept up on me, and I managed to moan Scully's name just before my body convulsed and tried to get rid of the only meal I had eaten all day. I was flat on my back, trying desperately to turn aside so I could puke my guts out in front of my friends. Lovely.

Scully only needed to have one look at me to know things were going wrong. She pushed Tom aside and shoved me on my side, making sure I had full access to air while I puked my guts out. She was supporting my back as sandwiches, coffee and lots of iced water left my body. I didn't even feel embarrassed. I was too tired.

It seemed to take forever, and then, as my exhausted body heaved one last time, it was over. Now I did feel embarrassed. I just wanted to lose my senses again in a blessed sleep, forgetting all about this dark, smelly alley.
But they weren't going to let me sleep. Two sets of hands turned me on my back again, and supported me as they lifted me up a bit, preventing my body from convulsing again.

Scully rummaged through her pockets until she dug out a tissue which she used to wipe my mouth and lips with. After using it, she threw it over the remains of my lunch. Another couple of tissues she used to hide the rest of it. I was actually grateful for it, feeling terribly annoyed right now. Forgetting all about Tom (who probably thought our relationship was much more than platonic), she pulled me into her arms, supporting my head with her chest, and she rocked me a little, before coming to a full stop. I could hear her breathe, and Tom looked at her, probably not knowing what to do. By now I was really ready to pass out in her arms, and sleep forever.

"It's okay," she said softly, and the sound of her voice told me that this one was really serious.

She never sounded like this, only when I was in the worst of trouble.

*Oh, Jesus,* I thought. This time they really did crack that thick skull of mine, and I'm going to die. I felt a sudden panic and tried to free myself from her. I couldn't. She held me really tight and I could not move. I swallowed.

And then Tom's eyes found mine and he said, "You're going to be fine, Mulder. I promise."

I believed him.

After all, he had saved my life before.

- 7 -
November 9
9:15 p.m.

If Jason Warren was present at the time of our arrival at the warehouse, he would, of course, not show himself.
But my gut instinct told me he was gone. Somehow, while we were positioning around the entries of the
warehouse, looking up at the lit top floors, I knew it. The girl was here and he was gone. I don't know how I knew. Maybe my years of experience and gut instincts helped me here. Maybe I just wanted to believe that somehow I too had developed some sort of paranormal ability which helped me in my quest for the truth. No matter what, I knew we would be stumbling into an empty warehouse.

We entered the building cautiously, ready for a trap. Ready in fact for anything that might happen to us. The rooms, however, were empty, as if they had never been lived in. And the fact that all the doors were open and free for entry was enough to tell us they were gone. Less careful, we walked up the stairs, towards the lit floors. We were all dressed in combat outfit. Helmets, black suits and boots, heavy artillery. Ready to kill if there needed to be killed. On my count Scully opened the door and we entered the room, shouting, "FBI!" But there was no one in the room to listen to us. The place was scattered with old paper and garbage, but he wasn't there. Neither was anyone else for that matter. We found traces of cocaine in small plastic bags on the floor, as well as a pipe that had obviously been used. A regular crack party.

"He's gone," Davis said, disappointed, entering the room in his regular outfit. He had been leading the raid, and now it had come to nothing. Suddenly, we heard noises above us. Without a single word we ran up the stairs, and as Tom opened the door, and I charged in, we saw them in the far corner of the empty room. A man and his hostage. But it wasn't Jason Warren holding a gun to the girl's head. I had no idea who this man was. The girl lay as if numb, almost in fetal position as if to protect herself from the outside world. The man's eyes were wild and eager to pull the trigger.

"Get out of here!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, waving the gun wildly towards nothing and no one in particular. "Go, or she gets it!"

I knew that this man was as irrational as he could get. He was still on a coke high, his body and reflexes listening to the thrill of the drugs. He would not put down his gun easily, if ever. And I knew somehow that Warren had left him here, knowing he would kill the girl before we could get to her -- giving Warren the time to get away. We were indeed set up, but not in a way I had anticipated. I made a step forward, and then another one, and then suddenly I was yanked back viciously by a set of hands, almost forcing me to fall flat on my ass.
I regained my composure however, and looked up angrily, only to see Tom's hand pointing at the floor. I followed his finger until I saw the wire, only two inches from the floor. My feet had been only a few millimeters away from it. If I had taken that last step, I would probably have triggered a bomb, hidden in this building. I shivered and smiled gratefully at Tom, who nodded silently. I knew that he had not only saved my life, but also that of many others.

I heard Scully as she turned toward a fellow officer, "Get the bomb squad in here. The place is wired." Then she turned her attention to the man in front of us who was continuing to wave the gun wildly.

I turned towards Davis and hissed, "We need to get as many people out of here as possible. Chances are the bomb might be on a counter. Could go off at any second. We need to get that girl out of here, now."

Davis nodded and turned, leaving the room. I heard him bark his instructions, and immediately, footsteps started retreating in other sections of the building. As I turned, I saw both Tom and Scully still standing there. I knew they would stay here, as well, while we tried to talk some sense into the man.

"Look," I said, putting down my gun and placing it on the floor, carefully avoiding the wire. "We just want to check on the girl. She's sick."

"Warren said you'd be coming," the man responded, clutching his face with his hands. "I'm glad you did. You're just in time to watch her die. He gave her an overdose, you see. She's a goner. Nothing you can do about it. No, no. Just this and then it's done."

I stretched out my hand, and stepped forward, this time over the wire.
He watched me carefully as I did so, and looked at me. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Fox Mulder. I'm with the FBI. I want the girl to be okay, man. And you. You don't have to die in here if you help us out. What's your name?"

"Brian." He sniffed and wiped his nose. "Sorry to tell you, man, but I've had it with this life. I'm going to kill myself anyway, so you might as well have the girl. It's too late anyhow."

The next moment he placed the gun against his temple, and before any of us could react, he blew out his own brains. I heard myself shout before running towards them, and as his body slumped against hers, I saw that her eyes were open and dead. All the light was gone from them, and her mouth foamed.

"Oh, God," I heard myself say, yelling Scully's name immediately after it.

She was at my side within an instant. Tom pulled Brian aside, and helped lift the girl carefully on the floor, placing her on her back. Her body was warm, she had been breathing only a few moments ago. She had to be saved!

Scully quickly wiped her mouth, using a handkerchief from her pocket. She went about it carefully yet thoroughly. Then she started mouth-to-mouth while I performed the compressions on her chest. Tom had taken his cell phone and given instructions to the men downstairs, telling them we would be bringing the girl out. We could not risk leaving her in the room. The place might go at any second.

The girl did not respond to our attempts to resuscitate her, but still, I picked her up and carried her down all six floors. She was a lightweight in my arms, and as we left the building, paramedics were waiting for us. EMT's started working on her instantly, trying to revive her with their equipment. But it was to no avail. She had overdosed and there was nothing we could have done to save her.

Except be there earlier. Damn it! Why the hell did this have to happen? I had known that Warren was a dangerous and murderous individual. If only we had been here earlier. We might have been able to save her. They pulled a sheet over her body and face as she lay on the gurney. It was deadly quiet in the neighborhood. Time seemed to have come to a stop. I heard nothing. It was completely quiet, and as I looked up, I saw several agents stare at the body in despair. I saw them imagining her as their own daughter.

There were others at the scene now as well. The bomb squad searched the building with dogs. They did find a bomb, but it wasn't hooked to the wire on the top floor. It had been fake.

"Damn it!" I heard Tom Fielding say, probably angry at himself for not jumping over it and trying to force the girl from Brian's claws.

But he would have been killed if he had done so. Brian, or whatever his name was, would have dragged anyone with him to his death. And Warren was gone, sacrificing one of his own.

"Let's go, guys," Davis said, almost shoving me towards our car. "There's nothing more we can do here."

We left in silence, and drove back to the Bureau. I knew we would all be seeing the body of that dead girl for a very long time.

- 8 -
November 12
10:21 p.m.

"Agent Scully! Agent Scully, can you hear me?"

Scully stopped whatever she was doing and glanced at Tom, still sitting in the same uncomfortable position as he had been for the past few minutes. The man immediately got on his feet and turned towards the alley.

"We're over here!"

Footsteps, and then a couple of the local officers came running toward us. I would have been more than happy to ignore them, but they had been assisting us on this case. We couldn't be impolite, now, could we? They took one look at me and decided to ignore me, turning their attention towards Scully and Tom Fielding.

"Is he all right?"

"He's got a concussion and Lord knows what else more. Look around for a heavy object. It's an assault weapon."

"A pipe," I heard myself croak, having had a good look at what hit me. "A steel pipe."

One of them turned away from us and started walking further up the alley, where our assailant had gone. Tom followed him reluctantly, obviously not ready to leave Scully and me in the hands of some local yokel. A few moments later we heard them rummaging through garbage cans and other filthy objects. The other two cops stayed with Scully as she tended to me. Now more people ran into the alley. A regular convention. More stares at me. I just wanted to disappear now, thank you very much.

"Is he okay?"

"What happened?"

"Where is that ambulance?" Scully shouted.

"What can we do?"

"The ambulance should be here any minute," Terence Davis said in response to her question.

I looked up at the sound of his voice. He looked down on me, and smiled with assurance, as if to tell me I would be okay soon.

"We have to keep him warm. Give me your coats." Scully was still holding me tight, not willing to let me go. I really did have a partner, one in five billion, one who would kill off anyone ready to comment on the situation right now.

They were wearing large raincoats that were now coming off. I felt warmth immediately as they placed them over my body. I still shivered like crazy, and I didn't have to be a doctor to know I was going into shock. I felt like crap. Ready to kick the bucket.

"What happened?" Terence asked, and this time Scully did respond to the question.

"We were chasing Warren. He hit Mulder and took off. Where the hell were you guys?"

"At the front of the hotel and restaurant, following my orders," Davis explained. "Our boys are looking for Warren right now, but he's probably gone."

Davis looked at me, obviously regretting the fact he hadn't listened to me when I explained about all the possible entries and exits Warren might take.

The bulky cop took one look at me and said, "If Mulder dies, there won't be a safe place for this man anywhere in the country."

Hey! I wanted to shout. I'm not dead yet, and don't pretend like I'm not even here! I'm very much alive and breathing, thank you very much. But they didn't care. And Scully had gone into that professional doctor/agent Scully/pathologist/whatever mode that she was so good at. Right now I could have been a corpse in her arms and she would have been happy to slice and dice. Immediately I felt guilty for those thoughts, but hey, I was the one lying here feeling like shit, and if I wanted to feel sorry for myself, I goddamn well would do so!

But she came to my rescue. Her eyes were like daggers slicing and dicing in the cop's body, and her voice spat poison as she said, "Mulder's not going to die. Where the hell were you when he needed you, huh?"

"Shouldn't have been stupid enough to chase Warren by himself."

This time Scully really was pissed off. She was about to start a long ongoing set of curses, probably condemning this man and his family to the fires of hell, when my eyes closed. Their voices were like bees in my ears, and they lulled me to sleep. I just wanted to sleep now.

"Mulder!" Soft hands on my shoulders now, roughly shaking me awake.

"What?"

"You promised." With two words she made me feel guilty. How the hell did she do it?

Immediately I opened my eyes and looked at her. She didn't look angry, but accusing, as if I had broken a valuable promise towards her. I sighed. "Scully, please. Just let me sleep."

"No. Hang on, Mulder."

The cops and the FBI agents had stopped talking. Davis looked down on me and noticed how lousy I was feeling. I knew they thought I was a goner. But I wouldn't die like this. Not now and not ever. Not while Scully was watching it, and unable to do anything but wipe the blood off my face and keep me warm. I tried to snuggle into her embrace, and was surprised when she left me shift my head a bit, placing her hand on my face.

"I hear something," an agent said and took off towards the entrance of the alley.

Tom and the cop suddenly returned and held up a steel pipe in triumph, pointing at splattered blood and hair on its bent edge, waving the thing towards my partner and his colleague. "Got it," he said.

I was amazed, even from my uncomfortable position to see the weapon. How the hell could I have survived a blow to the head with that thing? Let me sleep, Scully. Let me forget the image of that dead girl on the gurney. I want to forget all about the guilt I feel towards her parents and her sister. I just want to sleep. She wouldn't let me.

- 9 -
November 10
8:45 a.m.

If ever there was a moment of silence in the busy offices of the Violent Crimes Section, it was this morning. Scully and I had both spent a restless night talking at her place, both unable to sleep. I was tired when I dropped her off there, and it took her a while before she asked me if I wanted to come inside for a cup of coffee. I sensed that she needed to talk, so I accepted her invitation. And last night, like so many other nights, I had not wanted to go back to the empty apartment and stare into the darkness I had chosen myself.

She made me a cup of coffee, and sat next to me, dressed now in casual slacks and sweater. She had changed quickly while the kettle was on, and I had sat down on her couch, scanning her room. She had a nice place, and I loved coming here, even though most of the times that I came here, it was because of less positive circumstances.

This night had been no exception. When she sat down, her hands held the cup in a firm grip, and I knew she was warming herself. She had been the one forced to say that the girl was dead, pronouncing her dead on the scene. I had seen the paleness of her face and her blue eyes that had looked shallow as she stared at me. I had touched her hand slightly then, comforting her with a pressure of my fingers. She had grabbed them in gratitude and let go almost instantly. And now we were here and she wanted to talk about it. Or not?

I did not know what to say to her at this time, still coping with the guilt myself, as I did every time when we lost someone that might have been saved. And just like all the other times I knew it would dull soon, being shoved to the back of the mind with all the others senses of guilt that a person carried with him.

"Are you all right, Mulder?" she suddenly asked me, watching my every move as I shifted uncomfortably on the chair.

"Yeah," I said, smiling at her faintly.

I was, in a way. Despite the facts, the trip back to the bureau had done me good. We had sat down - perhaps six or seven of us, in the meeting room, staring quietly in front of us. Davis had been there, Kersh, surprisingly, who had heard what had happened, Tom Fielding, Scully, me and a few other agents. After a while, Skinner had popped in as well, quickly asking us if we were okay. Strangely enough I felt kind of comforted by his concern.
I missed working for Skinner, even though we'd only been assigned to Kersh a few weeks ago. I missed talking to Skinner too, and hearing his rational views on things. But Kersh had been kind tonight, telling us to take the next day off. He knew we wouldn't do that though. There was too much to do and too little time to find Warren before he killed someone else.

After a while, Kersh and Davis left, taking a couple of the agents with them. Tom Fielding, Dana and myself stayed behind. I got out of the chair, and turned towards Fielding, thanking him for his help. Even though we now knew the bomb had not been attached to the wire, I still felt like he had saved my life, and I was thankful. He waved away my gratitude and said goodbye, leaving us in silence. So we left and ended up here, in her apartment, and we didn't say anything for hours. Just sat there, both far gone in our own thoughts.

I don't know when but somewhere along the line I must have fallen asleep on her couch. In the morning, when I woke up with my body covered in a blanket and my jacket, tie and shoes removed from me, I felt like an idiot. Here she was, wanting comfort from me and I had fallen asleep on her. Oh well, at least she was asleep in her own room, hopefully without dreams. And about an hour later, after a shared breakfast and a quick shower, we ended up back at the office. If anyone noticed I was wearing the same suit as last night, they didn't comment on it.

- 10 -
November 12
10:23 p.m.

We heard a car, sirens, noises, footsteps. Then more cars and more noises, and they all blended in the same big puddle of sounds. I was still forcing my eyes open and concentrated on "them" with their tools and equipment, ready to move me to the slaughterhouse. I watched them in their uniforms, blue and white and a terrible orange-colored coat. Drops of rain fell on them. Only now did I realize that I was wet myself, and so was Scully, and so were the others at the scene. Only a few minutes had passed ever since I got hit with the pipe.

There were more cops in the alley now too, and their cars. And there were federal cars as well, and more of our people. I recognized some of them. They came quickly when one of theirs was down, and in a stupid kind of way I felt gratitude for their presence. At least I wasn't alone in my ordeal.

The EMT's were now approaching us and Scully was still holding me, with Tom Fielding glancing over her shoulder. I could hear her voice, explaining quickly and just as efficiently as before what had happened. She was my savior and protector. She would make sure I'd be okay.

"My partner's name is Fox Mulder, but call him Mulder," she told the EMT's taking care of me, and I actually smiled. I wondered how many times doctors, nurses and EMT's had used my first name when I was out, unable to protest. Now I was awake, she knew I would open my mouth and object to any soul who dared to call me "Fox," even when I was down for the count.

"What are his symptoms?" I heard a woman ask.

"Nausea and dizziness, double vision, headaches." She paused a bit and added, "It's bad."

*Thank you for confirming that, Scully,* I thought. *Just don't count me out yet, please.*

"Mr. Mulder," a young EMT said, kneeling besides me. "My name is Erica. Can you tell me how you feel?"

"Worse than that dead cat in the alley reeking up the place," I responded as I tried to concentrate on what she was saying. She smiled, amused. "I need more details, Mr. Mulder."

"Dizzy," I responded honestly, confirming Scully's words. "Nauseated, my head spins, I'm seeing two of you. I feel like crap."

"Do you have any pain somewhere else?"

Yeah, my back hurt too, but I knew that was from lying on the concrete, so I didn't say it. I tried to shake my head no, and was rewarded immediately with a sharp pain to the side of my head. I winced and immediately bit my lip when Scully turned her gaze towards me.

"No," I said out loud. "Just my head."

Erica smiled, assuring me that everything would be fine. She rummaged through her medical bag and shifted an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. I didn't protest, since it helped me breathe easier. I relaxed a bit, feeling only now the strain my body had been through. She examined the gash on my forehead, probing it with her gloved hands. Then she put a sterile patch on it, taping it for now to stop the bleeding. I had already been bleeding like hell, even though I had no idea whether or not anyone had attempted to stop it. I knew that head wounds could be either superficial or serious. But they always bled like hell.

When the young woman turned towards her partner, I grabbed her wrist and asked with a weak voice, "When can I sleep?"

"Not yet," she responded. "Just stay awake for a little while longer, until we get you to the hospital, okay?"

"But I'm tired." I knew I sounded like a little kid confessing to her how tired I was, but I couldn't help it. I just wanted to sleep, you know.

Her gaze turned towards her partner again, and I saw the same worried frown that Scully had in her eyes. Okay, so I did hurt my head a little worse this time. Big deal, now let me go to sleep.

"I know you're tired, Mulder," Scully said. "But listen to them. Just stay awake for now, okay?"

I didn't say anything, and tried to concentrate on the other guy, poking my hand and arm for veins in which he could stick his goodies. And yes, bingo! A needle stabbed without warning through the flesh and skin of my left hand, joined by an IV that was going to stay there for a while.

"This is a saline fluid, Agent Mulder," the man said. "We're preventing your body from becoming dehydrated. In the hospital they'll give you medication to help you feel better, okay?"

I didn't say anything, but they knew I had understood them, as fearful as I was at that time. I knew this was part of the job for them, but to me it was the proof that again I had managed to let the bureau pay big time for my stupidity. I closed my eyes, and sighed as they further examined my body, preparing it to be transferred.
Immediately, hands shook my shoulders and arms, and with regret I listened to their voices keeping me awake. They were talking to me, determined to keep me in the land of the living.

"Did he vomit?" The male EMT decided not to bother with me to ask these questions, but instead turned his attention to my partner.

"Yes," Scully responded and I could just imagine her pointing at the tissues with the remains of my lunch.

*Great one, Dana. Stab a guy in the back, why don't you?*

But her voice trembled and she had lost the professional edge to it. I could hear the stress in it. At that exact moment I was more worried about her than about me. I turned my eyes towards Tom, practically begging him to take care of her. I think I knew how she would get if she thought I might be beyond repair. My eyes literally spat out the angst that I felt, and I could only hope he would understand. He did, because he nodded, and assured me silently he would make sure she would get the rest she needed. I smiled in gratitude and then winced when I was lifted up by several people, supporting my head and body. I was being lifted on a gurney, ready for transfer.

Okay, so I didn't get up by myself, but at least I was finally able to leave the cold concrete annoying my sore back. After the straps were placed over my body, they moved me. It took a few of the federal agents as well as the EMT's to lift my nearly unconscious body and to steady my head and neck. With the oxygen mask still over my nose and mouth, and the bag of fluids attached to the IV in the hands of Scully, I was ready to be placed in the ambulance. The boys in blue looked at me, and I saw my fellow colleagues. And Kersh.

When did he arrive ? I could not tell. How the hell did they all get here so fast ? Were they waiting around the corner, knowing I would nearly get myself killed? I was being unfair towards Kersh, I know. The man actually sounded concerned as he walked over swiftly towards the ambulance, and looked at me.

I had trouble focusing on his words, but I remember him saying, "Don't worry, Agent Mulder. You'll be fine."

And I was surprised that his voice could sound as friendly as it did. At times like this, I really did long for Skinner as a boss. At least with him, I knew how to react. Now, I simply nodded and closed my eyes for a few seconds as I felt the gurney slide into the ambulance. Then the doors closed, and I looked around in panic. Scully!
I'd lost her somehow during a few black seconds.

But then her hand was on mine, and she said, "I'm right here, partner."

I didn't speak or utter a sound, but I knew she understood how I felt. How many times had I been sitting next to her, waiting for her to be all right? And how many times had she been sitting next to me, waiting to hear news from my doctors? I moved my hand, and grabbed her wrist, pulling her body and face closer to my mouth.

"What is it?" she said, lifting the oxygen mask from my face.

"Don't sing for me this time, Scully," I croaked. "I might actually fall asleep."

"I wasn't planning to," she smiled, putting the mask back over my face. The pressure of her hand was stronger now, and more firm. I knew she wouldn't let me slip away.

- 11 -
November 10
9:15 a.m.

The meeting room on the second floor of the Federal Building was filled with people from the VCS and other divisions. Terence Davis was once again controlling the meeting, explaining to the ones that weren't there last night what had happened. He assured all of us that we did well, and there had been no way to save the girl, but it still hurt like hell. For all of us.

I glanced around and saw several people looking back at me. I knew not one of them blamed me personally for the death of Valerie Lange, but just like me they were all wondering what would have happened if we had gotten there sooner.

During the night and morning however, I had somewhere along the line come to terms with it all. I had convinced myself that even though we had been there earlier, there would have been no way to save the girl.
Warren had obviously known we would be coming, and had decided to kill her off for a reason unknown to us right now. He was the psycho I had thought he would be, and now all we had to do was catch him. But he had disappeared into the woodwork, probably taking off to wherever his new hideout would be. Somewhere in DC or outside of it, it didn't really matter. He was gone.

"We have the airports and train stations covered," Davis said. "Descriptions of this man have gone out to every law enforcement agent in the area. State patrols are checking the borders. He will not be able to leave. That leaves us with the assurance that this man is still in the area, and we will find him."

"Will he turn into a serial killer?" I heard a man in the back say.

Davis looked at me, and I knew he wanted me to respond to this question. The truth was however that I did not know. But my gut feeling said no. The man had taken too long over the years to develop his angers and fears, and the main thing for him was the drug dealing business.

I got out of my chair, and turned to the man posing the question. "I don't think so," I said. "Warren is primarily a drug dealer. He does not show the signs of a escalating serial killer. I don't believe he will do so in the future either."

"I agree," Davis said, and with a wave of his hand indicated a man I had never seen before. "This is Detective Dixon from D.C.P.D. He is in charge of the unit tracking Jason Warren for drug dealing. We have decided that the police and the FBI will work in unison to catch this man before anybody else gets killed. Detective?"

Dixon rose from his chair and faced us, informing us quickly of Warren's moves. Even though he didn't tell us anything new, he confirmed my suspicion that Warren would not become a serial killer or a mortal threat to young females. He had chosen Valerie Lange because he loved her, not because he needed to kill her. I could just imagine him feeling sad because he had murdered her.

As I looked up again, I saw Davis' eyes lingering on my face, and I wondered when he would pop the question of sticking around for a bit more, to help him catch Warren. And even though I knew my profiling skills would not come in handy on this case anymore, my hands and fingers were itching to get the guy.

- 12 -
November 12
10.35 p.m.

There's one thing that my career at the FBI has confirmed to me. All hospitals look the same. Sure, they might paint their rooms in a different color and use other fabrics for their bed sheets. But at the end they are all the same. They all have the same odor and the same busy feel over them. And they don't have time for you.

Or so I thought.

Actually, I didn't mind hospitals where they leave you pretty much on your own. I mean, what fun is there in people poking your body, testing you for this and that? I'd pretty much prefer to have my own, private room with regular hours for lunch, breakfast and dinner. Have a good rest, a good TV and remote control to play with, and then go home a new man. Not too many questions, not too many people probing around in your insides.

This time however it would turn out completely different, even though I did not know that when the gurney, pushed by the EMT's, came to a stop in an ER cubicle. I heard several voices in the room and a man said, "What have we got here?"

"Severe blow to the head with a steel pipe. Possible severe concussion and fractured skull. FBI agent. Woman over there is his partner and a medical doctor."

I felt the sheets over my body being lifted away, exposing my shivering body, still dressed in my suit. They started removing my coat, jacket, tie and shirt cautiously. My pants were cut off my legs. Damn it. Another bill for the FBI. My head was supported as they took my clothes off me, but the oxygen mask stayed in place, and I could not help but wince at the pain as I tried to shift my body in a more comfortable position.

A weight was lifted off the gurney, and suddenly I could move my legs freely. Then Erica, the EMT who had tended to me in the alley, came in sight and said, "You'll be all right, Agent Mulder. Take care."

Then she was gone, with the medical bag in her right hand that she had lifted off the gurney.. Scully
reappeared in my view. She was somewhere to the right, and if I tried real hard I could see her worried face. I heard voices outside of the room, and tried to turn my head to see who it was. They wouldn't let me. It was kept firmly in place, while they probed the gash on my face. Again I winced and coughed, trying to fight the nausea.
The oxygen mask finally came off, and now they were checking my vitals again, asking me questions.

"Do you feel dizzy? How many fingers am I holding up? Can you tell us how old you are? Do you know who the president is?"

I wanted to answer that last question with a smart remark but decided not to. I figured that I was either too tired to do so, or they would become too worried when I did.

"Mr. Mulder," the same male voice said as he came into sight. The middle-aged man's heavy black eyebrows were narrowed. "My name is Dr. Short. Can you tell me how you feel?"

"Lousy," I said, swallowing away any quirky remarks. "They won't let me sleep and I need to badly."

"You can sleep later on, after we've done some tests."

He shone a light in my eyes and ordered a round of blood work. Then he ordered several types of medicine, and the next thing I knew his hands were probing the head wound on my temple. I actually yelled, "Shit!" when he touched the sore spot where the pipe had no doubt struck me.

"We need to stitch that up," the doctor said. "We need some x-rays stat and an CT-scan. If there's pressure on the brain, we'll need to go in. His skull doesn't seem fractured but I don't want to take any risks. He vomited, you say?"

This question he posed at Scully, who was not alone in the room anymore. There were other agents there, and Tom was standing close to her. I wondered why they were all there. Were they worried about me? She said something I didn't hear, because I closed my eyes and drifted off. Immediately a sharp voice woke me up again, and I sighed reluctantly and angrily. *Let me sleep, goddammit!*

"Chances are Agent Mulder may need surgery," the doctor said to my partner, basically ignoring me -- just like the cops had in the alley. I really did not like the sound of that. Surgery? Not on your damn life, you're not.
X-rays, sure, I could live with that. I could even live with an IV in my hand for the next three or four days, but no surgery. No one was going to drill a hole in my head. I remembered waking up the last time I had been in this hospital, with a gunshot wound to the head. Then Scully had disappeared and I had to find her while my head was exploding. And I had done so, knowing I could have been too late already.

*Oh God. Scully!* Immediately I raised my head and shoulders, pushing and shoving at the people holding me. Extreme pain shot through my head, and I moaned, refusing to give in. The light in the room caused pain in my eyes, but I refused to give in.

"Hold him down," someone said and I was shoved back onto the table, not unkindly but still firmly.

"Scully!" I shouted her name in panic, and then her hand was in mine and she came into sight again, soothing me as she said, "It's okay, Mulder. I'm right here."

I'm sure she didn't know why I panicked all of a sudden, but she of all people knew how much trauma a head injury could cause. And she was worried. The little exertion had exhausted me, and I slumped back on the pillows, coughing and wheezing. The oxygen mask came back on.

"His temp's up to 102," I heard a woman say. "His eyes are dilated."

"The shock's wearing off," the doctor said. "I need those X-rays now, people!" the doctor's voice died away as my eyes closed by themselves and my mind drifted off, too.

"Mulder!" A sharp sound in her voice and a touch of my arm woke me again. I concentrated on her as they continued their torture. *Don't sleep, Mulder. If you do, you'll lose her. Concentrate on her and you'll be okay. You can do it.*

"Transfer him to X-ray, they're waiting for him." The doctor's voice was the last thing I heard in the ER. The next second the bed was moving, and for one long second I thought they were simply going to move me to an operating room to drill that hole in my head and I would never wake up again.

"Scully!" my voice croaked as my hand sought hers.

"I'm here. I'm going with you." She grabbed my fingers and didn't let go. I wanted to make her promise not to leave me alone, but I knew she didn't have to make that promise. She would not leave my sight.

- 12 -
November 3
2:45 p.m.

If I had any fear about A.D. Kersh standing in our way when Davis requested us to stay on the case, there was no need. In fact, Kersh was the one supporting us on this, telling me straight in the face that the VCS would be helped if I were to donate my time and efforts to the cause. I remember standing in Kersh's office, looking stunned that the man could actually utter a kind word on my behalf.

I'm pretty sure Scully was just as surprised but she showed it less than I did. As we left, I could feel the man's eyes pierce in my back, and I wondered when we would be able to get some sort of grip on the man. When we walked back to the VCS however, I was pretty sure he only granted his permission to get us out of his hair for a while. For what purpose or cause I did not know. Perhaps this was his way of making sure neither Scully or me would be spending time looking into the supernatural -- or the conspiracy. After all, if he knew me just a bit, he would also know that I would not be content with the course we were taking right now.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Hmm?" I looked aside at my partner who watched me as we quietly made our retreat towards Davis' office.
"Yeah," I smiled, assuring her that all was well. Little did she know about the thoughts that had been running through my head lately, actually considering the fact that I might take up Davis' outstanding offer to return to the VCS. However, when I did that, I knew there would come an end to our working relationship and that was one thing I did not wish to sacrifice. Even though Scully was a brilliant doctor with a sharp and stunning mind, she was not a profiler. She would not fit into the team and she would not be able to put her finger on the suspect as the agents there were trained to do. And frankly, I did not want her to do it either. The Violent Crime Section was one part of the bureau I most definitely would not advise anyone to work.

Then why did I do it myself? Fairly simple, I suppose. If the X-Files were out of my hands and
non-returnable, I would have to find a way to make myself useful again within the bureau, and to create the new relationships I needed to get back what I wanted. By working in the VCS I could distinguish myself and get back in the good books with the guys on the top floor. I knew they were watching me. I knew that black-lunged son of a bitch was there as well. If I wanted something done, I would have to work hard to get it, and that was what I wanted to do. Either working for the VCS or another place where I could show them that I was back on track.
And then, when the time was right, I might be able to retrieve the past, and find out what I needed to know about the colonization of the alien races. Because, just as surely as I knew I was standing here breathing fresh air into my lungs, I was just as sure that the time was near, and that it wouldn't be too long before it would be too late.
No matter what I had to do, no matter what I had to sacrifice to get the X-Files back, that's what I had to do.

"Mulder, if you weren't walking here next to me, I would almost think you were dead," my partner said,
pushing the elevator button. I looked at her and noticed for the first time since long a smile on her face. I could not remember seeing her smiling ever since they closed down the X-Files. Immediately I felt guilty. Why could I not get past the idea that the truth was only my quest? She had voluntarily stepped into it and stuck with it for years. How could I ever push her aside and forget she was also entangled in it all? And how could I ever tell her how far I would go to get back what we had lost ?

"I'm sorry," I said, "I was thinking about that girl, wondering. Has an autopsy been performed yet?"

"Yes." Scully opened the file she had been holding in her hand ever since we walked to and from Kersh's office. She flipped through it, until she found the autopsy report. The elevator doors opened and we got in, while she read the cause of death to me. "She died of an OD. There were signs of struggle all over her body. She was probably forced to eat the drugs. She died within an hour after ingestion."

"Would we have been able to save her if we'd gotten there earlier?"

"No." She looked me in the eye. "She was given too much to survive, Mulder. Even if we had been able to keep her heart pumping, she would have died from brain tissue damage. No human being could have survived that amount of drugs. She'd never taken anything in her life. She couldn't sustain it even if she had."

"Scully, bear with me for a second here. What if Warren wanted her to become him? Remember I told you he became a drug addict at the age of 18? Valerie Lange was 18 years old as well. Richie told us Warren didn't have any friends or anyone to trust. Perhaps, by forcing Valerie to become a drug addict, he thought he'd have someone to confide in, someone he could trust."

"So by recapturing his own past, he wanted to create a friend?" she asked. "That doesn't make any sense, Mulder. "Why her? He didn't know her!"

"Perhaps that's why he felt he could trust her. If he had chosen one of his followers, one of the gang, as his confidante, he would have caused a war among them."

"But then why kill her?"

"Because he loved her. You know what I told you about him. He's a man that destroys what he can't have. So when he learned that we were on to him, he knew he couldn't take her with him, knowing it would be too dangerous. So he killed her. He probably regretted the fact he had taken her in the first place. Perhaps some twisted sense of guilt crept up on him, and he simply wanted to get rid of it by killing her."

She looked at me for a long time, then shaking her head. "What if he wants to find another new best friend? Who would he take?"

"I don't believe he will. But in order to find out for sure, we're going to have to talk to Richie again."

"Okay," she agreed. After all, Richie was our only chance.

- 13 -
November 12
11:15 p.m.

The CT-scan seemed to take forever. I was lifted from the gurney onto a table, which then moved into some sort of tunnel. Several times I saw a light circling my head, and it hurt to stare at it. I was wide awake now, hating every second of it. My head was about to burst, and I clenched my teeth not to scream against the pain I felt every time I barely moved. The x-rays had already been taken and were sent back to the ER. I could only hope they would know what they wanted to know as soon as they were done here. I was tired of this hospital already. I was tired when the table finally moved again and I was out of the tunnel. I wanted to get up by myself and lie down on the gurney again, but before I could move I was already lifted and removed. Then a few blankets were laid over my body, and I made an attempt to shove them aside; they were too warm. God, why the hell was it so warm in here anyhow? I felt my skin burning.

"You okay, Mulder?" my partner asked me as she grabbed my hand and waited for me to be moved again.

"Yeah," I said, hearing the sound of my own croaking voice. "When can I sleep?"

"Not yet," she said soothingly, knowing how much I longed for it.

The gurney started moving again and we went back to the ER, where the same cubicle was waiting for us. Immediately the buzzing started again, and they were all over me again. For a moment there I almost savored the peace and quiet of before. I waited patiently while an intern patched up the gash on my head, assuring me it would heal nicely. One nurse helped him, while another one was taking my vitals.

"Temp's gone up to 102.5," I heard her say. The doctor frowned. I was too much out of it to say something coherent. I just let it happen.

They were discussing the X-rays and CT results behind me. I could hear Scully's voice when she asked Dr. Short the questions she needed answers for. They were using expressions and words I didn't understand when I was lucid, let alone when I was out of it. But through the glass I could see my fellow colleagues still standing there, and Tom was watching me, smiling at me as I went through the ordeal of being examined and probed on all sides.

When the gash on my head was patched up finally, the doctor smiled at me and said he'd be back soon to check up on me. He left the room and I wondered since when they had doctors so young working on people in the ER. The nurses were cleaning up the mess, and I felt kind of helpless, lying on that gurney. Then finally, a bed was brought into the room, and they transferred me carefully to it, actually making things much more comfortable for me. At my own request I got another pillow, supporting my neck and the base of my head. The dizziness was somewhat forced back now, but the pain still lingered as a continuing distress. When I moaned, I got Scully's attention.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Hurts." I didn't say much but it was enough for her and she turned towards my doctor. "Are you giving him something yet?"

"Yes, we have him on antibiotics for the healing of that gash. He's on analgesic painkillers as well but we can't risk anything stronger until tomorrow night, because of the concussion. He'll be in some discomfort but he'll be okay."

"Excuse me," I croaked, getting Short's attention finally. "I'm in this room too, you know."

For a moment there I thought Short was going to kick my ass for getting him to talk to me, but then he smiled apologetically and said, "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder. I'm just not used to people in this room with a medical degree. I was just explaining to Agent Scully that I have good and bad news for you."

Now he really got my attention. I stared at him, focusing on his face and mouth as it spoke. I shifted in the bed, feeling a bit more comfortable in the bed, ready to be transferred, no doubt.

"Oh boy," I said, figuring they were waiting for an answer from me. At the same time I was trying to figure out whether or not this guy had lost his bedside manners during or after his medical training.

"The good news is you don't need surgery. You've had a pretty heavy blow to the head but it will heal itself with rest and the necessary medication. Fortunately you don't have a fractured skull. The pain you are feeling right now is because of pressure on your brain, but that should reside with plenty of rest and medical care."

"So what's the bad news then?" I asked carefully, preparing myself for the worst.

"You'll be in here longer than you might think right now. Even though your skull did not crack, your brain did suffer a pretty heavy blow, and without the proper care and rest, you will suffer from headaches for a long time, or worse. By keeping you here for four or five days, your body will heal properly and completely. Your partner
has told me you are usually up and about in no time, but in this case you will be forced to remain flat on your back for quite some time. You won't be fit for duty for at least a month."

"A month?" I said, repeating the words as if it sounded like an eternity. A month off duty. Jesus. How the hell was I going to survive that? Five days in this hospital? Even worse. It sounded like forever.

"Yes, a month."

"But once the pressure is relieved from the brain, I'll feel fine," I said hopefully. "So why that long?"

"You are in bad shape, Agent Mulder. You might not realize it, but you are dehydrated and undernourished. The blow to your head couldn't have come at a worse time. Whatever case you were working on, it got you distressed and worried, and this is not helping things. You haven't slept in days, that much is obvious. I'm sure you haven't eaten much of anything either. Your partner has told me you always get like that once you're involved in a tough case, and usually I'd say that wouldn't be that much of a problem. However, getting knocked in the head with a steel pipe is not exactly a picnic, and you are a very lucky man right now that you are able to be here and talk to me."

"If you're trying to scare me, you're doing a good job," I said quietly, not ready to argue with this man.

"I'm only telling you this to make sure you are getting the picture, Agent Mulder. I don't want you up and about in two days, going after your suspect. There are plenty of agents out there, and they will find him. Right now you have to concentrate on healing. All the rest does not matter."

I looked at Scully, wondering why she was so quiet. I could still see the distress in her eyes, and came to the conclusion that Short had scared her too. Why else would she be so silent?

I sighed, deciding that for now I would do whatever I was told. I was too tired to discuss matters, and too eager to fall asleep. "So, can I sleep now?" I asked eagerly.

"Soon," the doctor said. "You'll be transferred to the ICU for the night. You will be monitored closely, to make sure there isn't any internal bleeding to your head. It's just a precaution, but we want to keep waking you during the night, in order to make sure your body doesn't involuntarily slip into a coma. Do you understand why?"

"I suppose it's some sort of natural defense. A way for the body to heal," I said, really not knowing what I was talking about.

The doctor nodded as if I had said something very interesting and intelligent, and agreed. "Right. You are allowed to sleep, but you will be awakened every hour to make sure you do not fall in a deep sleep. In the morning, when all goes well, we'll transfer you to Intermediate care, and then eventually to a private room where you can rest."

"Okay." I tried to nod my head, rewarded with a wincing pain to the left side. I had to learn to answer instead of moving my head. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to look away from the light in the room. There was still a lot of noise outside, and I was eager to be somewhere more quiet, where I could get some rest, even if I wasn't allowed to sleep through the night
.
"Thank you, Dr. Short," Scully said, shaking his hand. A nurse entered the room and added something to the IV, attached to my hand. She was a brunette, in her early thirties, I think. She smiled reassuringly as she patted my hand when she was finished. "I've given you some painkillers," she said. "You'll feel better in no time, Agent Mulder."

"Thanks," I said, not really knowing whether or not I should talk to her. She was already gone, and the room was slowly emptying.

For a few moments I had nothing better to do than to stare at the ceiling, and decided to concentrate on that to stay awake. Sure, if they didn't want me to sleep now, I'd have to force myself to stay awake for as long as it took.
Afterwards, I would be grateful that I had held on. Suddenly the bed started moving, and I closed my eyes as the ceiling started coming at me.

I heard noises and several voices, and someone said, "Hey, Mulder, how ya feelin'?" I looked up to see Tom Fielding walking besides the bed. I smiled reassuringly, and then all of it just turned black, and I passed out in the middle of the hallway, on my way up to the Intensive Care Unit, with Scully shouting my name.

- 14 -
November 10
5:15 p.m.

Richie was full of himself when we entered the room he was being kept in. He had heard all about it of course, because we told him about it. He actually looked content when we told him Jason Warren had escaped. He smiled as if he had already known.

"So the girl is dead," he said with a grin. "Thought so. Stupid of Jason to kidnap her really, don't know why he did it. Wasn't like him."

I leaned against the wall watching Fielding and Davis putting the wringer on him, but he didn't budge. I stood there quietly, scanning Richie's every move. Suddenly it occurred to me this man had wanted to get caught.
He had willfully let himself being arrested for God knows what reason. I remembered every detail from his file. A low-time thief with no big track-record. Got enlisted by Warren three years ago, and moved into the warehouse.
Got busted once for stealing a wallet on the streets. Then got released again after a couple of months of jail. Only yesterday he confessed to participating in murdering the lawyer. He had requested to cut a deal. Warren for him.
They had wanted Warren.

Everybody knew a big deal was coming up soon, and they needed Richie to set it up for them, to tell them where he would be. And then they would get Warren, and perhaps cut Richie a deal for ten years instead of death row. It sucked. I moved from the wall and sat down quietly on a chair, watching Richie He seemed pretty uncomfortable with my moves and looked back at me, as if to ask me what the hell I wanted with him. But I didn't say anything, until Davis had quit talking.

"Warren got what you wanted, didn't he, Richie?" I asked leaning slightly forward.

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted that chair he got, the leader of the gang. You hate him for what he was in the past, don't you? He was a bright student, a jock, a big man on campus, and you were pond scum all of your life. Your mother kicked you out on the streets and you ended up stealing wallets to survive, didn't you? Where did you sleep before you met Warren, Richie?"

Richie's lip trembled as if he hadn't expected me to start talking about his past just like that. "None of your business,' he quivered, and I knew we were winning. The best way to perform psychology is to crawl inside the subject's head with the fierce determination that you will find in there all the answers you need. This man - this boy -- was no exception to the rule. Some of them were so predictable. So was he.

"Did your mother love you, Richie? Did she ever tell you how much she cared for you? Valerie Lange's mother did. She won't ever get that chance anymore because Jason Warren killed her. Do you want your mother to get that message one day? That you've died on the streets without her being able to help you ? I know your mother doesn't hate you, Richie. She kicked you out because you screwed up. But she's sorry, just as you are. Do you want Corinne Lange to feel that way, Richie?"

"I don't know that woman. She's got nothing to do with me. I got nothing to do with her. Her problems are not my concern."

"I know that. I know you only want to rat on Warren to get what he has right now. But whatever reasons you have for helping us, we need more help from you right now. So tell us about the deal he's going to make. Is he still selling his current supply or will he have to score more?"

Richie stared at his hands for a long time, and I listened to the silence in the room. I didn't dare glance aside to the others, knowing they were waiting just as tensely as me for an answer from this man. I didn't dare think I was screwing up things right now by using reverse psychology on this man.

Then he suddenly looked up and said, "First the deal, then we'll talk."

"It has already been arranged," Davis said, backing me up. "You'll get time in a minimum security facility for five years. That's the best we can do. Otherwise ... well, you have confessed to the murder of the lawyer. We have it on tape. It will pass through a jury and they'll send you to the chair. Even if you didn't start it, you will go down for it. So this is the best thing you can get. Afterwards you'll be helped to start a new life for yourself."

"Two years."

"No deal." I stared at Davis' strict face as he refused the proposal.

Richie's despair was obvious as he stared at me. "I won't survive those five years. He has friends everywhere."

"You'll be safe," I assured him. "We'll make sure he doesn't know where you are. Your name and records can be changed. But five years is our last offer. If not, you'll never make it through another day. It's like you said, Richie. He has friends everywhere. No deal and you'll be dead before you know it."

The kid's eyes wildly scanned the room and rested on the mirror. "Okay."

His agreement came as a surprise to all of us, I think. I heard a sigh of relief and released only then that it was coming from myself. "Start talking, Richie," I said hoarsely.

- 15 -
November 13
1:05 p.m.

The first thing I heard before opening my eyes, was the sound of a monitor checking my heart. Then, other sounds added to the scenery, immediately confirming to me that it hadn't been a dream. Everything that had happened during the night had been real. Darkness, the alley, the steel pipe, the gun, the ER, the people, and then the darkness again. I was surprised it had even taken that long before my body decided to falter on me. Despite my promises to myself and my partner, I had not been able to stay awake. I had passed out in the hallway, talking to Tom Fielding, scaring the shit out of Scully. And the truth was I didn't even care. The dull pain in the side of my head had come back as soon as I started listening to the sounds. A living hell.

I heard soft voices in the room, and listened to them, taking my attention away from the beeping monitors. Something was attached to my face. A cannula guiding oxygen into my nose. I could feel the slight discomfort as the tube was attached to my nose. Something else underneath the sheets. God, I thought, remembering the moment they had put in the catheter, thankfully closing the curtains in the ER as they did so. I hate those things.
But right now even that did not matter too much. I knew that from the moment I would open my eyes, they would be all over me again, and right now I just relished the moments of peace and quiet. And the voices that were in the room.

"I don't understand why he passed out like that," the male voice said, clearly in distress.

"It's okay, Tom," the woman assured him. I identified her immediately as my partner, picking out her voice out of millions. "Mulder was just tired, that's all. His body could no longer fight off the pain. It's a natural defense. He'll be all right though. Dr. Short told me it will be only a matter of time before he regains consciousness."

"I thought he wasn't supposed to sleep? Isn't this a bad sign?"

"If he remains unconscious, they'll have to go in to relieve the brain from the swelling. However, they have reason to believe that won't be necessary. Mulder will be okay."

"But you were worried about him too."

"Of course I was. I still am. Right now there's nothing we can do but wait. I've seen Mulder in worse
condition than this. He'll be fine."

The man sighed. "I wish I could be so sure as you, Dana." Then a moment of silence and he continued, "You look tired. I wish you would get some sleep."

"No, I'm going to wait here until he wakes up. Then I'll have a quick nap. I'll be fine."

"You know he wanted me to take care of you?"

"Oh?" Her voice sounded surprised. "I don't understand."

"I could tell. In the alley. He was more worried about you than about himself. He didn't have to say anything, but he wanted me to take care of you."

I heard the sound of chairs being moved. The voices sounded a bit further away now. Then they continued.

"I'm not sure when you became a friend of ours, Tom," she said, "but I am thankful for your presence here. I wish there was a way to thank you for being here and for sticking around. I'm not used to having company in Mulder's hospital room. Except for Skinner of course." She laughed quietly.

"I like you two," he said. "I liked Mulder before I even met him." A pause. "It may sound silly, Dana, but he was a hero of mine when I started out in the VCS. Davis told me all these stories about him, and then I read his file. I was sorry when he left for the X-Files, but I understand as well. It must have been difficult having a sister disappear just like that. I know I'm just a new agent, a rookie still, and I need to learn a lot, but Davis has told me that I have a natural talent of profiling and figuring out people. I want to use that in a manner that will help the bureau, and I want to learn from Mulder. Even though he's still officially off the VCS, just by looking at the way his mind works, I can learn and develop my own technique. Sounds cocky and selfish, doesn't it?"

"No, not really," she responded. "I know Mulder well enough to know he'd be flattered and happy to help you wherever he can. But he won't return to the VCS, Tom. We are on regular assignment right now, but I know he'll do anything to get the X-Files back. If he doesn't, he'll simply stop existing, I know that for a fact."

A pause again. "Then why has he been talking to Davis about returning to the VCS?"

A silence. I held my breath for a moment, cursing myself for not telling her. I knew she would be surprised and shocked and out of words now. *Damn it. I should have told her myself. Now she had to hear it from someone else she might not even trust completely yet.*

"I didn't know," she said. "But I understand."

"Oh?"

"Mulder has lost too much. He needs something to hold onto. If he wants to go back to the VCS, I'll support him. He's amazing at what he does, and he'll be amazing when he returns."

"But you'll be split up if he does."

"No." Her voice sounded firm. "If he goes to the VCS, I'll join him. I'm sure they could use a forensic
pathologist there." The chair creaked as she got out of it and walked towards the bed. Now was the time to open my eyes and tell her that I had heard the conversation. But it was so hard. *Oh God, Scully,* I thought. Since when had I started caring so much for you? I moaned slightly and forced my eyes to open, staring straight into hers. She smiled gratefully, genuinely happy that I had regained consciousness. Her hand touched the buzzer before turning her complete attention towards me. Her hand touched mine while the other one rested on my cheek, touching the corner of my mouth.

"Hey," she said, giving me an even bigger smile now. "Welcome back."

"What time is it?" I croaked, deciding for now not to let her know I had heard their conversation.

"After 1. You gave us quite a scare."

"I'm sorry."

I shifted and my eyes scanned the room. I was in an ICU cubicle, with only blue curtains giving me a bit of privacy. The monitors were everywhere. I felt like a test subject. A nurse entered the cubicle, and smiled just like my partner when she approached the bed.

"Glad to see you awake, Mr. Mulder. How do you feel?"

"Okay," I said, ignoring the pain in my head.

She checked my vitals, confirming the fact the fever had gone down a bit. My heart apparently was beating rather fast, but everything else seemed to be satisfying. She injected something in the IV and left the room, leaving us alone. I knew she would be back soon. Tom Fielding came closer now. He had waited obviously until Scully had talked to me, and gave me a quick hello. I thanked him for staying with Scully, and with me of course. He nodded and left us alone.

Scully's hands played with the blankets on the bed, as she said, "You heard, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I looked her straight in the eye. "Because my reasons were wrong."

"No they weren't."

"I can't explain it to you, Scully," I sighed. "It's just so difficult -- all of it."

"No." She placed her fingers on my lips, stopping me from talking. "I know why you want to go back, and if it's the only way to get back what you want, then you should do it. But it won't be, Mulder. Kersh nor anybody else can stop you from getting the X-Files back, but you need to have faith in it. I believe that you will find what you want and need soon. But have faith."

I looked at her in amazement, realizing she had sensed and known all along. She knew me better than I knew myself. And again I felt gratitude for having her at my side. For being strong when I wasn't able to. What a blow with a metal pipe could do for a man!

"Now tell me," she said. "How do you feel?"

I wanted to open my mouth and tell her I was fine, but one glare from her told me I shouldn't even bother.
"Like shit," I said. "My back and legs are sore, my neck and head are killing me and I feel dizzy every time I even think about moving. How's that?"

"Honest," she laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Do I really have to stay here the night?"

"Yes, you do," she said patiently. "Do you still have double vision?"

"No."

"Good. That's a good sign. You were lucky, Mulder. You could have slipped into a coma."

"But I didn't. No what ifs please."

She smiled. "Okay. Prepare to wake up several times tonight though. Every time you fall asleep, they'll come in here and wake you up again. No taking chances."

"Great. How long before I can get some decent sleep?"

She glanced at her watch. "Seven hours or so. Early morning, I should say."

"Wonderful," I grumped again, shifting uncomfortably on my sore back.

"Do you want to lie on your side?"

"Yeah."

She helped me as we moved my body to the side, giving me the chance to rest in a more sufficient way.
"Thanks," I said, taking a good look at her. "You look tired. Why don't you go home?"

"I'm going to stay here for the night," she said, avoiding my concern for her. "Got no better place to go."

I smiled, even though I knew I should be scolding her. She was just as stubborn as I was. If she wanted to stay, she would stay.

She stretched her legs, and shoved the chair closer to the bed, so she could rest her head on it if she got tired. She didn't however, but her hands were playing with the IV line attached to my hand. I could see her fingers linger there, and I wondered when she would ever start to talk about that kiss in my hallway. I wasn't sure if she ever would, and I had promised myself after we had returned from the ice, that I would leave it up to her.
Hospitals were not a good place to confess things to people. Afterwards, when the ill party returned to the living, words were sometimes taken back and ignored. I didn't want that to happen between us. In fact, I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen.

Suddenly, I gave her a goofy grin. She looked up, and the troubled stare in her eyes was replaced by a questioning one.

"What?" she asked cautiously, as if she had done something wrong.

"Nothing."

"Come on, Mulder. Tell me what you're thinking."

My right hand instinctively stretched out and touched the collar of her blouse. She had removed her jacket in the ER, because my blood was on it. I had seen her put it in a plastic bag and shove it aside impatiently, as if she didn't want to be reminded of the fact I might have died in that alley.

"I was wondering how your twin would have been dressed," I said.

"I'm glad I don't have a twin," she answered. "I already have trouble enough with myself."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Could you live with two guys like me?"

She smiled seductively, leaned forward and whispered, "You'd both be like putty in my hands."

"Amazing," I said out loud, and this time I actually laughed, wincing as the pain rewarded me for it.

- 16 -
November 11
7:15 p.m.

Another late night at the office but since I didn't really have a place to go to, I didn't mind. Scully on the other hand looked extremely tired, and I was thinking about sending her home to get some rest. I knew that as long we were around, she would be around too, determined to prove to the outside world that she was just as strong as anyone. I knew she was, she had proven that to me over and over again. We sat down in the meeting room again, listening to Dixon's monotone explanation about the information he had gathered on the drug deal our friend Jason Warren was planning.

"Seems that Warren is planning on hitting the jackpot," Dixon explained, rummaging through the file. He turned off the lights in the room and showed us slides on a man none of us had ever seen before. "This is Tony Smith, age 45, and big-time drug dealer. The man usually stays away from our capital but he has been spotted in the area for the past couple of days. Rumor has it he is in for a huge deal, one which will bring kilos of dope on the streets. Seems our boy might be involved with him."

"How would he get the money for a deal like this?" Fielding asked. "I thought Warren was a small-time dealer?"

"He has been stacking up the cash for this deal, knowing it would change everything for him," Dixon
responded. "This would make sense of course. In a deal like this, Warren would earn a rough $150,000 or more. If he wants to become a big-time dealer, he needs a deal like this to prove himself."

"So he's moving up the ranks," I said, remembering the information I had read in his files.

The boy had gone from a brilliant high school kid to a drug user, to a drug dealer. He would not be satisfied with staying low. If I had him profiled correctly, he would move on. Or quit while he was ahead. Either way, Warren would be capable of turning a lot of kid's lives into a living hell, just like his had been for quite some time now.

"Agent Mulder," Dixon said turning towards me. "Since you have a knack for profiling wackos and killers, how about helping us out here? What's Warren going to do?"

"My guess is you're right," I said. "Warren is involved in this deal, but the real reasons behind it are known only to him. He won't tell anyone about it. Richie has confirmed to us that Warren was dividing the gang deliberately, and he'll probably leave the country as soon as this deal has been made. My guess is he wants to quit the business and start all over again. Either that, or he's moving on to become a name in the drug business. I doubt the last possibility though. $150,000 is not big money for them. But for someone who wants to start a new life abroad, it could make a world of difference."

"So our boy's leaving town," Dixon said. "That means we only have a few days left to track down this scum."

"Do we have a time and place on the deal?" Scully asked.

"If Richie's not screwing around with us, the deal is set for tomorrow night, near the warehouse the gang was staying at. Rumors are they'll use the Marron Hotel on M. It would be a perfect setup for an ongoing deal. No one would suspect it in a class hotel like that."

"So all we have to do is be there," I said. "And catch the guy."

"That's right. Piece of cake."

I looked at Dixon and decided his years of practice and experience would be working against him here.
Somewhere deep inside, my gut told this would be no trip to the forest. In fact, it would become much more of a problem than anyone of us expected it to be.

- 17 -
November 13
3:05 a.m.

"Mr. Mulder. Agent Mulder, can you hear me?"

"Hmm?" Somewhere in the back of my head my mind was screaming not to listen to the voice that whispered in my ear. I wanted to turn and sleep on, but the voice was determined to wake me up.

"Open your eyes, Mr. Mulder."

I obeyed the voice and stared into the smiling face of an Afro-American woman, dressed in white. It took me a while to recapture where or when I was, but the beeping of the monitor immediately affirmed my worst fears. I was still in the ICU. And they still wouldn't let me sleep properly. Strange, isn't it, for an insomniac like myself to be wanting to sleep?

"Whazzup?" I groaned, trying to shift in the bed.

"I need to check up on you. How do you feel?"

A very small light was burning above my head, hurting my eyes, and I remembered what had happened to me. She started taking my temperature and pulse, and didn't even listen to me when I said, "I'm tired."

"Good, you're doing great. Your temperature is still high but steady. Go back to sleep now."

When I closed my eyes again, I wondered where Scully was. Perhaps she had taken my advice and gone to sleep. I was too tired to care right now.

- 18 -
November 11
9:15 p.m.

I shifted restlessly on the couch in Terence Davis' office, wondering whether to go home. I didn't feel like it though, not before I had a talk with Davis about my future. I knew that I had to gather my wits to do so, and to make sure I discussed things in a manner that was obvious for both him and me. Scully had left. I had practically sent her home, telling her I wanted to wrap things up before going home myself. This morning we had taken two cars, knowing that I would stay behind to talk to my former boss. I knew I was skating on thin ice here. If I said or did something wrong, I might be in a worse spot than I was right now, but I knew I had to do something, unable to let things pass as they were right now.

While I sat there on that couch, thinking about my future, I realized that things had gotten worse than ever before. Sure, I had developed a new faith in my believes and abilities when lying on that ice, seeing the ship pass us. Sure, I had Scully still around me, being my partner -- stronger and more trustworthy than ever. But what else was there? No basement office. Burnt files, like scattered leaves in the wind. Nothing to look forward to, nothing interesting to work on. A boss that I knew would work against us, even if he made an effort to hide it from us.
Without the knowledge that the X-Files would be returned to us soon, I wasn't sure I wanted to stay at the bureau, to face the humiliation and frustration of being forced out of my own office, and to watch with empty hands as my enemies took over.

I might as well start anew using my forces and experience on the outside. I wouldn't starve without the bureau's income. My dad had left me plenty for a lifetime, knowing instinctively that one day I might need that money. The apartment was mine, as was the summer house. I would be okay on my own. But the question was, could I face it? And could I persuade Scully to come with me? I knew I could not. So there was other way for me to go than find another division within the bureau to help me get what I wanted. And that meant sucking up to Davis for now, and talking him into giving me back my old job.

I remember, a couple of weeks ago, before we were forced to leave the X-Files in the hands of others, that Davis had come up to me, asking me to rejoin his forces. Then I had refused, not knowing how things would turn out. Perhaps now the time had come to take up on that offer. Davis entered his office and looked at me, not even surprised that I was there. I saw him turn his head, looking into the offices of the VCS. There were people still working there. He closed his door and the blinds, leaving us alone in privacy. He sat down next to me on the couch and we did not speak for quite some time. I knew he was watching me, waiting for me to make the first move.

"You're not happy, are you?" he said eventually, knowing that I would have to talk about this.

"No."

"I heard about what happened. What are you going to do without your files?"

"I'm not sure." I turned towards him. "The files are not the biggest problem. The problem is that I don't trust Kersh or myself anymore. I want to quit the bureau."

"Don't."

"What's there left for me in here?"

"A lot, Mulder." He got up from the couch, and poured me some coffee. It wasn't even warm anymore, but I drank it anyway, wrapping my hands around it as if it could keep me warm. "You still have your partner, and your abilities. Why give that up? You're a good asset to the bureau."

"I'm the laughing stock of the bureau."

"Not anymore."

I looked at him surprised, as he continued, "Mulder, years ago people were laughing at the thought of alien life. But things have changed. Committees and conventions have been established to discuss the possibility. The rock from Mars containing the life form you yourself investigated have proven that there are more things possible than anyone could ever imagine. We've all seen and experienced things that we don't know how to deal with. The only difference is that you face them, and we don't. You have friends in the FBI, Mulder. More than you might realize. Even though things might seem gloomy for you now, they will get better. Believe me, I've been there."

"So, what are you saying?" I asked, "that I shouldn't give up?"

"Right. And you shouldn't come to me either to return to the VCS. Your heart's not in it."

"I don't understand, Terry. A couple of weeks ago you asked me to return, and I refused. Now I've come here to ask you and..."

"No." He stopped me before I could continue. "You didn't come here to ask your job back. You came here because you needed someone to talk to besides your partner. You're afraid that by returning to the VCS, you'll be separated from her. Don't be, Mulder." He smiled. "I have a feeling that within a couple of weeks things will look out better for you. But right now you have to swallow your fears and pride and take whatever is coming to you. You might not know it, but even now they are watching your every move. Don't give them the satisfaction of pushing you back into the bureau's mainstream. If you do, they'll have won and the game is over. Is that what you want?"

I watched him in amazement, then said, "I've seen things, Terry. I know things. We're all in terrible danger and there's nothing I can do about it."

Danger is something we make for ourselves, Fox." I was shocked and surprised when he used my first name, something he had never done before. His words rang like bells in my ears, pounding against my brain like something out of a dream. And I knew that by coming to him and talking to him, he was confirming what I had already known. I would never leave the bureau and never do what they wanted me to do. Years of experience and training, and denial and covering up of evidence, had strengthened me into someone that was more dangerous for them now than they had expected. I had become what my father had wanted me to be, his only hope that I would uncover the truth, even if it were to kill me.

"Mulder?" He touched my arm slightly, shaking me out of my thoughts. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes," I said hoarsely, swallowing the last bits of anger and fear I had for my own future, and Scully's. "Thanks, Terry."

He smiled, and simply returned to his chair, sitting down in it and ignoring me. As I left his office, I bumped into Tom Fielding, whose eyes did not reveal the surprise when he saw me.

"You okay, Mulder?" he asked.

"Never better." I said goodbye and left the office.

- 19 -
November 13
5:45 a.m.

"Mulder." Strong hands were shaking me. "Mulder, open your eyes."

*Oh, man, not again!* I thought, forcing away the anger of being waken up again.

"Leave me alone," I groaned, shoving at the hands touching my arm. Fingers opened my eyelids, and I was forced to glance at the woman leaning over the bed. It was Scully. All the lights were on in the room. They were blinding me. I instinctively put my hand over my eyes, trying to push her away. I was rewarded with a series of sharp pains, and winced at them. I felt numb and warm. Very warm.

"It's too hot in here."

"I know, Mulder." She rested her hand on my forehead, and turned towards the others in the room I hadn't seen before. "He's burning up. What's his temperature?"

"103, it's gone up again."

"That shouldn't be happening," she said, angry.

Dr. Short was on the other side of the bed, holding my wrist and checking my pulse. He frowned as he looked at me. I was really warm now, trying to push the blankets away with my other hand, forcing the IV-tube to go with the flow.

"Easy, Mulder," Scully said, forcing me to stay still. "You've got a bad fever, that's why you're feeling like this. You'll be fine as soon as we get it down."

"I want a cooling blanket in here stat," Short said. "We need his temperature to go down immediately."

He touched my swollen head, probing the sore spots with his fingers. Even through the bandages I could feel the pressure from them, and I winced. He turned to Scully, saying, "He isn't responding as well as I would like, but right now there is not much I can do. If the swelling isn't down in the next few hours, we'll need to go in."

I didn't care what he was saying. All I wanted to do is go back to sleep. Only there I could forget everything and sleep into peaceful oblivion. My throat felt sore and numb, but that was the least of my concerns. Just wanted to sleep.

Dr. Short looked down at me. "Mr. Mulder, we're going to use another type of medication to get the fever down. You'll be all right soon."

A few seconds later the blankets were pulled off the bed and I was being put under a cooling blanket. I felt a difference immediately as my body started to cool down. But my face and head felt heavy and warm, and I turned to Scully and asked, "Why the hell do I feel this crappy? I thought this was only a concussion."

"I don't know, Mulder," she said. "I just don't know."

I felt agitated and angry in my uncomfortable position, but fell asleep anyway with her hand in mine, knowing that she would still be here when I woke up.

- 20 -
November 12
3:01 a.m.

As I opened the door to the other room, I heard the muffled noises of the girl inside. She was still alive!

"Hey, Scully," I heard myself say, "she's right here."

My partner stood besides me, and lowered her gun. She turned her back towards the girl leaning against the wall with the gun to her head, and said, "I'm tired, Mulder. I'm going home."

I stared at her in despair, and shouted, "but she's still alive!"

"Not for long. She's going to die because you were too late to save her. Because we screwed up."

"But it's not too late! Look at her!"

Scully laughed wildly, and looked me at with pity in her eyes. "Don't you see, Mulder? This is just a dream. In a minute you'll wake up and she'll still be dead. You're only dreaming this because you feel guilty. Because it's your fault that she died!"

"No," I shouted. "She's not dead and this is real. We still have a chance!"

I ran forward towards her, with Scully's laughter ringing in my ears. Then I tripped over the wire, set as a trap for us, falling flat on the floor I stared at it in despair, and then heard a loud ticking from the side of the girl. I stared at her frightened, only to see the wires attached to her body. And then she screamed while it all exploded, and I was sent into oblivion.

I woke up with a shout on my coach, screaming Scully's name. Instantly it all went quiet again, and I
shivered, quickly sliding off the coach, turning on the light next to the computer. It was after 3 a.m. I had barely slept half an hour before dreaming. The TV was still playing. I could hear the voices and sounds in the background. I sat down on the couch, wiping my sweaty face with both hands. My heart was beating like crazy, I felt like crap. The dream had been so vivid that I could almost feel the heat when the bomb exploded in our faces.
And I could recall every moment of it, staring into the girl's blue eyes.

The phone rang, startling me once more. I stared at it for a few moments before picking up.

"Mulder, it's me." My partner's voice sounded distraught when she talked to me.

"What's wrong, Scully?"

"Nothing," she said. "Couldn't sleep. I was hoping you'd still be awake. Didn't wake you, did I?"

"No ... no," I said. "Do you want me to come over?"

"No, I ... Yes, actually. I feel lousy."

"I'll be right there." I hung up before she could argue with me, exchanged my sweat pants for jeans and walked out, tucking my cell phone and gun in the pockets of my leather jacket. Within twenty minutes I was at her place, and she opened the door before I could knock. I saw immediately that she was not doing too well. Dark smudges circled under her eyes, and the whites were bloodshot. Her body was clad in silk pajamas and a robe. She had been crying.

"Scully, what's wrong?" I said, taking her in my arms. She clung to me, and I could feel her body shiver, wondering what was going on. She never let a case get in the way of her health and psyche, but this time it felt like she was hanging on to me as if I was her last friend on Earth. And suddenly, as she looked at me, I knew it wasn't because of this case. It was because of what she'd been through only a couple of months ago, out on the ice.
She seemed embarrassed all of a sudden, clinging on to me like that, and I lead her to the couch to sit her down.

She let go of me and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her robe, looking at me. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to bother you."

"Scully," I said seriously, for the first time seeing her in a totally different light than I usually did. The last time I had seen her like this, she had been in the hospital fighting the cancer. After that she had returned to her usual, professional self. Now, for the first time since then, she turned to me for help. Even when she had visited me to tell me she was going to quit, she had been distant and self-assured.

Only when I told her how much I needed her, had she turned to me and let go of that cool exterior, forcing herself to face up to the facts and then kissing me. I could still feel her warm lips on my forehead as she touched me, the feeling lingering for a long time, even when I was out cold.

"Scully," I repeated, "you could never bother me. No matter what's going on, I wish you would call me every time."

She looked at me, knowing how much I wanted her to turn towards me, just like I had when I was in need of help. We were both so stubborn sometimes, it was almost pathetic.

"I know," she said, "but it's hard."

"I know," I answered, "but try."

She smiled, and got up to go to the kitchen. I pushed her down again before she could make a move and strolled through her kitchen, looking for coffee or tea. I found the tea first, so I put on a kettle and made us both a cup. She watched me.

"How come you're awake?" she said as we sat down. "I know you're an insomniac but it was after 3 when I called you."

"I couldn't sleep," I responded, avoiding her eyes. She would know I was lying.

"You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Did you eat anything last night?"

Frankly, I couldn't remember. I drove home after my talk with Davis, planning on fetching a pizza or Chinese along the way, but I ended up at home, staring at the TV for hours. I wasn't hungry so I suppose I forgot.

"I thought so," she said, confirming my lack of appetite with my silence. "What did you dream?"

"About the girl. This time there was a bomb attached to the wire."

"Oh, Mulder." She turned quiet, trying to imagine what I must have dreamed.

"It's okay, Scully. You know I always have bad dreams. It might sound funny but you get used to it."

"Perhaps." She put down the cup and yawned, pulling up her legs until she was seated comfortably on the couch. She rested her head against my shoulder, and I waited for a while before looking at her. As I had expected she had fallen asleep instantly, leaning comfortably and safe against me. I carefully freed myself from her grip, and picked her up. Her head came to rest against my shoulder as I shoved my arm under her knees, gripping her firmly.

I brought her to her bedroom, leaving the robe on her as I laid her down. Then I put a blanket over her, and watched for a while, debating whether to kiss her. I resisted the urge, and turned off the light, closing the door. I decided not to drive home anymore, but to stay here, and sleep on the couch again. After all, all couches were the same. I turned on the TV, turned down the volume and watched the silent images pass in front of my eyes. Around 4 or so I finally fell asleep, knowing that at least my partner was getting a bit of rest.

- 21 -
November 13
9:45 a.m.

I woke up with a strange sense that something had happened during the night I was not aware of. It was strange but I felt like my body was damaged and hurt even more than before I went to sleep. And there was something wrong with my throat as well, it felt sore and bruised. I opened my eyes towards the sharp light above me. One look around me told me I was still in the ICU and the machines were still hooked up to my body.

I opened my mouth to speak, only to find there was something in my throat. Immediately I struggled against it, only to find strong hands pushing me back, and a voice assuring me that all was okay, that I shouldn't fight the respirator, and that I had to breathe on my own before they could take out the tube. I wanted to speak, only to find myself slipping into darkness again. For the first time in days the exhaustion was taking over, and the insomniac that I once was had turned into a man that did nothing but sleep.

- 22 -
November 12
6:45 a.m.

At the end I simply gave up sleeping on Scully's couch. I had spent a few hours shifting restlessly on both sides, then on my back again and finally, aching all over, I got up and put on my shoes. I was angry at myself for leaving my sweats and running shoes at home. Now I had to go back to the apartment first to change before going for my daily run.

I left a note on the kitchen table, telling Scully I had gone home to change and would meet her at the office. I was sure she'd understand. I smiled when I put down the note, thinking about how only married couples left notes for each other. And of course partners in crime. Within twenty minutes I was back at my apartment and changed quickly in sweats and shoes, leaving the apartment instantly. I ran fast and swiftly, taking my usual route. When I returned more than an hour later, I was more tired than other times, feeling the adrenaline rush through my body.

It felt good to be able to run like this, to forget all about it for some time. In a couple of hours we would be attending a funeral, watching grieving parents and a distraught sister as they buried their child and sister. It wouldn't be pleasant.

- 23 -
November 13
12:15 p.m.

I heard several voices in the room talking to each other. I concentrated on them, trying to get out of the dreamlike state I was in. I sighed deeply, already trying to get used to the feeling of the tube in my throat, but it was gone. I inhaled air deeply, sucking it deep into my lungs.

Immediately the voices turned towards me, and my partner said, "Mulder, it's me. Can you hear me?"

I opened my eyes and looked at her, only to realize that she was even more distressed than before, and I didn't know why.

"What happened?" I asked hoarsely. She knew I was referring to the tube in my throat and the sense I had that something was wrong.

Short was in the room, checking my vitals, barking orders to the people in the room. The cooling blanket was gone, as were some of the machines. I looked at them as they worked on me, wondering when I would get a straight answer.

"What's the last thing you remember, Agent Mulder?" the man asked me.

"I'm not sure," I said, trying to recapture the events of the night. "I was talking to Scully ... no, there was someone in the room. I wanted to sleep and she woke me up. I don't know. What's going on?"

I became more distressed, trying to figure out why I was feeling this crappy. Scully's hand was on my arm still, assuring me I would be okay.

"You had some sort of seizure during the night," Short said. "Probably due to the fever. Your body temperature went through the roof and we had to put a cooling blanket on you to get it down. You were delirious, so I doubt you remember going into respiratory arrest, do you?"

"Not exactly," I confessed.

"We had to intubate you for a while because you weren't breathing on your own. Fortunately the pressure on your brain returned almost to normal, and you were able to start breathing again about half an hour ago. I must say I am surprised to see you awake this quickly. I had feared you would be unconscious for quite some time. You were very lucky."

"What caused the fever?"

"The concussion obviously. You see, when the head is hit like this, it builds up a pressure inside, causing your vital functions to react violently to it. That's the case here as well. Your fever is still too high, but under control now. You're lucid and able to talk to us. A few hours ago you couldn't even do that. I'd say we're going in the right direction now."

"How long before I can leave the ICU?" I asked hopefully, glaring at the glass around me and the machines still hooked up on me.

"You'll be transferred to Intermediate Care by the end of the afternoon, Mulder. Dr. Short doesn't want to take any chances with you. He's calling your reaction to the medication you've been given abnormal and dangerous. You were lucky, you do know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure," I said sighing. "But that still doesn't mean I should spend the remainder of my hospital visit in here."

She laughed. "You're right. Just be patient, okay?"

"Okay."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and watched me as my hands unclenched. I stared at her, wondering whether she would kiss me again before I fell asleep. I was not disappointed. She gave me a peck on the cheek and stayed until I felt my eyes droop and my body slip away into deep, welcome darkness.

- 24 -
November 12
10:05 a.m.

I met Scully at the office, watching her as she walked towards me, dressed in black pants and jacket. She looked like a shiny new coin; nothing gave away the distress she was in last night. I wondered how a person could change so quickly from a distressed, young woman into a self-assured FBI-agent, ready to face the world.

"How are you doing?" I asked as she approached me.

"I'm fine," she responded with a smile. "Thank you, Mulder."

"What for?"

"For coming over last night. For being there."

I touched her fingers slightly, wondering how she would react to it. She grabbed them and smiled, and I could hardly forget everything, ready to finish that kiss in the hallway. We didn't of course. Instead she let go of me and we walked over to the VCS.

It was a busy morning. Dixon was in a meeting with Davis, discussing their plans for tonight. The FBI and DC police would be working together in unison to catch Warren and his companions in the act. The apprehension of Tony Smith and Warren at the same time would be an extra treat. Dixon had not been wasting his time. During the night and morning he had found out that Tony Smith was staying at the Marron Hotel, under the name "Anthony Jones." So imaginative, don't you think?

They decided not to go in right now to arrest him. They would have nothing to go on. We would have to track the man down and arrest him on the spot, having a go at Warren at the same time. I knew that the FBI wanted Warren for the kidnapping and murder of Valerie Lange, even though the murder would be impossible to pin on him. There had been no traces or evidence of him doing the injecting of the dope. Without a witness to the facts, we would not get him on that charge.

I spent the remainder of the morning behind Davis' desk, since the man was out. He had offered his office to me, knowing I wanted privacy while going through files and profiling. I could not lose the distinct feeling something was wrong. We were overlooking something and I could not put my finger on it. Around noon, Scully came to find me, asking me to have some lunch with her. I wanted to refuse but I knew how worried she would be if I did not eat. So we drove to a coffeehouse where I drank some tea and ate some sandwiches, leaving almost half of my lunch untouched. She didn't comment on it, probably too happy that I did eat. Around 1, we finally left for the funeral of Valerie Lange.

- 25 -
November 13
5:15 p.m.

Oh for small miracles. I had fallen asleep -- a very deep sleep -- and they actually let me. What a wonderful world. I don't remember ever feeling better before in my life, as I leaned back against the soft pillows of my bed in my new room. I woke up on occasion to immediately slip back into that wonderful place of oblivion. The only thing that I noticed immediately was the fact that the glass walls were gone, and that the woman next to my bed was still there, as if guarding her husband. Sometimes I really did feel like husband and wife with her around; this was no exception to the rule.
I was content to wake up in my new room, and listen to the sounds of people outside of it. It was busy in the hallway but I couldn't have cared less. I scanned my body, testing and probing my sore back and legs. My head still hurt, but I felt numb, as if the pain was muffled by medication. I was more than happy to slip back into my drug-induced sleep, with the beeping of the heart monitor worked as a lullaby.

Then Scully left the room and I heard her footsteps as I was alone. I was glad that at least she made the effort of eating a bit and taking care of herself. I also knew that others would be around as soon as I woke up well enough to have a conversation with them. Right now I was simply dozing between night and day.

Vaguely I heard the door open, and a woman approached me. She was blonde, in her early fifties I suppose. She looked down on me, and as I opened her eyes, I noticed her uniform.

"It's okay, Agent Mulder," she said. "Sleep on."

She touched my hand with the assurance that I was in good hands, and she injected something in the IV She looked vaguely familiar to me. I had seen her face before, but the past day and night had been a haze for me, covered under a blanket of numbness, dizziness and illness.

As she emptied the syringe in the IV, there was a smile on her face, and she left me alone to fall right back into my drug-induced stupor.

- 26 -
November 12
1:15 p.m.

The funeral of Valerie Lange was greeted with a lot of press and attention. The death of a young woman in the full bloom of her life, murdered in some indecent way by a drug dealer caused riots and anger throughout the population.

The bureau was represented by both Kersh and Davis, and a number of people working on the case. Scully and I were among them. The D.C. police sent out officers as well, forming a long line underneath the trees, standing a short distance from the family and friends of the deceased girl. A wake had been held for her last night, which we did not attend. Now the funeral was at full progress while TV cameras and reporters were taking the necessary shots.

I watched the family from my spot underneath the trees, listening to the eulogy the priest was holding. The family was Catholic and very religious, attending Mass every Sunday. A regular perfect family, with one perfect link now missing forever. I closed my eyes thinking of that girl with foam on her mouth. She had died in a way unbearable to think about, and we were the ones to blame. We should have been there earlier, getting her out while there still was a chance. Now we would never know whether we could have saved her.
The speech seemed to go on and on forever, finally coming to an end with the family and friends saying their goodbyes. Her father and mother were holding each other, the mother's face and hair covered by a big hat with veil. She must have been an attractive woman, and now she was falling apart. I felt sorry for her.

The sister however shocked me the most. She was an identical twin to the young woman we had buried only seconds ago. I looked at her, remembering it all. Her face, her eyes, her mouth, and her death. Our hands trying to revive her, our efforts made to save her. All to no avail. And here she was now, living on in her identical sister.

"Come on, Mulder," my partner said, touching my arm. She was ready to leave. I wasn't. I glared at her for just a second and then moved forward toward the family. As I walked up to them, I felt Kersh and Davis watching me, probably wondering what I was going to do. They had paid the family their respects earlier, before the eulogy.

I stopped in front of the family, looking helplessly at the man and his desperate wife. "My name is Fox Mulder," I said. "I was there when your daughter ... when she died. I'm sorry."

The woman stopped in her tracks, staring at me fiercely through the veil that covered her face. I could barely see it. But her voice was sharp and hurtful when she said, "So you're the agent that caused my daughter's death? You should be proud of yourself."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, "we did all we could. We ..."

Her hand hit me full in the face, slapping me with all the force and anger she had in herself. It felt like the bomb that didn't go off. I stared at her shocked, unable to respond or react. Then I simply turned around and walked back to Scully, knowing that just about everyone was standing still and looking at us. I passed my partner and left the cemetery. I didn't wait for her when I walked over to the car and got in behind the steering wheel. I saw my own shocked face in the mirror, and knew that no one else had to tell me I was guilty. I was doing it all to myself.
Letting the guilt run through my body like a knife, knowing that one day that same guilt would mean my end. Scully got in next to me, and waited a while before talking to me. Then she simply took the keys from my hands and got out again, opening the door on my side. Silently, I slid over to the passenger seat. By the time she started the car, my face had returned to its normal color. But the guilt remained.

Sins of our Children(2/2)
by Humbuggie
(c) 1998

Edited by Laurie D. Haynes, thanks Laurie !

Situation : Right after "The Beginning," basically ignoring the rest of season 6. Mulder and Scully are assigned to general duty, and have to report to Kersh. However, Skinner is still a part of the show as well.

Reference to a previous story : A couple of weeks ago I wrote "The Game," a Mulder-profiling story in which I introduced a character called Terence Davis, Mulder's previous boss at the VCS. There are only a few references to Davis, so you don't have to know much about the guy.

Type : Mulder-profiling/X-File/Humor/Angst/M&S Friendship and a lot of UST. Story from Mulder's POV.

Spoilers : The Movie and several other episodes from Season 5, with references to Anasazi, and a number of other mythology-episodes.

Story : While on regular duty, Mulder and Scully are assigned a case, requested by Terence Davis involving a drug dealer turned kidnapper. Mulder literally finds himself the man's next victim, and ends up in the hospital, only to find that the worst threat comes from within.

Sins of Our Children

Part II : On the subject of drugs

- 1 -
November 13
6.45 p.m.

The best thing that could have happened to me was waking up in a room with no machines attached to me or tubes sticking into me. Frankly that was all I wanted. My wish came true. I woke up by myself in the cool darkness of a room that I had not seen before. I had been transferred again from the Intermediate Care room with its own window giving access to the nurses' station, to a semi-private room with no one to stare at me for hours, wondering whether I would be okay. I lay there for a long time with my eyes closed, listening to the silence. Until the door opened, and footsteps approached me. Or so I thought. Then they suddenly stopped, and I heard sounds of voices, people speaking. Not about me or to me, but behind a large blue curtain that hid another bed.
Immediately the sounds changed, and I heard the squeaking of the bed as someone got out of it. A closet door opening, the zipper of a bag, and then noises as if the bag was being stuffed with goods. I opened my eyes and stared to the ceiling, listening to the noises. And then a polite cough on the other side of me made me turn around and look straight into Tom Fielding's face.

"Hey, Mulder," he said, smiling as he leaned forward. "How 'ya doing?"

"I'm okay," I said, surprised that I actually found a voice to talk with. "How long?"

"It's after 6. Scully went to grab a bite to eat. I told her I'd stay here in case you woke up."

I turned my head towards the curtains, noticing it had become more quiet behind it. Immediately a female voice spoke, accompanied by the attractive face of a blonde sticking her head around the corner.

"Your neighbor's awake, Pumpkin."

The man listening to the nickname Pumpkin seemed to move behind the curtain, and then stared at me, putting his hand in the air. "Hey, good to see you awake, man. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," I repeated, wondering if I should put that phrase on a tape to play for whoever would pose the question next. "Who are you?"

"Harry Flint. I am -- or at least was -- here for the day. I'm going home, you see?" He pointed to a large bag on the second bed in the room, shoving the curtain aside so I could see. "The hospital is full. They couldn't put you in a private room as your partner requested. They knew I was going home today so they put you in here with me."

"Oh, okay," I said, turning my attention to Tom again, who had gotten up from his chair, and was standing at the foot of the bed.

Harry nodded at him, saying, "Seems you've got a lot of friends worried. They've been in and out all
afternoon, ever since they brought you in here. You slept right through it. You needed to rest, didn't ya?"

"I guess."

"I gotta tell you though that I'm glad to be getting out of here today. I don't like having guards at my door."

"Guards?" I asked with a surprised stare at Tom.

"Yeah," Harry continued before Tom could respond, "they've been here all afternoon. Scared the hell out of my wife, didn't it, Peaches?" The man winked at the blonde, immediately identifying her as his wife.

"Why the guards?" I asked Tom.

He said, "I'll explain it to you later," and turned his attention to the flowers on the table. I swallowed away the lump in my throat, sensing how sore it still felt. Guards? I thought again. Who in their right mind would come in here and try to kill me?

I turned my attention towards Harry Flint again, watching him wrap up his things. He was eager to leave this place, had probably been stuck in here for quite some time. He was talking to me a mile a minute, even if I didn't notice that at first. "Your lady-partner seemed worried about you. Your doctor's been in and out checking on you all afternoon. Didn't want to move you in here at first, but she convinced him you'd be less of a pain in the ass if they did. He was worried 'cause you slept all the time. She said you always sleep a lot when you're sick. You're sick a lot, aren't you? At least, that's what she said. Said you had a head hard enough to withstand a sledgehammer. A nice lady, that partner of yours. Very attractive. Wouldn't mind having someone like that in my office all day. I think the desk would serve more than one purpose."

Again he winked at his Peaches, who didn't wink back. In fact, the look in her eyes definitely described the anger and contempt she felt because he put her down like that. Hubby-dear did not see it. The man returned to his bag and coat, ready to be put on. He didn't look sick at all. Whatever had been wrong with him, was probably long cured. His wife was a beauty. Blonde hair, green, fierce eyes. Cute smile. Very attractive. The man wasn't too bad-looking either, somewhere in his early forties. He had style, even dressed in jeans and slacks. He obviously worked on a top level of some corporate firm, earning the big bucks.

Tom watched them in amusement as they finally gathered the last of their stuff, ready to move out. He seemed to have a lot of friends as well, sending him all sorts of things to enjoy. I wondered what else was in that bag he held. Finally he put on his overcoat, and took one long look around the room, checking for anything he might have left behind. Then his hands picked up a basket with fruit, hesitated and put it on my night table, in between the bouquets of flowers. Who had brought me flowers? I wondered, for the first time seeing them.

"Here," he said. "You might want to have some of this fruit. Sorry there are just peaches left though. I don't like them. I'll settle for the one wearing my ring." He laughed with his own joke.

"Thanks," I said, wondering if I was allowed to eat yet.

"Take care, buddy." He picked up his bag and left, leaving only me and my colleague.

Tom stared at the door in amazement for a while, then laughing out loud. We both grinned at the situation, and I actually enjoyed the peace and quiet this man had left behind.

So, why the guards?" I asked, shifting back and forth in the bed.

"There have been some threats."

"Threats?"

"Jason Warren's put out a price on your head, Mulder."

I stared at him shocked. "Me?" I asked. "Why?"

"Apparently he blames you for screwing up his deal last night. You're a celebrity, didn't you know? Been on the news all night and day. 'Heroic FBI agent is injured in pursuit of murderer of Valerie Lange.' You're a hero now."

I grinned painfully. "Didn't feel that way when I puked my guts out last night."

He smiled. "You're back to cracking jokes. Scully said that was a good sign. Do you want some water?"

"Yes, please."

He poured some water in a cup, helping me in my efforts to drink it. I wasn't allowed to sit up yet, and I knew exactly why. My head started spinning as soon as I even thought about getting up. It would take a while before all was well again. This had to be the worst concussion I'd ever had. But at least all of my brains was still there, and I was feeling better every time I moved. It would just be a matter of time now before I was up and about, testing my sore limbs and back.

"So why me?" I asked. "There were plenty of us around to screw things up. He can't have put a price on all of our heads?"

"I think he chose you to make a statement. You were the one in the news, and you were also there when Valerie died. He's been checking up on you. The threat came in through one of our informants on the streets. Said Warren would do anything to get back at you."

"So now I'm being guarded?" I asked, not knowing whether I should be grateful. "He won't come in here. It would be suicide."

"Whatever the case is, everyone visiting you will be checked thoroughly. You'll be okay."

Of that I had no doubt.

- 2 -
November 12
2:45 p.m.

I sat quietly at my desk staring into oblivion. The slap of the hand on my cheek was still hurting. Not
physically, but mentally stabbing me in the back. I could not get past the words of the woman whose face I had barely seen. All I had seen was the ring on her hands and the force with which she hit me. I could not forget it.
Scully put a cup of coffee in front of me and asked me to drink it. I shoved it aside and returned to the file of our suspect, trying to get past the idea something was wrong. In a couple of hours we would catch the guy, and he would be in our custody, admitting to the kidnapping and murder of a young woman.

"You know, Mulder," my partner said to me, "Every time I see you like this, I wonder when you will be
able to put it all aside. I know you never will but it still frightens me to see you like this."

What do you mean?" I asked, at that moment not understanding what she was talking about.

"You're profiling again, even if you don't know it. You can't keep your eyes off that file, can you? What are you hoping to find?"

"I'm not sure. I just have this gut feeling that something will go wrong, and we will pay the price for it."

"Can't you get past that feeling?"

"I don't know."

"Mulder." She knelt down beside me, forcing me to look at her. "I don't think you should go with them tonight. There's no place for us there. They don't need us when they make the bust."

Warren doesn't know us. Neither does Smith. We could go in that hotel posing as a married couple and they wouldn't know we were Feds. But bring the boys in blue in and you'll start a riot and a gunfight. They need us, Scully."

Then let Davis send someone else in. You're obviously distressed. With good reason. Mrs. Lange worked out her anger on you, and she shouldn't have. You're taking this too personally."

What if it was Emily lying there, Scully?" I suddenly asked her, "What if it was your daughter you found dead because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Wouldn't you blame the ones that should have saved her?"

She turned pale, but didn't avoid the question I posed to her, knowing that I was right. When a child died, the parents would try to find the first person they could get their hands on to blame. In this case, the ones that could not save her. Us. Scully, myself, Fielding, Davis, and every one else involved in the raid. We didn't save her, so her parents blamed us. With or without good reason? I couldn't say. I couldn't even be angry at them for doing it. I was angry at myself.

"I'm going tonight, Scully," I said, "with or without you. Warren is a clever guy. He'll use trick he can to get out of there and we have to find him before he kills someone else."

"Don't make it a personal quest, Mulder."

"It has already become that," I said, standing up and leaving her alone at Davis' desk.

- 3 -
November 13
7 p.m.

Tom left me alone with the promise that Scully would be along soon. I was grateful for the first moments of privacy ever since this hellish situation started. I sighed and shifted comfortably, ready to fall asleep again. But my mouth was dry and thirsty, and my stomach growling. Almost a day after the incident. Would it hurt to eat something? Nah. I'm sure nobody would mind. reached over and took a peach from the basket, opening my mouth to take a large bite from it.

"Mulder!"

I startled and the peach flew from my hand onto the floor, fortunately not damaging any furniture or whatever else there was in my hospital room.

"Scully," I sighed, staring with regret at the fruit at her feet, once attractive enough to be eaten, and now totally ruined. "What did you do that for?"

"Who told you that you could eat?" she said, sounding like my mother. For a moment there I reckoned she was going to spank me.

"No one," I said. "But no one said I couldn't either."

She debated with herself for a moment, figuring I was right. She wasn't there when I woke up, and who was here to stop me from eating a juicy peach?

"Come on, Scully," I said. "I'm hungry and thirsty and my throat is killing me. When can I eat?"

She checked the IV still pushing fluids in my body, and said, "If you're a good boy, tomorrow morning, okay? I'm sure the kitchen will cook up some jello for you, and you can have some toast and tea. How does that sound?"

"Sickening."

She smiled. "Well, at least you'll have something to eat."

I turned my head towards her. "I'm fine, Scully, honestly. I don't know what happened or why it happened but I am just fine. Honestly."

She sat down on the side of the bed, for a moment obviously not knowing what to say. I saw tears in her eyes and was shocked. How bad had it been?

"Mulder, I ..." She stopped in the middle of her sentence, playing with the edge of the sheet. "I'm sorry, I promised myself not to do this."

"Do what?"

"Ask you if you went after Warren to punish yourself."

I opened my mouth to respond, suddenly realizing I could not answer her question. The truth was I didn't know. I don't know why I ran into that alley, knowing it would lead me straight into a trap. Nor did I know why I took the risk, or what forced me into it.

"I don't know," I finally responded.

She frowned, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. "When will you stop punishing yourself for this, Mulder? The girl is dead, not because we were too late, but because Warren murdered her. You cannot hold yourself responsible for every dead victim we encounter on the way."

"I know that," I said impatiently. "It's just that ..."

I couldn't express to her how I felt about this. It was like with John Roche. He had tried to murder again because I let him go. If he had killed that girl, it would have been on my hands. If Warren walked the streets again because I couldn't catch him, then every living being he killed along the way would be on my hands. I felt agitated and restless lying useless in this bed. I wanted to leave this place and go after the guy myself, catching him before he caught me. Scully looked around, noticing the peaches in the basket.

"Where did those come from?" she asked curiously.

"Harry gave them to me."

"Harry?"

"Yeah, my next-door-neighbor. He wanted me to have them."

"Oh." Scully obviously had trouble recalling the man in the bed next to me, probably too occupied with other problems to care. I knew she was worried about my state of health, but how to tell her that there was no need? I would be fine as soon as I found Warren. Then we could forget it all and move on, even if it meant going back to Kersh.

"So when can I get out of here?"

"At least two more days," she said, grabbing a peach from the basket, then changing her mind and putting it back. "You're only just beginning to recover, Mulder. Your setback fortunately hasn't caused any more medical problems. But you still need time to heal."

"Great," I said, scanning the room for the remote control of the TV. "I'll be bored."

"No, you won't. I'll be around."

I smiled.

"And so will others."

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Tom, Kersh, hey, even Skinner visited you while you were out."

"Oh yeah?" I asked curiously. "Why? I thought he wasn't allowed to see us?"

"He was worried. Those flowers are his. Nice of him, isn't it?"

"Yeah, he's a real trouper."

Scully grinned, obviously picturing our former boss in a vaudeville outfit.

The nurse entering the room looked vaguely familiar. She was a blonde in her late forties, nodding politely but quietly when she saw us. I dreaded the sight of the syringe lying on the tray, and the bandages and sterile patches to treat the gash on my head.

"Hey Rina, our patient's awake," Scully said happily, as if she had already gotten to know just about everyone in this damned hospital.

"I can tell," the nurse responded, smiling towards her, basically ignoring me. "About time too."

Scully got up from the bed, and patted me on the arm, saying, "I'm going to try and find your doctor. You're in good hands, okay?"

"Sure," I said, watching her as she left. Nurse Rina was already injecting the goodies in my I.V., still not talking to me. When she finished taking my vitals, she turned towards me, scanning my face for a long time. I was about to ask her if she liked what she saw, when she put down the tray and started removing the bandages on my temple. I could feel the sharpness of her fingernails as she dug into the bandages, basically trying to tear off some skin in the process. I couldn't help but wince.

"Sorry," she muttered and continued her work quietly. I couldn't see her eyes at that time. Her body was close to my face, and she kind of blocked the way with her chest. In other, more pleasant circumstances, I would be terribly aroused. Now I was only annoyed while I waited patiently for her to finish.

"There," she said. "All done. That wasn't too bad, was it?"

I didn't respond. I was already feeling a bit lightheaded again, and I couldn't help but wonder what she had injected in the IV. I felt an urge to pee come up, and tried to figure out whether or not the catheter was still in there. When I shifted my legs a bit, I felt nothing but free space down there, and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked at me in wonder, probably trying to figure out what I was up to, but I didn't tell her I needed to use the bathroom. There was no way I was going to use a bedpan. Not as long as I was able to walk about and do it myself.

"Do you need anything else, agent Mulder?" she asked as she picked up the tray.

"Yeah, I was wondering when I can eat?" I asked hopefully, wondering if I could force anything with her, basically ignoring Scully's words.

"The doctor will be able to tell you that. You've been sick a few times during your sleep, your stomach is probably still recovering, and you need to watch your throat for a while too. As soon as you're able to sit up straight without getting dizzy, I'm sure the rest will follow soon enough."

"Thanks," I said, wondering whether or not this was a positive response. I had been sick and I hadn't even known about it? Strange.

She nodded politely and left me alone in the room.

The minute she closed that door behind her, I was already shoving aside the sheets, feeling the relief flooding through my body as my eye confirmed what my body had already told me -- no more catheter. Yes, I could pee standing! The next moment I succeeded in sliding out of the bed, putting my two feet firmly on the ground. Of course the floor started toying with my poor body as soon as I started to make a move for it. Then I made my way to the bathroom, trying carefully not to trip over my own feet.

My hand was so tight around the door handle I could actually feel my muscles strain. But I made it! A few seconds later I did what any good boy had to do, and leaned carefully against the side of the wall when things started getting dizzy around me. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror, seeing a bruised face, white as a sheet.
My hair was sticking in all directions, good thing I had it cut short not so long ago. I really did look like hell. I couldn't help but wonder if the rest of my body was bruised as well. The soreness in my limbs and back did feel like it.

As I turned to open the door and leaned heavily against the post, I opened my eyes to find a very angry Scully and my doctor waiting for me.

"What the hell were you thinking, Mulder?" she uttered angrily when she shoved her arm around my waist and helped me return to the bed. I was exhausted from walking just a few feet towards the bathroom! I could actually hear my own heavy breathing as her arm supported me as I made my way back to the comfort of the pillows. Scully shoved my long legs back under the sheets, and helped me lean back. I sighed heavily as I rested my head, happy to be back in bed. I felt like a wreck.

"I needed to use the bathroom," I uttered, angry because she was angry at me.

"You should have told Rina. You're not supposed to be moving about yet. I thought you had run off or something."

I lifted my left hand with the IV in the air and said, "I hardly think I'd be thinking this with me then." She couldn't help but smile. "Maybe you would want to keep that for future hospital explorations."

"Ha ha."

She must have felt sorry for me (I certainly was), because her face melted immediately, and she actually ruffled my hair in front of my doctor!

"It's okay," she said, and her fingers seemed to probe the sore spot on my forehead.

What is it with doctors and nurses always probing the places that ache the most? I wanted to push her hand away and say, "Hey, I got hurt there." But I didn't. I liked it when she got physical on me. She finally let go of me (not that I was complaining) and I tried to turn my attention to the doctor. Despite the haze I had been in, I could recall every moment I had talked to him during the past night. He seemed pleased when I called him by his name.
He asked me questions about how I was feeling, whether or not I was still feeling nauseated, and if I still saw double. Fortunately I was able to respond to the last two with a firm conviction that I was indeed doing much better than the night before. Hey, I made quick recoveries, what can I say?

The doctor seemed satisfied too, because he talked to Scully as if I wasn't even there, telling her I could take a light meal in the morning. If all went well , the IV would be removed then. Sounded reasonable to me. And I was even more satisfied when he told her I'd probably be out of there in another two days, under the condition I would take it easy. Even better news! I was on the right way to recovery here. Three cheers for Monster Boy. And Monster Boy was definitely feeling better, and a bit lightheaded. In fact, I felt amazingly good.

"So," I dared to ask. "Can I eat that peach now?"

The doctor glanced at Scully, as if she had told him all about my difficult patient-like manners, and said something like, "Tomorrow morning, Agent Mulder." Then he nodded and left the room rather quickly, leaving myself and my partner to our own devices.

"Alone again, Agent Scully," I grinned, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair as she had done mine. I felt quite good staring at her. She looked amazing. "Did you cut your hair?"

Two weeks ago," she said surprised, "why?"

"Nothing, just that you look good with your hair like this. Don't change it."

"I won't," she responded with a smile. "Now go back to sleep."

"I don't want to. I'm too hyped up."

Immediately she seemed surprised, examining my face cautiously. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Of course. I'm just wide awake. Don't wanna go to sleep right now. Why don't you stay here and talk for a bit?"

"Sure," she said, sitting down again. As she watched me, I knew something was wrong. Not with her, but with me. I just could not put my finger on it. It was fairly difficult to explain, wasn't it?

- 4 -
November 12
4.03 p.m.

I found myself standing at the edge of the cemetery again, this time looking at her grave. The sand was of course still fresh, and there wasn't a stone on it yet with her name and date of death. It would be here soon. And then it would be final. I remember the stone Scully's mother had made after she disappeared. The tears in Margaret Scully's eyes spoke the words she could not utter when Dana vanished. She had been the one expressing my feelings back then when I was not able to myself. I still had not learned. Every time something happened I closed up, unable to tell Scully how I felt. Just like today. The girl was gone and I could not tell her how it affected me. I had never seen this girl when she was still alive, and I would not get to know her now. It didn't matter. To me she was all the Samanthas in the world, abducted by jerks and killers that hated the world and wanted others to be punished for it. To me she was again the proof that I could not save anyone. I stepped forward until my feet touched the edge of the grave. I pictured her lying there, in the coffin. Still human, still beautiful.
Tomorrow she would start to deteriorate. In a few weeks she would turn into dust, just like all of us when our time came. I could not handle it. Not by myself. I turned away from the grave and grasped my cell phone, dialing Scully's number.

"Scully."

"It's me," I said, hearing the distress in my own voice.

"Where are you?"

"I can't do this anymore, Scully. You've got to help me ..."

"Where are you, Mulder?"

"Valerie's grave."

"I'll be right there."

A click and she was gone. I found a bench under the trees and sat down on it, keeping my eyes focused on the fresh sand. She found me there a few minutes later, frozen and cold on that bench. She sat down next to me, watching me as I watched the grave.

Pathetic, isn't it?" I said. "I need a stranger to die to fall apart."

"At least you're not falling apart by yourself."

I smiled, despite everything and turned my eyes towards her. "I need help on this one, Scully. This entire case is wrong."

"Define wrong."

"I don't know. I have this distinct feeling that we're not seeing the whole picture. There's something wrong and I need to find out what."

"Is it Jason Warren?"

"Perhaps. I've gone through his file several times. I know it by heart -- every detail of it. There's something else."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know."

"What can I do for you?"

"I don't know that either."

She sighed and moved closer to me, touching my hand. "We're a pathetic bunch, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we are."

She smiled.

- 5 -
November 13
10.15 p.m.

I felt enormously agitated and even angry, lying restless in the bed. Scully had left me a few hours ago, promising to return tonight with the files on Warren and Valerie Lange. She hadn't returned yet, and I felt anger. She'd left me here and not come back! She lied to me.

"Damn it," I said angry, shoving aside the blankets. They annoyed me. I made my way to the bathroom, resting several times with my head against the wall. My face felt cold and numb but as I looked at myself, I saw a flushed face and feverish eyes. I hadn't felt this bad in a long time. I stretched my sore legs and back, probing my vital body parts for any further damage. Except for the headache, all seemed well. There was no reason for me to stay here much longer. I had to get out of this hospital, the walls were choking me. I relieved myself and returned to the room, hardly making it.

I was thirsty and hungry, ready to sink my teeth into anything right now. I reached for one of the peaches, ignoring what both Scully and the doctor had said, and bit in one, savoring its flavor for quite some time. Eagerly I ate it, throwing the pit in the basket underneath the table. I was still hungry when I finished, but at least I didn't feel thirsty anymore. Content with myself I rested on the bed, leaning heavily into the soft pillows.

Just around the time I wanted to grab the remote control and start switching channels, Nurse Rina came in. She really did look vaguely familiar to me, and I kept on wondering where I had seen her before. She saw my hand on the control and quickly walked over to the bed.

"Your partner said you were an insomniac," she said, insisting on taking the remote from my hand. I groaned when I let her, and she smiled as she checked on my blood pressure and temperature. "If you want I can get you something to sleep," she said, emptying a syringe in the IV.

"No, thanks," I responded, knowing from the approving look on her face she would probably love to stick a needle in my butt. Now that I was kind of back in the land of the living, I would not heel to the joys of sleep.

She looked at me as if she was examining my sanity, but gave in and said, "Okay, but no TV, and you are going to try to get some sleep, okay? The doctor will be checking on you again in the morning, and I'm sure you're eager to leave this place."

"That I am," I grinned, smiling gratefully at her for not forcing her needles on my already tortured body. She smiled back at me, and switched off the light for me. As she left, I leaned back in the pillows, debating with myself whether disobey her rules. Before I fell asleep, I remembered where I had seen Rina before. She was one of the nurses in the ICU, taking care of me when I was out for the count. I slept, but the agitation stayed, even in my dreams.

- 6 -
November 12
6.15 p.m.

Dixon laid down a map of the hotel, scattering papers all over the table.

"The hotel has four floors. The penthouse floor is the one our friend Smith is using. We confirmed today that he is indeed staying at the hotel. He has made no plans to leave for the day. It might be a safe assumption the deal will be handled at the hotel, either in his room or in the restaurant. He will take the most obvious place, expecting no law enforcement. The front and back entrances need to be guarded at all times."

"What about the kitchen?" I asked.

"What about it?"

"Every kitchen has an emergency exit. We need to guard that too."

"Will do," Dixon said uninterested, "I want people on every floor, guarding every room. We will have access to the penthouse, but only through the stairs. He will have the elevator guarded for sure."

Davis took over, saying, "We will prevent guests from hotel or restaurant to enter the building. The FBI will be inside posing as dinner guests at the restaurant. If and when the party moves upstairs, we will be on their tails. The chances are quite slim that Warren and Smith will make the deal in the restaurant, so the problem we have is that we'll have to bust into the penthouse not knowing if the deal is taking place. That's a chance we'll have to take though. Warren and Smith cannot walk out. We lost Warren once, we cannot afford to lose him twice. You will receive your individual instructions in an instant. Wear something nice."

Davis started handing out papers with instructions, telling Scully and me we'd be having dinner at a fancy restaurant tonight.

"Well, as long as the bureau pays for it, I don't mind," I winked.

Scully smiled, obviously glad I was cracking jokes again. I did feel a bit better after our conversation.
Perhaps, when we caught Warren tonight, the strange feeling I had all day would disappear.

"Good," Davis said. "We're leaving in a couple of minutes. You all know what to do." He left us.

Fielding walked over to us and said, "Looks like we'll be sharing dinner tonight, folks. Hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," Scully said, "glad to have you on board."

Scully and I decided to leave together. We would meet Tom at the restaurant. I left my car at the bureau and hitched a ride with Scully. We had agreed to go past her place first so she could shower and change. Then we'd go over to my place where I would change into something decent. None of us spoke much as we dove into the evening traffic jam, driving along with the other commuters. Around 6.45 we arrived at Scully's apartment. She showered and changed quickly, while I watched TV. She appeared from her bedroom dressed in a beautiful black dress, and her hair so perfect it would be a shame to run my hand through it. I wanted to do that though, and to take her in my arms and tell her that I loved her. I didn't.

"All set?" I asked nonchalantly, after complementing her on the dress. She accepted the compliment
graciously and we hurried along, knowing we were running out of time. At my place, I showered and changed quickly as well, choosing a navy blue suit for the occasion. She looked at me approvingly, knowing I had put a little more effort into this than usual. Little did I know that this was the last time I would wear this suit. And it was the last time I would see my apartment as well for a long, long time. As we left for the restaurant, the squeaky feeling in my stomach returned, forcing me to consider the possibility that something would go wrong tonight.

- 7 -
November 14
6:45 a.m.

The noise in the hallway woke me up, returning the agitated feeling to my body immediately. I remembered seeing someone in the room in the middle of the night, touching my throat and neck. It had startled me, but I had been so out of it that I let it happen. Now I felt like something was really wrong. There was a queasy feeling in my abdomen and head. Oh God, I thought. Don't make me feel like this again. Panic surged in me, and I threw aside the blankets to walk over to the bathroom. I slid out of bed, stumbling to the floor, dragging the IV pole with me.
The bags of fluids ended up on the floor next to me, and I looked at them, and then at my hands. I saw double.
The world twisted and turned in front of my eyes. I saw spots.

"Scully ..." I spoke her name as if she was my lifesaver. Where the hell was Scully? I looked around
helplessly. I had to call Scully. I grabbed the edge of the bed until I could pull myself up. Then my hand found the buzzer and I pushed it several times until footsteps rushed to the room, and the door was pushed open. I was leaning heavily against the bed, clawing my hands on the sheets.

"Where's Scully?" I asked the nurse I didn't know. "I need to talk to Scully."

"Mr. Mulder," the woman said, "why are you out of bed? What happened?"

She stared at the fluids on the floor, dangling on the long line attached to my hand. She knelt down and picked the bags up, hanging them back to the pole. Then she forced me back into the bed, despite my anger and efforts to free myself.

"I need to talk to Scully," I repeated, leaning heavily in the pillows. She touched my forehead, obviously distressed by the heat glowing from it.

"I'll call her for you, Mr. Mulder," the nurse said, "but you need to calm down."

"I am calm. Get Scully in here!'

"I will, I promise." She rang the buzzer herself, getting other medical personnel in the room. I had no other option but to lie down and take it all. I was extremely tired and agitated at the same time. I felt like shit. It was all a dream, I said to myself. I would wake up soon and then things would get better. This was all a dream. Yeah, that was it. It was a dream. I'd wake up in the morning and it would feel better. I closed my eyes and let myself slip into an unsteady dream. Yes, it would get better. But it didn't get better. It only got worse.

By 7 a.m. I was ready to throw a fit. My restless body didn't seem able to find a comfortable position to lie in. I shifted and turned on my side, only to turn to my back again soon after. Everything ached and hurt. A dull pain in my chest added to the misery. I couldn't remember ever feeling worse.

Scully arrived shortly after, dressed in a jeans and sweater, her face stressed with worry. I looked at her feverishly, grasping her hand, saying, "Scully, I'm glad you made it. I want to get out of here and they won't let me. I gotta go to the office to find Warren."

"Mulder, you're not well," she said soothingly. "Why don't you relax for a while so I can talk to the nurse?"
She walked over to the corner of the room, talking quietly with the nurse that had come in first, finding me on the floor.

I closed my eyes and drifted off, dreaming of standing at the grave and looking into an empty casket. As I looked up, she was standing behind me, pushing me into the grave, screaming accusingly, "You killed me! I died because you were too late!' I woke up screaming just as loud as she had in my nightmare.

By 8 a.m. the doctor walked into my room worriedly, probably alarmed by the nurse on duty that had seen my contorted face and attempts to keep some food inside. They had left me at peace before, after I'd thrown a fit. Now the room was packed with people, looking at me while I was ready to break down. The small amount of breakfast I had received, I shoved aside uninterested. My stomach was ready to collapse after the previous nausea attack.

By 8.30 a.m. I had a feverish dream about Jason Warren. I knew it had to be a dream because of the guards that were standing outside my room, ready to defend my sorry little ass against him. But it was so vivid and so real I was too numb to defend myself. I opened my eyes in that dream, to find my hands restrained. I was defenseless again, as I had been when Pincus or whatever you might call that creature, tried to kill me.

But this time it was no monster coming after me. It was a drug dealer/murderer that looked down at me in triumph. I could hear his voice from a distance. It seemed slurred and almost drunk, as if he was the one with the concussion. When he opened his mouth to speak, I could smell the scent of death coming from his dead lips. His teeth were black and ugly, and his face seemed to deteriorate even when I looked at it in disgust. Then his hands grabbed me by the throat, and I could feel the sticky flesh of his dead hands, as he pushed the life out of me, saying, "You destroyed everything for me. I had it all and you took it away. Now you're going to pay the price. You'll end up in that grave next to her, and she'll be haunting you until the moment you die."

I woke up screaming and panting, realizing my hands were indeed restrained, but not by straps. Warm, human fingers held them tight as they tried to calm me down.

By 9 p.m., I was too far gone to care about anything. My chest was ready to explode, as was the rest of my body. I couldn't stand the blankets against my hot skin, and shoved them away continuously, while they tried to get me to calm down. I shouted at them to get away, and demanded Scully to take me home. Her voice was calm and soothing, and it only agitated me more. Eventually I shouted at her to get out of my sight, and I saw the hurt in her eyes. But I just couldn't stop myself.

It was strange, but I felt like I was watching myself from a distance, noticing my own behavior and attitude towards the people who were trying to help me. But I was agitated and frustrated, and the fever made me furious.
I wasn't making handling me easy, I knew that as I watched myself act this way, but I couldn't help it. Then it was suddenly over. The agitated feeling. It turned into fear. Vital, mortal, human, animal-like fear. I got scared.
Terrified while staring at the door, and at them. Their faces contorted as they tried to get me to look at them. I screamed as their claws touched my arms and wrists, and I panted as they didn't know what to do anymore.

"Where's my gun?" I heard myself say. "Scully, I need my gun."
"It's not here."

"Where is it? Did you take it away from me again?"

"No, Mulder. Your gun is in a safe place. This is a hospital, remember?"

"You're lying," I shouted to her. "You're screwing with my mind again!'

"Mulder, you know I wouldn't do that. I'm the only person you trust."

"But you're going to let him in here, aren't you? He's coming back to kill me and you'll let him in. You'll turn your back so he can put me in the grave next to her."

I threw aside the blankets, pushing her away from me as I went for the IV in my hand, ripping it out. My hand started bleeding instantly, and I felt dizzy and numb as I made my way to the door. I felt hands on my back as I opened the door, staring into the faces of my colleagues. Someone made his way through the hallway.
Skinner, accompanied by Tom Fielding. I watched them as they approached the room, and my legs shivered and buckled, not able to keep me standing.

"Oh, God," I heard Tom say as several hands picked me up and put me back on the bed. I was breathing heavily, seeing all of them through a fog. Something was terribly wrong.

"Take his vitals," I heard Scully say, "he's burning up with fever."

A few moments later I heard her say breathlessly, "This is not right. His fever can't be 103! You said it was getting better."

"It was," the nurse calmly said, "His last checkup showed a steady temperature of 99."

"Page Dr. Short now," Scully said forcefully.

"What's going on, Scully?" Skinner's voice.

"I'm not sure, sir. He was fine when I left him last night. I don't know what's happening."

Footsteps, and another person in the room. I didn't need to open my eyes to see who it was. Short's voice.
"What's going on?"

"His vitals are completely wrong. High fever and rapid pulse. I thought you changed his medication?"

"I did. He was responding fine to it. There's something else wrong, I'm sure."

I felt his presence as he approached the bed, ready to examine me. I turned on my side, ignoring him while the fear ran through my body. I couldn't describe what I was feeling to anyone. Never before had I felt this lonely and afraid -- except once when I thought the entire world was against me. I was high on drugs then, given to me by the traitors that wanted to destroy my work. Now I was just afraid.

"I need new blood work to see if there's still an infection in there. Chances are that's what he's reacting to. Mr. Mulder, can you hear me?"

I shifted my head, staring at him with fear. "Leave me alone."

"Can you tell me if you're in any pain?"

"My head's killing me," I sighed, breathing heavily. "My stomach too. I wanna go home."

"Not just yet," he said, ignoring my plea. He turned away from me again, turning to whoever was listening to him.

"Keep on checking his vitals every hour. If his condition doesn't improve within a few hours, we might have to transfer him back to the ICU again to monitor him closely. Get that IV back in. Restrain him if necessary."

"No!" Anger welled up in me again. I was not going to return to that cubicle of glass, to be stared at like a zoo animal. Furious and angry because they simply ignored me, I shoved aside the blankets and climbed out of the bed, pushed back immediately by the hands of science and medication.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the doctor said, already restraining me with the help of the nurses in the room.

"I'm going home," I said, "before they kill me."

"Who's going to kill you?"

"Them! The Smoker and his friends. Don't you see? It was all a setup. Warren's working for them, I'm sure. He hates me, he's going to want to get rid of me for once and for all now. It's all so clear to me now. So very obvious."

"You're safe here, Agent Mulder," Short said patiently, "Your friends are guarding this room. No one can come in and out without them knowing about it. They won't kill you."

I laughed hysterically. "They're not my friends. They'll let him in as soon as he arrives. Don't you see? The bureau wants me out of the way. Kersh couldn't give a shit about me. He'd be happy to pull the trigger himself. I gotta go."

Hands pushed me back down on the bed. "You're in no condition to leave. Where would you go?"

"I don't know."

"Then you might as well stay here. Now, I'm not going to say this again, agent Mulder, but if you don't calm down, we'll have to restrain you."

"Scully," I heard myself pant. "Tell him, Scully! You know the truth. Tell him about it!"

She was at my side in an instant, forcing back the tears in her eyes. I could see them and I couldn't stop myself from screaming at her.

"Tell him the truth, Scully! Are you going to hide it from yourself again? Why won't you tell them the truth?"

She stood there quietly, listening to my accusations as I raged on and on about the consortium and the ship I had rescued her from, and her ability to stare blindly into nothingness when I needed her the most. She stood there and took it all. Then she hid her eyes with her hand, not knowing what to say.

I breathed heavily, almost choking on the air I forced into my lungs, meanwhile shouting at her, "If you don't tell them, then you might as well leave. Get the hell out!"

She refused to budge. Then Tom Fielding was at my side, and he said, "Take it easy, Mulder."

"Who are you?" I asked, not recognizing him at that very second.

"It's me, Tom Fielding. Remember me? We were at the restaurant together yesterday, trying to catch Jason Warren. You trust me, don't you, Mulder?"

"Yeah, I remember you now. But I don't trust you. You work for him, don't you?"

"Who?"

I frowned, trying to remember his name. I didn't know his name. Only knew that he smoked. And that he knew my mother. I leaned back in the pillows, staring at Fielding and at Scully. I finally calmed down somewhat, too tired to fight the rage in my body. Everything inside of me was ready to explode. I had never felt like this before, just that one time. Only that one time ..

I grabbed Scully's wrist, hearing her gasp. "There's something wrong," I said, "remember the water.
Something was done to the water."

The next moment I found myself in a coughing fit, choking on my own words. I let go of her wrist, only to turn my head and simply pass out, scaring the shit out of the people watching me.

- 8 -
November 12
8:35 p.m.

The restaurant was practically empty when we arrived at the scene, except for a few special agents sharing tables and talking animatedly to each other, as if nothing was wrong. All of us would be enjoying a long dinner here, waiting for our suspect to arrive. Tom was already there, sitting at a table near the window. He got up when we approached the table and told Scully she looked lovely. Once seated, he nodded at me, confirming that neither Smith nor Warren had shown up yet. Davis, sitting near the exit, ignored us as he talked to one of his female officers, dressed in a nice, blue outfit. They drank wine and ate cordon bleu, the restaurant's specialty. We were handed a card and then offered a bottle of wine, with compliments from the house. Even though we didn't decline the offer, we wouldn't drink from it. All three of us wanted to keep a straight head.
We ordered dinner, knowing perfectly well we would barely touch that either. I decided to go for the cordon bleu, as well, hoping the sight of it might make me hungry.

"Smith is still in the penthouse suite," Tom said. "He hasn't been in or out for hours, according to Davis. If we don't get this guy tonight, we might never get a chance to nail him. He's pretty slick."

"Our main target is Jason Warren," I said, determined. "He's the murderer. They'll get Smith sooner or later."

Do you think he'll show up?" Scully asked me. "According to your profile he's a man that doesn't take risks easily. He'll be prepared for us."

I was surprised she had read the file I had typed up on Warren, and said, "He'll show up. He wants a bit of action in his life. Even though he's a cautious man, he's also very self-assured and convinced he can do just about anything."

"So he'll show up," Tom said. "And then what?"

"Then we'll get him to confess to the murder of Valerie Lange."

"Will it be that simple?"

"It's never that simple." I took a sip of the water poured into the second glass and glanced around. "Where are our people anyway? The DC cops and our agents?"

"Just about everywhere but out of sight. They're waiting a few blocks away. Some of them are around undercover but the others had to wait until they get a signal from us. Our boys are guarding the front and back exits."

"And the kitchen?"

"I'm sure that's covered too."

"Good." I leaned back and looked stressed and nervously at the door. It would be a long night.

By 10:05 p.m. we were convinced Warren wasn't showing up. There had been no movement whatsoever from the penthouse suite either. Smith was staying put. Davis left his table and walked over to us, sitting down on the last free chair.

"Damn it," he said angry, "this was our last chance to get our boy. He's probably long gone by now, forgetting all about the money."

"No," I said, "he's around."

"How do you know?"

"Call it a hunch." I grinned sheepishly, staring at the plate with the cold food. I had not touched it, knowing my stomach would wrench with every bite I took. It looked uninviting by now, stale. I felt my stomach turn. "I'll be right back." I pushed away the plate and left the restaurant to find the bathroom. Inside, I waited for the nausea to pass before I threw ice cold water in my face and wiped it clean with some paper towels. I left and stopped at the kitchen door. It was open. So was the exit door. I could see the cook working at the charcoal grill. "Hey," I said, pulling out my gun. "Did you see anyone pass by here?"

"No."

"Then why's the door open?"

"It's always open. It gets pretty hot in here."

I walked over to the door, pushing it open further. It opened on a pitch-black alley. I heard muffled voices nearby, and sounds of footsteps. Quickly I returned to the restaurant, to stare into the surprised faces of my colleagues.

"They're in the alley!' I shouted. Immediately a hectic situation developed. I saw people going through the front door of the restaurant, and others through the back door, probably hoping to trap them. I was followed by Scully and Fielding when I exited through the kitchen door, with my gun drawn. The voices were loud and clear now, obviously arguing.

"This was not the deal, Tony! You promised me 10 kilos. I see only two."

"These are dangerous times, man. You got yourself on the front page of just about every newspaper in the country. You should be glad I'm even here to make this deal with you. Cops and Feds could be anywhere by now, trying to track you down. I'm not going to pay for your stupidity, got it?"

"So you're backing down on me?"

"I want to see the money."
"Not so fast. I want to test it first."

"We don't have time for that, man!"

"I'm not paying you until I test the stuff!"

"Then screw you, Warren. We had an agreement."

"Which you broke."

"The hell with you."

A couple of noises and a shuffle as Warren apparently pushed his business partner to the wall. Then another muffled sound as Smith tried to shout with a hand stuffed over his face. The next moment the man slid to the ground, with a knife in his belly.

"FBI!" I heard Scully scream as she immediately broke into a run.

Warren looked in our direction, not seeing us at first. He started to run. He was fast, but so was I. I heard Scully shout my name as I went after him, running like crazy. Our feet hit puddles of mud and water. I could hear Warren breathe heavily as he made his way through several alleys, deliberately taking the back way. He knew them like no other. All I could do was follow him, while Scully's footsteps were falling further behind me. I had no idea what happened to Tom. Perhaps he tried to cut off the man by taking another direction. Whatever the case, it was just Warren and me.

And then he was suddenly gone. I turned a corner, ending up in a dark alley filled with garbage bins and dirt.
An alley behind a restaurant, even though I had no idea where we were. With my gun held in front of me I stepped into the darkness. The next moment I heard him, and then I heard myself shout, and then the steel pipe made an end to reality and sent me into oblivion, only to find myself staring into the barrel of my own gun. And then Scully was there, and I knew it would be all right. Now that she was there, she would take care of me. And then Warren was gone.

- 9 -
November 14
Time unknown

It was all going to hell. At least, that's what it felt like. The place was burning and there was nothing I could do. Or was it my body that was burning? I could not tell. All I knew was that I could not be at ease. I heard the voices again, this time more distant and muffled, like they didn't want me to know what they were discussing. I turned my face towards them and they noticed I was moving. And then they shut up and it was gone again. The voices. I wanted to slip away again and forget all about them. But as I lay in the bed, trying to forget it all, my body reacted against the numbness.

Fear and anger bottled up inside of me ever since God knows how long now turned against me, and I reacted. My eyes snapped open by themselves, forcing me to face reality. No more sleep, my insides screamed. No sleep to dream in of the dead girl in her grave. No dreams about Jason Warren. No more denial that I was in danger. I had to defend myself after all. I saw the nurse with the syringe. I saw them as they acted on turning me on my side, ready to plunge the needle in my butt. To force me to go back to sleep again. They wanted to take me out!
Just like the first time. Scully had put me to sleep for two days, fighting off the LSD in my system. No, not again. I would not be treated like this again!

"No!" I yelled, hitting her hand hard. The syringe dropped, the glass shattered. I could see the fluids on the floor. Then the queasiness in my stomach overwhelmed me and I turned on my side voluntarily, in order to get rid of the pain I was feeling. I couldn't remember what hurt the most, my head or my abdomen. I moaned.

"Mulder?" I could see Scully's face close to mine as she made me look at her. She grabbed my hand, and I squeezed it hard, saying, "It hurts, Scully."

"What does?"

"Everything. My stomach. My chest. Can't breathe. Scully!'

She looked up. I couldn't see who she was looking at, but I knew it had to be the doctor. Then, suddenly, it happened. I gasped for air, as I had done the moment I felt the piano wire from the NSA man around my throat, as we were both trapped inside the train carrying the creature from hell. I could recall that moment into its smallest details, feeling the wire as it choked me. I had that same feeling again now, but this time there was nothing to cut off the air from my lungs, except my own, failing body.

"S - c - ully!"

I practically screamed her name before I let the darkness overwhelm me, and the air was cut off from me. She shouted my name, and then they were removing the pillows from behind my head, and I knew something was definitely wrong, because the seconds before I descended into darkness, a mouth was already over mine, breathing the air in me I needed so badly. Then the mouth was replaced by something hard, sliding into my throat. I urged to fight it, but couldn't. She shouted my name several times, wanting to stop me from descending into the abyss.
But I didn't and couldn't listen to her, because the descent had already begun. And then I was simply gone.

- 10 -
November 14
Time Unknown

Harry Flint was a wealthy man in his early fifties when he was admitted to the Georgetown Medical Center with a heart attack. Rumors had it that his young, attractive wife, once his mistress, was keeping him from resting. Their days and nights after their wedding were filled with parties and sex, and sex and parties. He wanted to stay young, Harry, but the problem was he couldn't keep up with his wife. And that's why he got himself admitted to the hospital, after feeling strange, fierce pains in his chest. His arm was nearly paralyzed when he entered the ER, and he was put on monitors instantly, checking his every move. They made him feel like an old man, even though he had just begun to live.

It was busy times for the hospital. Harry wanted a room to himself but couldn't get one. He was forced to share it with a young, boring biker, who fell and broke his leg. A week or so they shared a room together before the biker went home. And that, that same night, I arrived, bringing a lot of trouble with me for the poor man.
During his time in hospital, Harry of course got repeated visits from his young wife, bringing flowers and fruit, deliberately forgetting all about chocolates and all the stuff that could make a heart patient even more sick. She obviously didn't want to lose her husband, they'd only been married for six months. Harry hated fruit and everything that was healthy. He managed to get rid of most of it without her knowing it, leaving some of it in the basket she had brought for him. The peaches were for me. He left them on the table before he left, saying goodbye to me with some sort of regret. He figured I would have been a more interesting companion than the man he had been forced to share a room with. But our paths only crossed for a while, and then he moved on again.

However, those few moments in life we had met each other, would change Harry's life for good. Because on the night of his second day at home, two FBI-agents knocked at his door, introducing themselves as Tom Fielding and Jeffrey Bay. They immediately read him the Miranda warning, cuffed him and brought him to the car for interrogation. Despite the protest of his lovely young wife, who entered the room dressed in a see-through dress and robe, he was taken to the bureau, and would spend the remainder of the night being questioned about the events leading to my near death. While Harry Flint was being questioned, my body lay lifeless on a respirator pushing air into my lungs, something I could not do for myself anymore. And while Harry was denying in all colors and words that he had never heard of a drug dealer called Jason Warren, and that he had never met me before in his life, I was struggling to stay alive, burning up with fever, under the influence of drugs that compromised my already weakened body.

- 11 -
November 14
9.45 p.m.

If there was something in the manner of Special Agent Dana Scully that scared other people off, it was her determination to get to the bottom of things. In fact, when she set her mind to something, she would go to any lengths to reach the goal she had set out for herself. And when that goal involved my health, she was even more forcefully, ready to drag anyone and anything into helping me. It seems that a panic was building up due to my irrational and strange behavior. Not only because they did not know what caused it, but also because I was the immediate proof that someone or something had come into my hospital room, endangering my life. The facts were all there. Scully's reaction to my feverish uttering of words, telling her I had not felt like this since they had drugged my water in order to keep me away from the truth, was enough to have her gathering everything she could on the medication I had received, the water I had drank, the food I had eaten. Since I had not eaten breakfast, that option was excluded. The water in my room was immediately removed and sent to the FBI lab, examin0ed closely
for any traces of drugs. The IV I had pulled out was removed as well, also examined for traces of amphetamines or any other poison I might have received.

The new blood work Dr. Short had ordered, revealed that I had been given LSD, injected or ingested into my bloodstream, causing the high rate of anxiety I was experiencing. Immediately it became obvious that the source of poisoning was the basket of fruit found in my hospital room. The pit I had thrown in the garbage can was carefully placed in an evidence bag, and the remainder of the fruit was sent to the lab for examination instantly. Within the hour it had become clear that the peach I had eaten was the cause of my current condition, not only forcing me into irrational behavior, but also poisoning me to the verge of death and causing respiratory arrest. Dana Scully was furious. She wanted to go to the office and help in the ongoing search for the whereabouts of Jason Warren.
She wanted to talk to Harry Flint and force him to explain why he did what he did. But she wasn't allowed to. Not by Kersh, and not by Walter Skinner who had come to the hospital to support her.

While Tom Fielding was leading the interrogation of Harry Flint, Dana Scully was sitting at my bedside,
watching as an unnatural object forced air into my lungs. I was back in the glass cubicle, and things were not looking too bright. But I didn't know that of course. I was in la-la land, sleeping, while others were worrying.
I did have friends at the FBI, even if I did not know about it. The agents searching for my killer were my friends. The agents interrogating Harry Flint were my friends. And the people in the room, sticking around until I woke up again, were my friends.

Dana would have probably called my mother, telling her what was going on. My mother probably refused to come see me, giving her some cock-and-bull story about how tired and fatigued she was. She would have called her own mother too, who would have come to visit were it not for her week-long stay at her son's home in San Diego. So Dana only had the company of Walter Skinner and Terence Davis, who had decided to join her as sat in my room in ICU, staring at me until I woke up.

"How's he doing?" Skinner asked concerned, obviously ignoring the fact he had no business in my hospital room. If they found out he was here, they would be pissed, but he didn't give a damn. It was pretty obvious he was there as a friend, and friends were allowed to visit each other, even if they didn't work together anymore.

"Not so good," Scully responded. "The drugs in his system are causing severe damage. The violent reaction he had to them is probably because his body was already trying to recover from a serious injury."

"Is he going to wake up?"

"I hope so, but there's no way of knowing when."

"He'll wake up when he's good and ready," Davis said, "he won't give up that easily, Agent Scully."

"I know that, sir," she answered, "but I'm furious that this could have happened. All the necessary precautions had been taken. Why didn't anyone check out Harry Flint?"

"There's no proof he was involved with Jason Warren. Flint is a respectable businessman. Why would he try and kill Mulder?"

"Maybe Warren had something on him. Threatened him somehow."

"If he did, it's going on a pretty far limb, Scully," Skinner answered.

After that, the conversation died out. None of the people in my room felt the urge to talk much, so Scully told me later on. All they did, was just sit there and wait until the drugs rampaging inside of me, were finished doing their dirty work. After that, I would most likely wake up and hopefully recover.

- 12 -
November 14
10.15 p.m.

Okay, so there's one other thing you need to know about both Dana Scully and myself. When either of us is in the hospital, the other one refuses to budge, until forced to do so by someone else. It took Skinner, Dr. Short and Davis to get her to get some rest. So after 10, a couple of hours after my respiratory arrest, she was practically forced out of the room, and lead to a small room nearby with a cot. Nurse Rina took her there, smiling in support as she rubbed her eyes.

"Your partner will be fine, Agent Scully," the blonde woman said, "I've seen people in worse state than this and they pulled through."

"I'm sure he will be," Scully answered, "but the truth is I'm not sure if Mulder wants to recover from this."

"Why is that?"

"He's been through a lot lately. The case we've been working on, it all started so simple, and then it turned out in a nightmare."

"Why? What happened?"

Dana did not feel the urge to tell a complete stranger about her problems, but it felt good to talk to someone about it, so the she explained to the woman the facts as she had seen them. The unnecessary death of the girl, the search for Jason Warren, and now the attempt on my life. The woman listened to it all, and offered her silent support to my partner. Dana was probably forcing away her tears, trying to keep the facts as professional as possible. Probably not succeeding at that. Probably crying at the end. She fell asleep exhausted on the cot, to wake up an hour or so later with a start, remembering where she was and why she was there. She returned to the room, worried that something was wrong. But all she saw was Rina injecting something into my IV, and the two men still sitting at my bedside, discussing the case.

- 13 -
November 15
3:45 a.m.

A young woman made her way through the ICU of Georgetown Medical Center, coming to a stop at the glass cubicle with me in it. There was only one person at my bedside now, her red hair covering most of her face as she sat slumped forward to the bed. The men were gone, taking off after waiting several hours for my awakening. But nothing happened and they left. Dana Scully was faithful to me, sticking around while I was unconscious, and the tube was still in my throat, breathing for me. But the young woman at the entrance to the cubicle woke her up.
Scully had hardly heard her, but she was startled still, as if seeing a ghost. For a moment there she really thought she might be dreaming, because the face of the girl staring at her was that of Valerie Lange's twin sister, Sophie.

"Agent Scully," the young woman said kindly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I heard about Agent Mulder's accident and wanted to see if there was anything I could do."

Scully naturally was very surprised to find the young woman in the hospital at this time of night, let alone see her here at my bedside. The last time she had seen the girl, her mother had slapped me in the face, not only hurting me physically, but also damaging me mentally.

The girl knew what was on Scully's mind, because she continued rapidly, "I know my visit here must come as a surprise to you, but I wanted to apologize for my mother's behavior at Valerie's funeral. Things have been pretty rough for us, and she was taking it out on the first person she saw." She turned her gaze from me to Scully. I was not aware of her visit at that time, only told about it later on through my partner. "How's he doing?"

"He's recovering slowly," my partner said, debating whether or not to tell the girl about the drugs. She decided not to. "He'll be all right."

"I'm glad. I know that it wasn't your fault my sister died. You did everything you could for her, even though others might think differently about it." The girl then walked over to the exit, and stopped there in her tracks. She turned and opened her mouth as if trying to say something else, but she didn't. She just nodded and left. Scully got out of her chair and followed the girl to the entrance of the cubicle, and then saw her stop and talk to the nurse on call. The woman seemed to be arguing with the girl, and then they split up and silence returned to the ICU.
Scully could not see who she was arguing with.

- 14 -
November 15
7.05 a.m.

I had a dream. I was standing on wet soil, watching my feet slip into the dirt. It had a hold on me, forcing me down like quicksand. I looked down on it, and started to free myself, pulling on the branch of a tree above me. It snapped under my weight, forcing me to let go. I fell forward, onto the sand, and now both my hands and feet were trapped. I could not move. Slowly but firmly I was drawn deeper into the quicksand, and its wet sand wanted to swallow me as a whole. I cried out for help, rewarded by laughter. As I looked up, my partner was standing in front of me, laughing madly as I was sinking. Then the sand closed over me, and I felt it enter my mouth and esophagus, and then my lungs. I struggled hard to free myself from it, fighting against whatever was in my throat.
And then the sand was replaced by strong hands, and the dirt in my throat became a tube.

"Don't fight it, Mulder," I heard Scully say, and it were her hands I felt around my wrists. "The respirator is breathing for you."

I opened my eyes and looked at her with panic-stricken eyes, begging her to get this thing out of my throat.
She seemed to understand, because she turned around to the medical staff in the room, asking them to remove the tube from my throat. A few moments later several people were holding me, while one of them pulled out the tube, basically scarring my throat. I coughed and breathed heavily when it was gone, sucking in the air in my lungs.
The movement alone made me tired, I felt like an old man unable to think and live for himself. I wanted to speak, but all that came out of my mouth were useless syllables and words that made no sense.

Scully quickly soothed me, touching my forehead. "Don't talk just yet," she said, "you've been through quite an ordeal. Give it some time."

I didn't want to listen to her. The agitation was still there, forcing me to do something. But as I laid back down in the pillows, I could feel how weakened my body had become from the fever and drugs I did not know anything about at that time.

When Scully saw I was well-awake and ready to hear the truth, she quickly explained to me what had
happened during my unconsciousness. The LSD that I had been given, the violent reaction my body had to it, the fever they had not been able to bring down, the arrest of Harry Flint. I had trouble picturing Harry when she told me. I had seen the man only for a few moments, he had not left a lasting memory on me. I did not understand.
Why would he try and kill a man he didn't know? At the same time the fear struck again. If Jason Warren was able to get an unknown man to poison me, what else was he capable of? Would I end up opening my car door one day, only to set off a bomb? Would Scully be the one dying for me when we were out on a case? It would never be over. Not until we caught or killed Jason Warren. But the man was gone. Just as well as I knew that I was lying in this hospital thanks to him, I knew that he had vanished without a trace.

Scully fed me ice chips, telling me about Sophie Lange's visit. I was just as surprised as she was, but sucking on the chips I couldn't care less. I was too tired, yet too agitated to react. Scully saw my eyes droop before she was finished, and she quickly helped me to find a more comfortable position to sleep in. I was relieved to have her with me, and tried to remember what I had told her before. I couldn't remember. Right now it didn't really matter.

- 15 -
November 15
10:15 a.m.

I woke up in another room again, wondering whether or not I was taking the scenic route of the Georgetown Medical Center. This time there was only one bed in the room, but the flowers and cards were still there. It was a quiet room, with a closed door, giving me the peace I needed. I had slept for hours, obviously, because everything
had changed. No more ICU, and I was determined not to go back there. No more machines and tubes keeping me alive. I was obviously doing well.

But the agitation remained. I remembered too well the events that had happened the last time I was given LSD. I had been irrational and angry, fighting off everyone that meant something to me. I had punched Skinner and had accused Scully of working against me. I had not been myself, yet I had not been able to fight off whatever was raging inside my head. I had that same feeling right now, even while I lay in the quietness of the room. I moved and moaned, turning my head towards the window. A man, sitting in the chair next to the table startled me. Somehow I had overlooked him the first time. It was Tom Fielding.

He smiled at me, not speaking at first. Then he got out of the chair and approached the bed. "Glad to see your eyes again," he said, revealing how close I had come to kicking the bucket.

"Where's Scully?"

"She went home to shower and change. I sent her home actually."

"I'm glad you did. She doesn't take care of herself when I'm -'

"When you're what?"

"I was gonna say, when I'm being stupid," I continued.

"But you weren't stupid."

"Wasn't I?"

"Did you hit yourself on the head with that brass pipe? Did you feed yourself LSD?"

"No."

"Then you weren't being stupid. Stop putting yourself down."

"Yes, Daddy."

He smiled, revealing a set of shiny white teeth. I wondered if he had fallen for Scully. I wondered if she had fallen for him. I felt angry suddenly, wondering why he was here. He could see the change in me, asking me quickly if I was okay. He pushed the buzzer, and a couple of minutes later a nurse entered the room. She was a brunette I hadn't seen before. She checked my vitals, obviously content with the way things were going. She left us alone. Tom excused himself and followed her in the hallway. I felt anger again. If he wanted to say something about me, why not say it in front of me? He was one of them. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
Why would this man suddenly be trying to get on our good side?

Where was he when Scully and I went after Warren? Why did it take so long for him to find us in that alley? Why was he the one interrogating Harry Flint? Because he didn't want the man to talk. He wanted him to be silenced! I was furious, plain and simple. The anger I had built up inside of me for years, ever since I started working at the VCS, now came to the boiling point. Years ago I became a profiler because I thought I could make a difference, not only for the bureau, but especially for the people whose lives I might save. Then Cancerman came and destroyed it all, my faith in others, my trust in society. He was the one working against me all the time, and eventually he would be the one destroying me forever.

The nightmares and dreams I had been having ever since I started profiling, I had accepted, knowing that I would face them for the rest of my life. But it had been worth it. For every bad guy caught, I had a world of rewards. Maybe that sounded too naive, but I couldn't care less. The memories, however, were recorded and stayed in my mind forever. The downside on having a photographic memory is that you remember literally everything. I could recall things from my earliest years another person would probably not even think about. I could remember the very first words I had learned to read. I remembered Samantha's chubby hands as she tried to pull from my hands the book my mom gave to me. I remember shoving her backwards and shouting at her for touching my stuff. And I remember her crying when the fear in her eyes told me that I had frightened her. Above all, I remember the pain and sense of guilt. It was the first time I had ever felt guilt in my life. It would certainly not be the last.

And now, lying flat on my back in this bed, I could not help but wonder how my life had come so far that someone was trying to kill me while I was even in the hospital. And why the man that had been sitting next to me, was in on it. And why he was outside my room right now, talking about me to others I did not know. And why I was feeling so goddamn frightened and alone, fearing for my life even as I took one single breath. It wasn't right.
It just was not right.

I slipped out of bed, and stumbled over to the closet, opening it. My clothes were all there, as were my shoes, socks and underwear. On the bottom there was a large, brown file. I knew that file. Carefully I leaned over, picked it up, and opened it. Scully had kept her promise to bring it to the hospital. When had she put it in here for me to read? I forgot all about Fielding and returned to the bed, opening the brown cover. On the top of the Warren file lay a neatly typed report on the attempted bust at the Marron Hotel. It was typed up by Terence Davis.
I quickly read it, remembering every word afterwards. Reading it, I could only once again think that something was not right. We were all overlooking something here. I was just about to reread the Valerie Lange-file, when the door opened slowly, and my former boss entered the room.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner said, watching me closely. "I'm glad to see you feeling better. Why are you reading that file? You should be resting."

"I'm fine," I said impatiently, putting them aside. I sat straight in the bed, ignoring the dizziness I felt, not leaning against the pillows. I didn't know how to handle myself. Should I trust him enough to tell him about my suspicions regarding Fielding? Or should I pretend nothing was wrong, and get out of here as soon as I got the chance? They weren't going to find Warren, not as long as he had the chance of killing me. I needed to lie to them, and pretend I was great. And then I would go after Warren myself and kill him before he killed me.
"Did you find Warren yet?" I managed to ask, knowing Skinner was watching me closely.

"We're still looking for him. He's probably left the country."

"So what's going to happen now?"

"It's just a matter of time before we catch this guy, agent Mulder," Skinner said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"And until then I should watch my back, right?"

"We'll make sure you're safe."

"How?"

"By not leaving you alone. By making sure every step you take is guarded and secure."

"Until I end up dead in an alley one day, right?" I sneered.

He looked at me peculiarly now. "Is that you or the drugs speaking?"

"What do you know about it?"

"About what?"

"The drugs."

"I know they were given to you. I know what they can do to you. You shouldn't be in here alone, Mulder. The anger that you are feeling right now, is the LSD. You've been here before, you know what it's like."

"Is that what they planned for me? First get me off the X-Files and then poison me?"

Skinner now openly examined me, listening to the sound of my voice. I couldn't hide the anger in it, noticing myself how over the top it sounded. But Skinner made an effort to calm me down. By putting force behind his words and actions, he tried to persuade me that I had it all wrong. I refused to listen.

"That has nothing to do with it, and you know it. And believe me, Agent Mulder, Spender doesn't like being in your shoes as much as you dislike not being there. I don't think he had a basement office in mind when he started working at the bureau."

I calmed down instantly, feeling a terrible dread. "I wish I was back there," I said hoarsely.

"Frankly, Mulder," Skinner responded, "so do I." With that he got out of his chair and walked to the door, grabbing his coat he had dropped on another chair. At the door he turned around quickly, saying, "Take care, Mulder. I'll come back to see you soon."

I didn't respond, and then he was gone. The dread I felt only worsened when I realized how much I missed the basement office. I longed to sit in my own chair, to listen to Scully's theories, debunking everything I asked her to believe. Despite our fierce discussions sometimes, I missed that too. I wanted things to be as they were again. But the only way to do that, was by finding Warren and get rid of him. First Warren had to die, and then it would all turn to normal again. And I had to get rid of Tom Fielding too. No one could be trusted.

- 16 -
November 15
Time unknown

Harry Flint was too tired. All night he had been interrogated concerning things he had nothing to do with. But he thought he might have finally persuaded them. They started to believe him. But when he asked when he would be free to go, they couldn't give him an answer. Damn the FBI, he thought. Damn everyone in there. If I had left at noon, I wouldn't be in this shit. The men in the room were different than the ones he had seen earlier.
He had liked the younger agent, the one that was interrogating him first. He had told him the truth, and the man seemed to believe him. Finally, around 11 or so, Peaches came to pick him up.

"I know you're tired, honey," the woman said, kissing him on the cheek, "but it's all over now."

"I'm telling you, Peaches, if it weren't for you, I would have given up on things a long time ago."

Peaches turned towards the agents, asking them if they needed her to sign any paperwork. She had already given a statement herself, telling them firmly that if there had been something wrong with those peaches, it wasn't Harry's or her fault. She had brought them as a present for her husband, not to kill an FBI agent she had never seen before. They believed her. As they left, Harry Flint reminded himself never to end up in a hospital again.
You left more sick than you entered. Or at least, that's what the agents heard him say.

- 17 -
November 15
11:30 a.m.

Jason Warren was in serious trouble and he knew it. His face had been all over the papers for days, and it would stay that way until he got caught by the bureau. They were accusing him of my illness, attempted murder on me, and of course the murder of Valerie Lange. But Jason Warren knew it was only just beginning. As long as he couldn't stay out of their hands, he would have to sit low and take advantage of her hospitality. They would never even think of looking for him here. And with her he would be safe. But he also knew that he wouldn't be safe for much longer. Not as long as the mother was around, ready to catch him at any time. Perhaps even ready to kill him.

- 18 -
November 15
11.05 a.m.

Nurse Rina entered my room with a tray filled with goodies. I ignored her, waiting anxiously for her to leave. She asked me how I was, glared at the files on the table next to me, and went about her business. The bandages on my temple had been replaced with a smaller patch. I hardly felt any pain when she fixed me up again. Then something sharp stung my cheek. I winced. She pulled back her hands. I saw a ring with a large stone, now covered with a drop of my blood.

"Sorry," she said, going about her business again.

When she wanted to empty the syringe in the IV, I asked her what was in it. "Painkillers," she said, pushing down the plunger before I could refuse. She stared at the files again and left. I waited for a few minutes, listening to the sounds in the hallway. Except for a couple of male voices just outside my room there was nothing. I wondered where Tom Fielding had gone to, and whether or not he would come back to kill me. I pulled out the IV and changed in the bathroom. My face still looked pale and distraught, but that didn't matter. I knew what I had to do. I had no gun, no ID. They had taken it from me, probably afraid that I would kill myself in my drug-induced mood. I wouldn't. But I wouldn't be stopped either.

Then I suddenly startled and looked at the files. There was something in it that everyone of us had
overlooked. Valerie Lange had a twin sister. An identical one. What if she had been the target? Was that why Jason Warren killed Valerie off so quickly? Had he taken the wrong girl? There was only one solution to the question. Find Sophie Lange and ask her why she had come here to see me.

- 19 -
November 15
12:05 p.m.

Warren heard the door slam hard and rushed from the bedroom. "Sophie?"

The woman killing him was not the one he loved. Not the one he had fallen for the minute he had bumped into her. Not the one whose sister he had killed. Not the one he had approached afterwards, telling her how much he loved her. Not the one whose sympathy he had won by being truthful with her, by begging her for help, by telling her she was the one that could help him get clean. The woman who killed him, was her mother.

- 20 -
November 15
12:10 p.m.

I left the hospital room in a hurry, ignoring the agents at the door, guarding me. The tallest of them was the first one to speak. "Agent Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Gotta go," I muttered, walking past him. The second one grabbed me by the upper arm, forcing me to stop. I looked at him as if he was a fly, ready to squash him with a blow of my fist to the side of his head.

"We weren't informed that you are leaving, sir," he said. "Agent Scully does not know either, does she?"

I gotta go," I repeated. "There's no time."

"Time for what?"

"She's in danger, don't you see? We've got to find her before he does. It may already be too late." I knew how irrational and perhaps even arrogant I sounded, but all I could hear and see where the truths that were hidden from me during the darkness.

The tall one glanced at his partner and said, "I'll tell you what, Agent Mulder. Why don't I drive you to the bureau while my partner here gets on the phone with agent Scully. How's that?"

"No, I don't want agent Scully around. I need to think." I walked away from them. The tall guy followed me, pushing the button for me. But he wasn't the one getting in. When I looked aside, I saw Tom Fielding. He had talked to the other agent, asking him to stay put. I got in the elevator, not even bothering to look at him. "I know you've been sent to kill me," I said, "but it won't work. I'm stronger than you might think. You won't get rid of me that easily."

"I don't want to kill you, Mulder."

"Harry Flint didn't put those drugs in the fruit. You did. You were in the room as well. You could have done it while I was sleeping. Flint didn't even know me. He was just a means to a cause."

"I didn't do it, Mulder."

"You lie."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"To gain my trust. Just like Krycek. You're just like him, aren't you? Who did you plan to kill first? Me or her?"

"I don't want to kill you, Mulder. I'm here to help you."

I shook my head angrily, rubbing my forehead. My head was pounding again, the agitation worse. I wasn't ready to be rational just yet, and Tom knew it. The elevator doors slid open and I walked out, followed by him.
"Where are you going, Mulder?"

"It's the girl," I said angry, "don't you see? She's the key, Fielding."

"The girl's dead."

"Not her, her twin sister."

Fielding stopped in his tracks, grabbing my wrist. "I don't understand."

"Don't you see? It all makes sense now. I wasn't dreaming about Valerie Lange, I was dreaming about her sister. Somehow I made the connection, but I was too far gone to understand. It was her all along. That's why he murdered her so easily. He didn't care for her, he took the wrong one! He might be trying to get to her again right now. Perhaps he's already there."

Fielding held his breath during my tirade, knowing I was right. "We'll go for the girl then, Mulder. But not you."

"You're not keeping me from her. You want to kill her too, don't you?"

"We didn't kill her, Jason did," said Fielding.

"Because we were too late."

"No, because he's a killer."

I pushed him away from me. "So are you."

"But you still trust me, don't you?"

I stopped abruptly, almost forcing him to run into me. Scully was standing at the main entrance of the
hospital. When she knew I had seen her, she walked over to us, stretching our her hand to touch my face. I backed away, and her hand lingered in the air. She looked hurt.

"Oh, Mulder," she said softly, "what am I going to do with you?"

She wanted to take my hand. "No," I said, "back off."

She shared a glance with Fielding, not understanding why I reacted this way. I didn't understand it either. The drugs were still in me as if they had just been injected. I shook my head, trying to force the shadows in front of my eyes to go away. I felt tears welding up in my eyes, and didn't understand why.

"Let me take you back upstairs, Mulder," she said calmly. "Please, Mulder."

I calmed down, feeling the dread again as she stretched out her hand, this time touching me. "Mulder,
talk to me."

I stared at my feet, dropping the file on the floor. "I can't ..."

"Why not?"

"It's too hard."

"You can talk to me, you know that."

I shook my head again, forcefully this time, ignoring the pain in it. "We're all going to die, don't you
see? It's just a matter of time. Might as well die now."

"You're not going to die. You were drugged, that's why you're feeling this way."

"I was drugged because of him!" I turned towards Fielding, pointing angry at him, noticing only now how quiet it had become in the lobby. My voice sounded extremely angry and upset when I accused Fielding of treason, almost screaming in his face he was the one poisoning me.

But it was Scully who calmed me down again, as her voice softly said, "It's all right, Mulder. It's okay, really. She tried to hug me, but I still kept her away from me, not ready to give in yet. "This isn't you talking, Mulder. It's the drugs inside of you. You know better than this."

"You shot me," I said accusingly, noticing Fielding's surprised stare as I accused her this time, the anger returning in full range.

"Yes, I did," she responded, "and I would do it again if it meant saving your life. Please, Mulder. Listen to my voice. You need to calm down. You're sick, but you don't know it. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you, but right now you need to be in your room, concentrating on getting better. Will you do that for me?"

I looked at her for a long time, then nodded.

She smiled and took my hand. "Let's go then."

"The girl."

"I'll take care of that, Mulder," Fielding said behind me.

I didn't turn around, trusting him completely this time. Scully would make sure it was done. We walked over to the elevators. I'm not sure why, but as soon as we got in, I felt my body slump forward, and the world simply turned into the abyss I had entered a few times before. Scully bent over my body, trying to get me to look at her.
And suddenly it all became clear to me. I knew now where I had seen that ring before.

"The ring," I heard myself whisper, "Scully, don't you see? The ring."

"'I don't understand, Mulder," she said, touching my shoulder. "Mulder, stay with me!"

But I couldn't. And so I slipped away. At least here, there would be no pain.

- 21 -
November 15
1:45 p.m.

Scully was angry with herself when Tom informed her about my suspicions towards Sophie Lange. Angry because she hadn't seen it herself, and because no one even thought there might be a connection between the twin sisters. But it all made sense. It started to make even more sense when it turned out Sophie Lange was a loner, just like the man that had killed her sister. The two girls might have been similar in appearance, but on the inside they couldn't have been more different from each other. Valerie Lange was a brilliant college student with an amazing track record. Sophie Lange was a young woman with learning disabilities, struggling to make her way through life. The kind of person that could easily get hooked to drugs, provided to her perhaps by someone from the outside, someone that might fall in love with her. And Sophie Lange was also the kind of girl that kept to herself, that needed to be forced to speak up. Tom Fielding was the best man to talk to. They found her at her parent's house, alone. Her parents were not there. She let in the two agents that came to talk to her. Fielding was the one asking her the questions.

"Do you know Jason Warren?"

"No."

"He lived only two blocks from here. Have you never heard from him?"

"No."

"Sophie, Jason Warren might have been trying to kidnap you instead of your sister. He might come back to finish the job. Are you sure you don't know him?"

"No."

"Why did you come to visit Agent Mulder last night?"

"'I felt sorry for him."

"Why?"

"He tried to apologize to my mom, and she wouldn't let him. She was angry at him. Still is. I just wanted to tell him he shouldn't take it to heart, what she said."

"Didn't you visit him because you found out Warren tried to kill him in the hospital?"

"No. I didn't even know until I found out he was in the ICU."

"Who did you argue with there?"

Here she startled and looked up. 'I don't know what you're talking about."

Agent Scully saw you talking to a woman outside agent Mulder's room. Who was she?"

The girl swallowed as tears stung her eyes. "I can't say."

"Why not?"

"Because she has nothing to do with it. Leave her out of it!'

"Who was she?"

The girl suddenly got out of her seat and stretched out her wrists. "You might as well arrest me. I know where Jason Warren is. I've been hiding him since he's on the run."

Tom Fielding was just as startled as the agent that had accompanied him to talk to the girl. Now he didn't know what to say. But he knew he couldn't let her slip away now.

"So you did know Jason Warren?"

"Yes, but he didn't try to kill Agent Mulder. He was angry and upset because the deal went wrong. But he never put a price on his head. He had nothing to do with the drugs."

"Then why is he running?"

"Because he killed my sister. He thought it was me. He tried to get to me but he took her instead. And then he called me, telling me he was in love with me. I didn't understand."

How did you know him?"

"'I didn't, not really. I was buying drugs from some punk working for him. I had heard his name a couple of times but had never seen him before. When I found out he had taken Valerie, I knew he wanted to get me."

"Why you?"

"Because of what I'd become. I had told my dealer I wanted to meet him, and to join his gang." Here she laughed bitterly. "Life in this house has been a hell ever since Valerie took off to college. I was the pathetic one, you see. Dad couldn't live with it, Mom was angry at me for causing trouble. So I started taking drugs, and then I got interested in meeting Jason, and being with him, even if I had never seen him before. And it turned out he had the same interest."

"But your sister died."

"Yeah." She laughed bitterly. "Isn't that the irony of the whole thing? She died because of me! Once he found out she wasn't me, he had to get rid of her. He didn't like her personality, he told me. So he decided to show her a lesson. To get her hooked on the drugs, and then dump her somewhere so she would become me. But she died."

And he came to see you?"

"Yeah. After the drug deal went wrong. He told me he thought he had killed a federal agent. He was scared. I had never seen anything like it. It was as if his entire life was going to hell, you know."

"Where did you hide him?"

"My father has an apartment downtown. I brought Jason food and stole money from my mom's purse. It's not much but he has to save up until he can leave. Dad doesn't use the apartment much anyway. He's safe there."

"Will you bring us to him?"

"Yes." She got up defeated. "Am I under arrest now, too?"

"You are," Tom confirmed, "but you'll be okay. You confessed, that's the first step. We'll get you some help, Sophie."

"Yes," the girl said, as she sat down again, staring at my hands, "and get my mother some help too."

"Your mother?" Tom asked surprised, listening to her trembling voice.

"Yes."

"Why?"
"Because she's the one killing Agent Mulder."

- 22 -
November 15
1:50 p.m.

Special Agent Dana Scully could not help but stare at my sleeping body. Or at least, that's what she told me afterwards. She was wondering why I was still suffering this much anxiety and psychosis. Why after so much time, I was still going through hell. Short had ordered yet another run of blood work, just as determined as she was to find out what was causing my illness. Scully told the tall agent, Dan Kirsch, to stay in the room with me, and not to leave me alone. She joined Dr. Short in the lab, examining the blood drawn from my veins.

"I don't understand," he uttered, staring at the results. 'The LSD levels are much higher this time. These results cannot be correct. They should be the opposite."

"What could have caused this?" she asked, "if Mulder is still receiving the drugs, shouldn't he be suffering the same respiratory arrest as before?"

"Not if he's been receiving the drugs on a regular basis. The human body is a strange thing, Agent Scully. If you give someone poison regularly, he gets used to it. In the late 19th century, people took arsenic in small doses to keep a pale skin, as was the custom. The same is happening here. Mulder's system is getting used to the drugs. They are still causing the anxiety and agitation, but not causing the respiratory distress in him as it did before."

"So someone is still getting access to him, making sure he's going through the roof," she said slowly. "I can't see how it's done. He hasn't eaten in over 24 hours."

"What about his IV? Could someone have injected him with the LSD?"

"I suppose so, yes."

At that time Scully's cell phone went off. She picked it up, only to hear the voice of Tom Fielding.

"Tom, what's wrong?" she asked, surprised, listening to his short explanation regarding Sophie Lange's confession.

"Dana," he then said, "Mrs. Lange works in a hospital, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does."

"Which one?"

"I don't know," Scully said, "I'd have to check."

"I think she's the one poisoning Mulder, Dana. Her daughter just told us the most peculiar story. Seems Mrs. Lange went crazy after her daughter's death. Dana, we just found Jason Warren's body. He's been shot to death at close range, with Mulder's service gun. How could she have access to that if she hadn't had access to his stuff?"

"I left the gun behind lock and key at the nurses' station," Scully said breathlessly. "This doesn't make sense, Tom. We would have recognized her. Mulder would have seen her!"

"I think he did recognize her, Scully. He mentioned a ring. He didn't see her clearly at the funeral. She was wearing a black veil. We had no photos of her in the file, we never talked to her. But she was wearing a diamond ring. Mulder had a small scar on his face, said that it came from the nurse that took care of him, didn't he? It must have been her."

"No, that's impossible," Scully repeated. "I've seen her too. Rina wouldn't hurt a fly."

Dr. Short looked up, then, staring into Scully's face as he heard the name of the nurse working on his floor.
"Rina?" he asked surprised, wondering what was going on. "Poor woman, I still don't understand why she came back to work so fast after her daughter's death. She's been through hell ..."

"Tom, get over here quick." Scully hang up the phone, grabbing Short's arm. "What's her full name?" she asked tensed up.

"Corinne Lange. We all call her Rina. Why?"

Scully had already left the doctor in the lab, rushing up to my room. But by then it was too late. When she opened the door, all she found was an empty room. The bed was gone. So was Agent Kirsch. And so was I.

- 23 -
November 15
2:45 p.m.

"Here, drink this."

A voice appeared out of nowhere. A body and face that I had seen before came into my sight and brought a cup of water for me to drink from. I drank eagerly from it, savoring as much as I could. I coughed and leaned back against the rough blankets I was lying on. I tried to scan the area I was in, but all I could make out were noises in the back, like kettles boiling. Hot water steaming through pipes running everywhere behind the walls and iron door I was locked behind. The voice sounded vaguely familiar but I was so doped-up I couldn't make it out. It was as simple as that. I just wanted to slip back into the natural sleep my body needed. And as I laid back my head, I was out again. Later on I would ask what was going on, and where Scully had gone to.

"Did you see her die?"

The woman's voice sounded hard and questioning when she shook me awake. I looked up. The adrenaline rush was finally over. My body was tired and exhausted from the struggle against the drugs. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. She gave me water again.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Watch her die?"

"Who?" I croaked.

"My girl. The one you couldn't save."

My subconscious was trying to figure out where I was, and who the voice belonged to, and then I opened my eyes and looked into the blue, piercing eyes of Nurse Rina. She looked down on me like the wrath of God I was screaming about when they tried to break my finger.

"Your girl?" I repeated, staring at the diamond ring on her finger, remembering. She was the one who hit me in the face at the funeral. The one whose eyes and face had been covered with the black veil, preventing me from seeing her clearly. I knew now who she was and what she had done. It was never Harry Flint. It was her, taking advantage of a situation neither of us had provoked.
"You never intended to save my little girl, did you?" she continued, raging on and on while madness clearly shone from her eyes. "You left her to die there. You didn't give a shit about her, all you wanted was to find Warren. She died so you could have your five minutes of fame."

"She died of an overdose."

"She could have been saved."

"She was beyond saving. Believe me, I know how you feel," I said almost desperate. "I dreamed about her several times, trying to redo the whole thing. If I could give my life to give her back to you, I would. You have to believe me!"

She calmed down somewhat, staring at me in anger. "She was my little girl," she then said, "I loved her so much."

"But you have another daughter."

"One that should have died instead of her." Her face contorted in anger again.

"You don't mean that."

She slugged me in the face suddenly, sending me back into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, she was gone. No more noise, just pure silence. I did not dare wonder where she was. Nor need I wonder why she was waiting to kill me. I listened to the sounds in the long corridor, behind that iron door. I had no idea where I was, but a good guess was that I was still in the hospital. She couldn't have moved me outside, knowing that they would come looking for me straight away. But why was I still alive? Why did she let me stay here while she was gone? I did not know. I couldn't care less. There was something or someone else in the room. I could see a dark shade only a few inches away from me. The body of a man lying on the floor. He was on his stomach, his face hidden by his own right arm. I slid off the cot, crawling towards him. I touched his throat. The flesh under my fingers was still warm. But the pulse was gone, and I looked right into the dead eyes of agent Kirsch, a knife still stuck in his back.

- 24 -
November 15
Time unknown

I had lost all track of time in the darkness. My body was too exhausted to make a move to get out of here. I wouldn't get far. Five feet perhaps before she found me and dragged my ass back into this room. If the door was even open. I would have to rely on others to get me out of this mess, hoping they would find out who Nurse Rina was, and why she wanted to kill me. Hell, I didn't even know why myself. Because of the anger she was not able to vent? Because I had been the first one to step into that room and finding her girl? Because I had approached her at her daughter's funeral to apologize? Whatever it was, I needed to know. If someone died, the only question remained was, "Why?" I shifted on the floor, pushing my body back up to the cot. Once I had closed my eyes, I immediately slept, feeling the drugs raging in me.
Scully," I said out loud, "find me." Then the door opened, and
Rina returned to make an end to my life.

She was rough when she shook me awake, forcing me to look at her.

"Let me go," I said simply, not ready to plead for my life.

"No."

"I did everything I could to save your daughter. I didn't kill her."

"You tried, did you?"

"Yes," I said desperately.

"Tried is not an excuse, Agent Mulder. It's your duty as a federal officer to protect the lives of the people. You failed, and my daughter is dead."

"I'm sorry that she died."

"I know you are." She sat down on the side of the cot, looking at me.

"Why did you drug me?"

"I don't know. Thought it would be poetic justice to see you die the way she died. Couldn't get my hands on coke or heroin, but LSD is a piece of cake if you've got a daughter like mine. I stole her entire supply and she didn't even notice it. I didn't think it would have such an effect on you though. Must have been the concussion weakening you. I wanted to make you an addict at first, and then kill you. Let them think you killed yourself. And Warren."

"Where is Warren?"

"Dead."

"How did you find him?"

"Let's just say he found me." She smiled. "Isn't it ironic to think my other daughter fell for him, hiding him from me? She was stupid enough to believe I would not find him. I took your gun and I killed him."

"My gun?"

"Your partner gave it to us for safekeeping. I used it and left it behind. After today, after you are dead, it won't matter what they find out about me. I'm turning myself in, pleading insanity. I fooled them long enough, didn't I?"

"Did you drug the peaches?"

"Of course. And then your IV. It was easy."

"And now?"

She didn't respond, pulling a syringe from the pocket of her white smock. "This is going to be painless, if it's a comfort to you. I'll make sure you're asleep before I'll kill you. My daughter didn't even have the same pleasure. She died a painful death, and you could have prevented it."

She grabbed my arm. As the needle touched the skin, I pulled back viciously, but it was already too late. She pushed the plunger down, and the fluid made its way through my arm and then the rest of my body. Immediately I started getting dizzy.

"Don't!' I heard myself scream as I shoved her away with my last strength. Her body fell off mine, and
slammed onto the floor. She lay there for a second, feeling confused and dizzy herself, no doubt. I didn't even remember what I did. All I knew was that I need to act from instinct and self-preservation. I knocked her out with a blow from my fist, and crawled off the cot, getting hold of the wall next to it. I pushed myself away from it, and as the first waves of dizziness shot through my body, I shook my head forcefully and lunged for the door. I grabbed the handle and pulled it. The door gave way and immediately I was surrounded by steam pipes and engines and other devices that made a hell of a lot of noise, adding to the terror of the moment.

Jesus, I just could not concentrate on anything. I don't know how, but my feet started walking to the right, and somehow my legs were able to hold me as I stumbled through the basement, avoiding anything that might hurt me.

A door. I went for it, and pulled the knob. It was locked. Another door, and another one, and another one. One of them had to get me out of here! I tried each and every one of them, until suddenly the largest of them gave way. I literally fell into a small hallway, and turned on my back, panting and staring at a white ceiling and a large stairway. I knew that once I made it up there, I would be safe. Jesus, Scully, I thought. You're going to be so pissed at me. Why the hell do I always get myself in situations like this? I literally crawled on all fours to make my way up the stairs, taking one step at a time, panting and heaving all the time. Wave after wave of dizziness flooded my mind. It would have been so easy to simply give up to the darkness, but my will to survive was too strong.

Despite everything - the loss of the X-Files and the reassignment to crap duty, I could not give up. Not knowing if that woman I had met at the diner was my sister or not, not knowing why my father died, and why they would go to any lengths to stop me from knowing. I would not die like this, useless and senseless and with no reason. I wouldn't die without apologizing to Tom for accusing him like I did. And not before I told Scully that I loved her.

"Scully!" I shouted her name, not knowing whether or not she could hear me. I just felt like crying out for her, to let her know that I was still alive. I was halfway up the stairwell, when I slumped on my side, and rested my head against the cold concrete steps. *Scully,* I thought, this time not shouting her name out loud. *Please, come and find me in here.*

Then doors opened beneath me and above me. They seemed to open at the same time. I heard voices coming from both directions. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, running towards me. But there were footsteps above me coming down to me also. Then there were shouts and hands tugging my arms and ankles and bare feet. I couldn't move anymore. Then there was another shout, and a shot, and the hands on my feet let go.

Another hand touched my face, and I moaned, "No."

I was lifted from my uncomfortable position, and felt strong arms and hands supporting me under my arms, literally picking me up like a rag doll. As I looked up, I saw Skinner holding me. On the other side Tom was holding me tight, saying, "I got you, buddy. It's over." Scully was standing in front of me, touching my throat and face. There were more people in the hallway now, surrounding me like a shield.

I had never felt more safe. I smiled and slurred, "Hey Scully, what took you so long?" And then it all went black, as the artificial darkness took over.

Epilogue
November 19, 1998

Terence Davis knew what I came for before I was able to talk to him about it. He invited me to sit down quietly, and watched me as I examined his office, and then the desks of the men behind the glass.

"Glad to see you up and about again," he said, offering me coffee. I refused politely, putting the files on his desk. They had a stamp on them to confirm the fact that they were both closed.

"Did you go to her funeral?" he asked me, when I didn't respond to his previous remark.

"No." I smiled vaguely, leaning back comfortably. "She's dead, but I don't feel guilty about it."

"You shouldn't." He got out of his chair and sat at the edge of his desk, looking me in the eye. "What's going to happen to you now, Mulder? Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, of course I am," I said with a smile. "Aren't I always? I bounce back like a ball, you know. If
someone kicks me in the gut, I simply turn my back and offer him to kick me again."

"You sound cynical."

"Am I?" I waited a few seconds before continuing. "Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Is it the drugs still speaking, or is it you?"

"You're talking to a 100 % sane Fox Mulder, Terry."

"I'm not sure if I like that."

I smiled. "Don't worry about it, you'll get used to it."

I got out of the chair and walked over to the door, there turning towards him and saying, "Unless you object to me spending some time on the side in VCS?"

He looked at me in surprise. "This wasn't what I had expected. Are you sure?"

"Pretty damn sure."

He nodded. "And Scully?"

"She knows. She doesn't like it, but she knows."

"And do you like it?"

I debated for a while with myself, trying to find an answer to this question. "I don't know yet. I'll let you know in a couple of weeks."

I closed the door behind me and walked over to Fielding's desk. There was a lot of apologizing to do here.

I ended up at Valerie's grave again, but this time it wasn't because of my feelings of guilt. I knew now there was nothing to feel guilty about. Despite all the efforts I had put into being a complete person, into becoming something the bureau wanted me to become, it had not worked. There was one thing my drug-induced days had taught me. The worst fears a man can experience and live through come from the inside. If you take away a barrier, you will see whatever is in someone's mind. And somehow I didn't like what was in mine. I needed to work on that. Not just for myself, but also for the people I loved and cared about. And whatever it would take, one day I would get the X-Files back. As certain as I was standing here in the cold, breathing in the fresh air, I was certain of the fact that I would get what I wanted. Some day. And at any cost. That's what the drugs had taught me.

The End